The Debt (Sordid Debt Duet #1)

Chapter Seven

Jarek

The penthouse apartment, Four Seasons Private Residences…

“Do you think it was wise to send Polov that message, Jarek?” Declan watched the captured reflection in the large window, mimicking his every move.

Jarek settled on the sofa. The leather creaked beneath him as he stretched his long legs. A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth as he watched his friend’s agitation.

“Ever heard of strategic manipulation, Declan?”

“I know what it means, but enlighten me on how poking a rabid bear serves our purpose.” Declan stopped his pacing to face Jarek directly.

“Think about it,” Jarek leaned forward. His dark eyes gleamed with intelligence. “First, we cut off his primary money laundering channel through Boston Finance. Simmons folded exactly as I predicted—he’s too invested in his legitimate business to risk our kind of pressure. Then, instead of letting Polov waste time trying to figure out why Simmons suddenly developed a conscience, we tell him exactly who’s responsible.”

“By making yourself a target,” Declan pointed out.

Jarek’s smile widened. “By making The Dark One the focus. Right now, Polov is sitting in his Georgian mansion, burning with rage because some upstart Irish boss had the audacity to challenge him. He’ll be obsessed with finding me, with proving his dominance. And while he’s fixated on that…”

“He won’t see our next move coming,” Declan finished as realization dawned on his face. “You’re making him emotional and clouding his judgment.”

“Exactly. A man like Polov, who’s held power for so long? His pride is his weakness. By signing that message as ‘The Dark One,’ I’m not just taking credit; I’m deliberately mystifying myself. He’ll hate that he can’t put a face to his enemy. It’ll drive him crazy, make him rush, and as a result, he’ll make mistakes.”

“Meanwhile, we’re already three steps ahead in converting the other financial institutions in his network to form alliances with us.” Declan nodded slowly.

“The old guard like Polov, they’re used to ruling through fear and brute force. They don’t understand that true power in today’s world isn’t about who has the most guns or the biggest muscles.” Jarek walked to the kitchen and refilled his coffee cup. “It’s about who controls the money, who has the best information by mining data on a large scale, and most importantly… who can make their opponents dance to their tune without even realizing they’re being played.”

A smirk contorted Jarek’s face as he sipped the dark brew in front of the window. The setting sun cast his sharp features in dramatic shadows.

“You’re about to prove why you are my underboss, my friend.”

Declan leaned against the elaborate bar of black marble and brushed gold. His fingers absently traced the whiskey decanter as his brow drew into a confused line. “I don’t follow.”

“As of tomorrow, you’re in charge.” Tossed like river stones, Jarek’s words skipped across the room to settle at Declan’s feet.

“I’m what?” Declan’s hand froze as he prepared to pour himself a drink. The other shoe was about to drop.

Jarek slid from the window with the guile of a predator. His dark eyes swept back and forth to scan for an imaginary prey ready to bolt from behind a chair.

“The time has come for me to take an extended vacation, my friend.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air between them. The corner of his mouth lifted in a cold smile that never reached his eyes. “And Atlanta sounds like the perfect destination.”

The crystal decanter struck Declan’s glass with a sharp crack. His hand jerked at Jarek’s sudden announcement—not from clumsiness, but from genuine shock. The news blindsided him completely. Jarek had just thrown him into the deep end without warning. Declan struggled to keep his thoughts from drowning him as the implication of the responsibility he'd be carrying crashed over him in waves.

The last rays of sunlight streaming through the windows painted the room in hues of amber and gold, but there was nothing warm about the atmosphere that had settled over them.

“ Jaysus !” Blinded by the magnitude of Jarek’s intentions, Declan misjudged the height of the bar and slammed his glass onto the marble surface. He raked his fingers through his copper hair and shook his head. “You’re going to walk straight into the lion’s den? Have you lost your fucking mind?” His weathered face was a canvas of conflicting emotions.

He stalked across the room, his heavy boots silent on the marble floor. Both men were tall with imposing figures, but whereas Jarek remained calm, Declan’s agitation was unmistakable. Stopping within arm’s reach, he searched Jarek’s face.

