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She didn’t have to say whom, but I knew she meant him.
I stiffened.
I had never seen her so scared of anyone before, and now I was scared too.
“I promise.” I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the chilling sensation creeping up my back. I’ve always tried to keep my promises, but some promises are too sinful to be followed.
Chapter
Eleven
“I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”
- Jane Austen
Volk
As I stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut, I sensed the impending rainstorm. The fresh, moist air hung heavily around me, and light gray clouds gathered in the sky.
Nodding to the armed guards at the entrance, I ensured the dogs were not out yet.
The house felt lifeless without Igor, leaving me restless and irritated.
I couldn’t focus on anything, not even finding Vlad, without feeling like my once prestigious job had become a mere courier task. Delivering her pictures of the past filled me with frustration. I had better fucking things to do than that.
When Igor first assigned me this ridiculous task, I hoped it was a joke, but he was serious. It was a blow to my already bruised ego.
As I made my way to the library, the sound of the old clock's pendulum echoed through the quiet hallways. The heavy wooden door creaked as I pushed it open, and the smell of old books and leather bindings filled my nostrils. Inside, rows of antique volumes stood, their spines cracked and yellowed with age.
I strode to the bar cart, crystal glasses tinkling softly as I poured a generous measure of whiskey. The warmth of the amber liquid chased away the tension and frustration that had plagued me all day. Leaning back in a plush armchair, I let the drink soothe my frayed nerves. For a moment, the only sound was the gentle clinking of ice in my glass as I swirled it around, lost in thought.
I had arranged to meet a supplier at a remote warehouse to discuss our new products, but to my fucking dismay, half the stuff was missing. I told Dave to lock down the warehouse and took charge by restraining our two associates. After hours of negotiations—or what others might call threats—the only solution left was one of my favorites: dismemberment.
This punishment is both disgusting and satisfying. Some might call it barbaric, but it’s the most fitting for those who dare to steal from us.
An eye for an eye. You take something from me, I take something from you.
Plain and fucking simple.
Thieves are nothing more than rats that need exterminating and watching them writhe in agony until death claims them is immensely gratifying.
In a fit of annoyance, I tore off my jacket and flung it onto the dark burgundy velvet sofa by the blazing fireplace. My teeth gritted and fists clenched, I seethed at the thought of being robbed again. The bastards responsible would pay dearly.
Seeing blood on my white shirt—Dimitri’s blood, that worthless piece of shit—only fuelled my anger. He didn't listen and went to see and touch Sofiya. I made sure he understood the consequences of his actions. As he lay there, barely able to move, I felt a dark satisfaction. He deserved every bit of it for his defiance and stupidity.
I usually prefer to let others do the dirty work, but this time, I couldn’t resist getting involved personally. Dimitri had pushed me too far. He had no respect, no fear, and that enraged me. I had made things clear to him, but he didn’t care. He thought he could continue to provoke me.
If he wanted to play games, I would let him think he had the upper hand. But when he least expected it, I would strike hard and hit him where it hurt the most. That son of a bitch would be in for a big fucking surprise.
Despite my hatred for snitches, I had to admit Dasha’s loose lips had come in handy.
As the distant thunder grew louder, I unbuttoned my shirt and grabbed the nearest bottle of Beluga Epicure, pouring a generous amount into my now-empty crystal glass. The sweet and earthy flavor of the expensive liquor filled my mouth, its warmth sliding down my throat.
I settled into the comfortable sofa, watching the flames in the fireplace dance as the storm raged outside.
Fire, both creator and destroyer. I couldn’t stop thinking about its paradoxical nature.
But soon, my thoughts shifted to a different kind of fire.
