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Outside, through the window, the torrent had lessened to trickles, and the sound of their voices rose higher inside. From my angle, I saw an older man dressed in a plain white shirt and black slacks in clear view.
I pulled out my phone to start recording.
For someone inching closer to sixty, he had quite the physique. Tall and lean, with silver hair and angry blue eyes, he was yelling at someone behind the door, pointing a wrinkly finger.
“…kak ty menya predash’?”
I couldn’t make out most of it, but I understood enough to know that he’d questioned the betrayal of the person behind the door.
“Your gimmicks won’t work on me, Uncle.Vashe vremya vyshlo.”
Your time is up.
Boris started to object, raging about his disappointment and his promise—or threat—to tell the others about what had transpired between them.
Then, the click of a trigger silenced him.
My hands flew to my mouth to clap back a scream. I sucked in shallow breaths with shaky hands, my heart now pounding in my ears.
The old man dropped to his knees, a hole between his eyes and red trickling in a long stream down his nose to his shirt. He stared lifelessly as the person behind the door stepped out into the light, in clear view.
My eyes widened at the sight of the murderer’s broad back and Jack Dawson haircut.
Black ink peeked out from the collar of his pale blue shirt, winding up his neck to the back of his ear. He had light brown hair and a black-gold coated Glock 44 with a silencer in his firm grip.
Outside, the rain had stopped.
He lifted the gun to the spot between the old man’s eyes.
The majestic notes of Rachmaninoff’s masterpiece had reached the final cadence, adding a flair as the music came to a perfect close.
And he fired. Again.
My shoulders shook as the old man’s body dropped to the ground with a dullthud, his head landing athisfeet.
I stood, frozen on the spot. Unable to move or breathe, hot tears stung the back of my eyes.
Hisgreen eyes brewed with an intensity until they turned a dangerous shade of black. With his back to me, he exited the room through another door I didn’t see.
I dragged my eyes back to the man on the floor and watched the blood seep into the carpet, leaving behind more damage and evidence than a wet trail of rain.
Boris Yezhov deserved to be served justice by the hands of law—not his nephew’s.
Chapter 1 – Egor
Present Day
Los Angeles
May 2024
The elevator made a mechanical chime as the doors slid open. I entered, and Arlo followed, planting himself by my side with a straight, no-nonsense business face and one or two occasional glances at the glinting Cartier on his wrist every five minutes.
With my permission, he clicked on the button8and stepped back. The silver steel doors closed, and his feet started their usual rhythmic bouncing against the floor.
I tilted my head to the side, only curving enough to see him clutch his leather Brown briefcase with a death grip and watch his eyes burn holes through the gleaming red floor-selection buttons on the panel.
My lips twitched, and I turned away. “Nervous?”
