46 - Monty
46
Monty
—
That night, I sit at my desk, the walls in my office closing in on me. Shelves and drawers overflow with paperwork, the detritus of a life spent in pursuit of power and control.
A life deliberately crafted to separate me from my father’s crimes, to ensure I would never follow in his blood-soaked footsteps.
I followed my own path. University. Business degrees. Building a global consulting firm from the ground up. I’ve ensured every contract, deal, and interaction was aboveboard.
My reputation as the wealthiest man in Alaska rests on the foundation of lawful conduct and ethical business practices.
Yet none of it will protect the woman I love.
Frankie’s face flashes in my mind—her wild red hair, green eyes that puncture my soul, and a heart of liquid fucking magic. She has so much love in her. The purest form of love in existence.
I can’t rely on the slow gears of justice to save her. I must act decisively and ruthlessly.
Turning to my father’s legacy goes against everything I’ve worked for, everything I believe in. Yet, as body parts continue to show up, I have no choice. I must tap into the very darkness I’ve spent my life avoiding.
Drawing a deep breath, I stand and walk to the hidden safe behind the Ivan Aivazovsky painting. My hands are steady as I input the combination.
The safe opens with a soft click, revealing a small black ledger, the one I took from my childhood home after my parents’ deaths.
I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the worn leather cover. This ledger is a gateway to the criminal empire my father once controlled. I’ve kept it hidden, a reminder of the man I swore I would never become.
With a sigh that feels like surrender, I remove it from the safe and carry it to my desk. Sitting down, I flip open the cover, the musty scent of old paper invading my nose.
Names, numbers, and coded messages fill the pages, a network of power and corruption laid bare.
But I’m only interested in one.
The Ghost.
A notorious hitman and enforcer in the Russian underworld. Known for his brutal methods and unwavering loyalty, he’s feared across Europe. Or was. He disappeared from my radar years ago.
When he was active, he ran a covert network of ex-spies and assassins who specialized in tracking and eliminating targets in high-risk operations.
No one knew his identity, not even my father.
I trace a finger over the inked entry, a potential ally, a necessary evil. He’s probably dead.
Unbuttoning the collar of my shirt, I dial the number.
“Who is this?” a voice answers in heavy Russian. “How did you get this number?”
“I’m Montgomery Strakh, son of—”
“I know who you are. The Wolf is all grown up.”
My childhood nickname.
I’m not surprised he knows it. He worked for my father and knows everything about me.
“I have a job for you,” I say in Russian.
“I’m retired.”
“Name your price. Money is no object.”
“Money is always an object, boy. But for you, I’ll require something more. A favor.”
“What kind of favor?” My mouth dries.
“I’ll call on you in the future, and you’ll grant me whatever I need, whenever I need it.”
Ice forms in my lungs.
This is the cost of the path I’m choosing. A debt to a man like The Ghost. A chain that could bind me forever.
But for Frankie, I’ll do anything.
“Agreed.”
“Good. What is the job?”