Page 27 of The Beast of Moscow

*

Igor found Vaslav still sitting in the rattan chair—but with a lit cigarette dangling from his lips—as the rain began to drizzle. At least, the summer rain was warm. His head of security didn’t make it halfway down the path before his walk came to a complete stop, and he cursed under his breath.

Nico’s head flopped back on the chair across from Vaslav still had the axe embedded into his face. Well, the blood had stopped flowing now, but there was quite a significant puddle down the man’s body and under him on the grass.

The chair was ruined.

“I needed a new set anyway,” he told Igor.

“You really fucking did it.”

Vaslav only sighed.

It took Igor several more minutes before he joined Vaslav at the seating area in front of the fire pit. He opted for the loveseat, his gaze darting between his boss and the body that he would soon have to deal with.

Everybody needed a moment when it came to death. He allowed Igor to take his, after all, he’d worked alongside Nico for the last six years after Vaslav had taken over as boss.

“Do you know why I liked you—why I put you where I did?”

Igor glanced his way. A million questions raced in his dark gaze, but Vaslav had no intention of answering any of them. “What?”

“I met you when you were barely thirty-two, but you took orders well and were no-nonsense about it.”

“Not much has changed, has it?”

Vaslav tipped his head toward Nico’s corpse, uttering, “I don’t know, but I’m hoping that after tonight, I’ll have to speak less than twice.”

Igor swallowed hard.

Good.

Another point made.

Standing from the chair, Vaslav finished the one cigarette he’d pilfered from Mira’s purse earlier. She wouldn’t even notice it missing, and he couldn’t afford more nicotine lest it flare yet another migraine to put him out of commission for days.

“You know he only did it—gave Feliks money, I mean—because the asshole told him Irina wouldn’t have wanted to see the place fall like it was.”

Vaslav took another breath in, and then took his time letting it out. It seemed Nico had been right, then. It didn’t matter his reason why; Vaslav still would have swung that axe had he known.

“Igor,” Vaslav murmured.

It was the shift of the man’s clothes that told Vaslav he had turned to look at him.

“Someday, you’re going to be the one making these kinds of choices. Don’t for one second think it’s easy.”

It took the younger man a second to absorb the quiet statement. He still didn’t seem to have a firm grasp on what Vaslav meant when Igor said, “Some people might call me a monster, Vas, but that doesn’t mean I want to do monstrous things because of it, too.”

Well, that was part of the problem.

“Monsters aren’t born, comrade.” Look at me. “They’re made.”

Not waiting for a further reply, Vaslav headed for the cobblestone path, leaving his mess behind. Over his shoulder, he told his only living friend, “Keep my axe.”

“And the garbage bags are in the shed,” Igor deadpanned. “I know.”

“You think you’d be happy.”

“For what?”