“This isn’t an operation where we just waltz in to take out a gang of street punks,” Declan said in a thick Dublin patois. “Polov’s compound is a fortress. The man has an army of ex-Spetsnaz agents at his disposal, and that’s not counting that giant psychopath who guards him like a deranged Pitbull.” The thought of confronting that monster in close quarters sent a shudder through Declan’s chest.

“If this is your idea of how to send a message, I’d rather take my chances walking naked into a lion’s den smelling like a side of beef. Surely, there are smarter ways to provoke this motherfucker without committing suicide in the process.”

The bright collage of city lights beckoned for attention beyond the thick-paned glass, but Declan’s focus remained fixed on Jarek as he waited for an explanation that would make sense of this apparent death wish.

“Relax, Declan.” Jarek’s voice held that dangerous velvet quality that always preceded his most ruthlessly bold ideas. He reached for the decanter. The amber liquid caught the city lights as he poured himself a drink. “You know the old Irish saying, ‘show the fatted calf, but not the thing that fattened him’? That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” His cryptic laugh echoed off the penthouse walls. “I’m going to be wined and dined by Polov, my dear friend, and he won’t have a fucking clue it’s The Dark One he’s entertaining.”

Declan’s face contorted in disbelief. “What exactly is going on in that head of yours?”

The smile fell from Jarek’s face, replaced by something cold and ancient—a darkness that had been born in the shadows of Atlanta’s bloodiest streets.

“I lost a wife and a child, Declan.” Each word dropped like icicles into the space between them. “He has a debt to pay... I intend to collect.”

“You…” Declan’s eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. His face drained of color. “Tatiana Polov?” He took an involuntary step backward. “You’re going to force him to make her marry you? Are you fucking mad?” His voice rose with each question. “She’s his only grandchild, Jarek. His princess. He worships the very earth she walks on. Not many people know this, but the man reorganized his entire operation just to keep her out of that life. He’ll never agree to that, no matter how you approach that challenge.”

Jarek moved to the window. His features shifted between the polished businessman he portrayed and something far more dangerous.

“Ah, but therein lies the crux of the matter, my dear friend.” He turned with a raptorial gleam in his eyes. “I’m not going to threaten him. I’m going to do much better than that.”

His smile returned, but it was different now—cruel, the smile of a man who had spent years plotting this very moment.

“I’m going to make her fall in love with me.” He swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber catch the light like liquid gold. “Can you imagine it, Declan? His precious granddaughter, the one person in his life who he kept away from his crime-soaked world… until now, that is.”

“What do you mean until now?”

“I heard whispers of him wanting to marry her off to one of his associates, Barto Petrov, who is old enough to be her father.”

“I don’t imagine she’s happy about that.”

Jarek shrugged. “It makes my quest so much easier. Envision his reaction when he realizes his precious little princess has willingly given her heart to the very monster who is out to destroy him.” A soft, dark chuckle escaped him. “It’ll be the ultimate betrayal... a just payment for the debt he owes, don’t you think?”

An oppressive silence descended to mute the conversation. For long moments, Jarek sat in silence, muted by the overwhelming thoughts of vengeance he had planned.

Jarek knew what Declan saw when he watched him. Not just the sophisticated crime boss of the present but glimpses of the broken man who had emerged from that bloody night in Atlanta twenty years ago. The night that had triggered the transformation of Jarek Farrel into The Dark One.

A montage of visions swept through his mind as he recounted the episodic moments of the last twenty years. He recapped all that had transpired and the characters, dead and alive, who were involved. Over the years, he continually replayed this loop tape to remind him of his mission—to avenge the senseless deaths of his loved ones, no matter that it dragged him into the darkest place he’d ever been.

“ Jaysus , Mary, and Joseph,” Declan whispered, crossing himself out of habit. “You’re not just going to destroy him. You’re going to make him destroy himself .”

“Now you’re thinking like an underboss.” Jarek raised his glass in a mock toast. “Welcome to the long game of vengeance, my friend.”