Chapter 10
I haven’t set foot in my father’s office in years.
That room is a fucking curse.
It’s full of haunted memories that deserve to stay in the past.
I slide into my SUV, and the horn blares when I slam my hand against it.
“Should’ve stayed with the fucking plan.” I drag my hand through my hair.
I need to treat Liliya with the indifference I planned with Dasha.
I had no problem with Dasha staying at her home and me sleeping at my condo in the city. This place would sit here and rot.
But when I saw Liliya standing across from me at the altar, something changed inside me.
I wanted her here, to breathe life back into these walls and give back a warmth that had been stolen. I wanted her to re-create the happiness my mother had prayed for, but never got.
I shift the SUV into drive and leave. Just as I reach the gate, Maggie texts me.
Maggie: Don’t forget our deal.
I roll my neck until it cracks and then reply.
Me: I won’t.
Maggie worked for my family for decades and left the day after my mother’s and Aurora’s deaths. She’d wanted to quit before that but stayed, refusing to abandon them. She was always there to help my mother with the blood and bruises after my father unleashed his temper on her.
She only came back to work for me because I told her I’d be present and renovate the home. I also promised I’d be a good husband. Not all promises are meant to be kept, though.
I toss my phone in the cupholder.
Some people believe I’m like my father.
That I was involved in my family’s deaths.
Julian's call interrupts my thoughts, and I answer.
“I emailed you everything I’d found,” he says through the speaker.
“Thanks.” I hang up and open his email.
Julian is the best at background checks. He goes beyond credit checks and background history. He pulls every detail from the minute someone took their first breath to their last.
I put the car in park and read through his report.
Liliya Morozova, the middle daughter of Susannah and Armen Baranov. Armen worked for the Morozovas in Russia and moved to the States to help Yaroslav get his operation in order. Him and Susannah married.
Neither Susannah nor the children took the Baranov last name. Instead, they took Susannah’s maiden name. Years later, when Liliya was ten, Yaroslav murdered Armen, claiming he was a rat.
Liliya graduated from high school and got a degree in nursing. She worked in the city hospital until six months ago, after she was fired for reporting the chief ER doctor for sexual harassment.
My jaw gets tighter as I read the last sentence. I toss my phone into the passenger seat and make a U-turn.
Change of plans. I suddenly need to see a doctor.
The bastard’s shift ended ten minutes ago.
The sun bleeds into the horizon, casting shadows across the hospital parking lot. I crack the tinted window of the black BMW coupe I boosted earlier. I parked in the corner of the lot, just close enough to keep my eye on the doctor’s shiny red Mercedes.
There he is.
The smug prick waves goodbye to a nurse and strolls straight to the Mercedes. I roll up the window, push my Ray-Bans up my nose, and slide the BMW into drive. As the Mercedes reverses, I fall behind him.
The route is short, but I curse when he makes a right into a gated community. He rolls down his window to talk with the security guard, who then nods and waves him forward as the gate opens.
I follow, slow and steady.
The pudgy guard approaches my window, blinking, as if trying to recognize me. “Good evening, sir. Do you have ID?”
I smile and hold up five crisp hundred-dollar bills.
His eyes dart left and then right. His hesitation doesn’t last long. Greed thankfully wins, and he snatches the cash from my fingers. He hurries to the booth, and seconds later, the gate opens.
I give him a salute as I roll past him and into the neighborhood of multimillion-dollar homes with manicured lawns and luxury cars in the driveways. The Mercedes is parked at the home on the end of a cul-de-sac. I park a few houses down and wait.
Time feels like it’s crawling, but when it comes to a plan, I’m a patient man.
I reread Liliya’s harassment report so many times that I have the thing memorized.
When the sun sets, I step out of the BMW and break into the doctor’s home. Julian emailed me the floor plan, so I know exactly where I’m going. I climb the stairs and head straight for his bedroom.
The door is ajar, and I let myself in. The TV plays the news in the background as I pass it. I follow the sound of the shower running and ease the bathroom door open.
The doctor is singing a shitty rendition of “We Will Rock You.”
Steam fogs the mirror and glass shower.
I waste no time before ripping open the shower door. The doctor freezes, his fingers tangled in his shampooed hair. His eyes lock onto mine, and he blinks, thinking he might be imagining me.
I step into the shower, water hitting my back and soaking my shirt. It’s roomy enough for the two of us.
“Hello, Dr. Oswald,” I greet.
He backs away, his feet slipping against the wet tiles.
I don’t bother looking down his body. My eyes are on his face. I always like to look a man in the eyes before I kill him.
I’d like to say it’s a sign of respect, but it’s not.
I just enjoy watching the life drain from their eyes.
It’s so fucking poetic.
“What the hell?” he yells, falling against the tiled wall.
His gaze slips to the shower door.
The only way he’ll make it through that door is by fighting me off.
Given his slender frame, he won’t make it far.
I pull my gun from my blazer pocket, and he cowers against the wall.
“Please,” he begs. “Whatever you want, you can have. Is it money? I’ll give you the combination to my safe in my office. Five-five-six-six.”
I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth and hold my gun out, as if inspecting it. Shaking my head, I return it to my pocket.
He slumps forward, releasing a breath of relief.
Fucking idiot.
I reach into the other pocket for my knife.
No gun for this fucker.
No quick death.
I want him to feel every moment of me taking his life.
“Why are you doing this?” he cries out, staring at the knife.
“You touched someone who didn’t belong to you.” I crowd closer, getting in his face.
He shakes his head violently. “I … I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liliya Morozova.”
Recognition dawns on his face.
Oh, yeah, the fucker did it.
“I didn’t rape her, I swear.”
“No one mentioned rape, you fucking sleazebag.”
He pales, and his foot slips. He crashes down on his knees, his body collapsing onto the hard tiles. A groan rips from his throat as I crouch down beside him. I grab a fistful of his wet hair and slam his head against the tiles.
He fights me, pleading and squirming like a pathetic fish out of water.
I bash his head against the tiles, lowly humming the lyrics to “We Will Rock You.”
He screams for help. Blood sweeps across the tiles, paling with the water. I grin, watching it swirl around the drain. I don’t stop beating his head until he’s nearly unconscious.
A gurgle releases from his throat, and he’s lost all his strength to fight.
But I’m not done with him yet.
I pull his head back again, jerking it toward me, and shove the blade to his throat. “Doctor, did you stop when she said no?”
He opens his mouth but can’t speak.
“Did you corner her like I did you in here?” I sink the tip of the blade into his neck, drawing blood. “It’s not so fucking fun, is it?”
He somehow manages to get a, “Please,” out. His body trembles, on the verge of shutting down.
“You touched what’s mine.” I slice the blade clean across his throat.
Blood sprays across my hand and along the shower floor.
His body twitches as he bleeds out. Blood gushes from his throat, and I relish his suffering. I watch the life drain from his eyes with pleasure and not an ounce of guilt. His mouth is slack, and water still beats down on his body.
When he’s good and dead, I slowly rise and rinse his blood from my hands. I step out of the shower and text Marco—one of our soldiers—to come clean up the mess.
I leave the room to find the safe and key in the combination.
It unlocks, and I grin, collecting the ten grand in cash, a Rolex, and a gold bracelet from inside.
I might not have wanted this wife, but that doesn’t mean I won’t protect her.
That I won’t kill for her.
I leave, ready to visit my new idiot brother-in-law, but Julian calls.
“Leo’s dumbass got stabbed,” he tells me. “We need a doctor.”
I might not have a doctor, but I have a nurse.