Chapter 35
Chapter
Thirty-Five
Mr. Anonymous
Anya Davenport is dead. A maid found her body. Strangled. The autopsy would reveal that she was a victim of the Mistress Strangler.
The real Mistress Strangler.
Not the fucking copycats perpetuated by the Russian bratva who stole the headlines last year.
I was insulted. I fumed and frothed and fantasized about my revenge.
The initial forensics of those killings were sloppy.
They should have noted the absence of ligature marks.
I always used shibari ropes, not my hands.
But any forensic worth their ilk would note that the word whore wasn’t carved carelessly. It took skill.
The victim they would never find was Davenport’s lover.
He fit my code. A home wrecker. Anya Davenport didn’t reach the level of mistress, but she had no shame in aspiring to be one.
I might have given her a push to get rid of Lucy De Lucci.
Anya was so easy to manipulate once I set her end goal as Kirill Zahkarov.
I had access to Davenport’s shell company he set up to keep his lover in style.
Marriage was a sacred sacrament.
My father shouldn’t have cheated on my mother, and she made sure her children understood the sanctity of marriage.
Lucy, unfortunately, became collateral damage.
But she ceased to be useful once it was clear she had fallen for a Zahkarov.
Didn’t she have any pride? I even sent her those videos as a wedding gift and continued reporting Kirill’s clandestine meetings with Anya.
Though unfortunately nothing juicy happened.
The man took his wedding vows seriously even when his former lover was there for the taking.
Then, he started paying attention to his wife.
More first responder activities set up in front of Davenport’s house.
More nosy neighbors. I was merely a man walking his dog by an emerging crime scene.
I wore a hoodie with paparazzi-proof lining so no camera could capture my face.
Still, I looked down. A dark SUV slowed in front of Anya’s house.
I recognized the driver as someone from the bratva.
They must have finished cleaning up my loose ends—Oz and his crew.
See, I had a deal with Viktor Koshkin and Anya.
Viktor had been so tired of taking orders from his brother.
Of course, it helped that he had my unlimited financial resources.
By getting rid of Bruce Davenport, it weakened Peter’s organization.
And where did Anya come in? She spiked Davenport’s drink the night he confronted Viktor about his lover’s death.
Anya knew where the trust documents were, and she would reveal the conditions of the trust once we got rid of her husband.
Unfortunately, Viktor got careless. But I filmed the entire fucked-up traffic stop that Kirill instigated and that no amount of deep fakes could discredit. I sent that video to Peter the day Kirill and Lucy went on vacation because it was clear those two had fallen for each other.
I had to shake things up.
It’d be a while for the cops to process the scene, and they’d probably called the FBI. I was getting bored. Besides, I couldn’t risk anyone from Kirill’s bratva recognizing me. I had a role to play.
I walked away from the scene while more of the neighborhood came to ogle.
A couple of blocks away, I released the stray dog I used as a prop and got into a dark van with fake license plates.
I drove it into a garage, where I parked my Mercedes.
I changed in the van, back into the respectable and expensive suit I always wore.
Then I texted her.
Me
Are you ready to go?
She responded. I smiled.
Then, as if I hadn’t just murdered a woman that night, I drove the Mercedes to Manhattan Medical.
She was waiting outside the hospital entrance. A blonde, petite vision in pink.
Aralina Zahkarova.
I couldn’t wait to make her my perfect bride.
I put the Mercedes in park and got out, intending to act the gentleman and open her door, but that tosser Sato already did it for her.
“How’s the arm, man?” I asked.
He scowled at me. “I’m good. Can’t wait to get back into it.” He glanced to the side, and Aralina’s extra security was on my ass.
Fair enough.
I slid back into the driver’s seat and gave Aralina a chaste kiss on the mouth. “I could have gone up and fetched you. I don’t like you standing there and waiting for me.”
Her thumbs flew over the phone and then showed me the screen. “Kirill is in a bad mood.”
He might know about Anya, but he hadn’t informed the rest of the family yet.
“But not because of me anymore, right?”
She pouted. “Yes. You’re cleared. I’m so sorry again for doubting you.”
“Understandable,” I said in my most charming tone. And it was. I’d been conveniently around when Lucy was ambushed. Of course I was a suspect. “Your brother is just worried about Lucy. How is she?”
The hospital security guard started walking my way. He wanted me to move the car.
That was the problem when I was dating someone who couldn’t speak. It took more effort to communicate. I glanced briefly at her reply before setting the car in gear and rolling out of the hospital premises.
So Lucy was still in a coma. A pity.
It became a real problem when I hadn’t fed my craving for watching the life snuffed out of someone.
It made me desperate. I’d been desperate to strangle Anya.
I just had to push her over the edge so I’d feel the subliminal satisfaction of ending the life of a woman engraved with my own set of scarlet letters.
And I knew she was vile to the core. She assured Viktor that she could control Kirill once Davenport was out of the picture.
She’d been messaging Kirill constantly, especially when he went away with Lucy on vacation.
I knew this because I’d cloned Anya’s phone.
My mother knew about my killings. She approved of and encouraged it.
When we were at social events, she would even point out my next target.
I think that was what kept her sane and out of psychiatric hospitals.
I sought revenge for her. There was no shortage of mistresses to kill.
The upper crust of society I circulated in was teeming with them.
After my parents were killed in a car accident, I had to rein in my craving.
My brother had been on my ass, and I had to take medication to tamp down the urge.
I didn’t like this feeling of anhedonia. The lack of enjoyment of anything. It was worse when you had to act normal.
But no more. Not when people were trying to defame me and I didn’t even get to experience the catharsis of the kill.
I glanced again at Aralina, who smiled sweetly at me. Anya was the one who put Kirill’s angelic sister in my sights, saying she would make the perfect match, fulfilling the conditions of the trust.
Yes, she would be the perfect wife. The perfect cover.
I’d get her pregnant with a brood and be a respected and devoted family man and husband.
Then I could feed my cravings with a secret life in a perfect marriage.