Chapter Five
Jarek
A week later, the luxurious estate of Gregor Polov, Lakeshore Drive NW, Berkeley Lake, Georgia...
Jarek relished the crisp autumn air as they approached the Polov estate. Its grandeur, which was once intimidating, now struck him as merely pretentious. The sprawling Georgian mansion with its manicured lawns had lost its power over him. Today, he held all the cards.
“Ready?” he asked Declan, whose features were artfully disguised beneath a prosthetic mask. Although Jarek wasn’t wearing one, he had insisted Declan did to keep him protected from Polov.
His underboss nodded. The artificial skin crinkled in an almost natural way.
Not bothering to knock or be announced, Jarek pushed open the door and walked through the marble hallways to Gregor’s den, the wood-paneled sanctuary he favored, overlooking Berkeley Lake. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the water like a living painting. Beyond the glass, red-winged blackbirds darted between cattails, their distinct calls piercing the morning quiet. The man sure liked to live large. Jarek grimaced. So did he, but at least he didn’t do it with blood money. Corrupt money, yes, but his hands were clean of death, and he could sleep at night.
Elizabeth and Gregor sat in matching wingback chairs, talking animatedly. They were the picture of refined domesticity, which nearly made Jarek laugh at the charade.
“What the fuck are you doing here and where is Tatiana?” Gregor’s voice erupted as he noticed Jarek crossing the threshold. The old man’s Russian accent thickened with rage, and his baritone echoed against the walnut panels. It was a voice that had ordered countless deaths and was commanding even in his dotage, albeit scratched with whiskey and cigars. “What have you done with my granddaughter?”
Jarek savored the moment, letting the question hang in the air as he settled into an armchair uninvited. Sunlight streamed across the Persian rug between them, illuminating dust motes that danced in the charged atmosphere.
“My wife is exactly where one would expect her to be... in Boston at her new home.”
He watched Elizabeth’s face drain of color as her teacup rattled against its saucer. The mask of the socialite cracked, revealing raw maternal concern for her granddaughter. Despite her complicity in Gregor’s empire of blood and corruption, Jarek noticed that her love for Tatiana blazed authentic and unrestrained across her features. It reminded him of his mother—how she had cradled photos of Emma, tracing her granddaughter’s face through tears. How she had wasted away after the massacre, and her heart fractured more with each passing day until it simply stopped. Six months after he had lost Emma and Lisbet, his mother followed, leaving him utterly alone in a world suddenly devoid of warmth or purpose.
The memory sharpened his words.
“You’ll have to excuse my grandfather-in-law. He doesn’t have the decorum of a gentleman,” Jarek announced loudly, gesturing toward Declan. “Let me introduce you. This is Gregor Polov and his wife, Elizabeth. Fam, this is my underboss.”
Gregor’s eyes narrowed as they flicked between the two men. The old Pakhan might be in his seventies, but his mind remained razor sharp. “Does he have a name?” The question came with a calculating gleam that Jarek recognized instantly. It was the look of a predator assessing potential prey and cataloging weaknesses.
“He is known as The Sheriff,” Jarek replied smoothly as he noted how Gregor’s gaze lingered on Declan’s face as if he was trying to peer through the artful disguise.
The hunger for information was palpable—Gregor was fishing, hoping to identify this new player. If he succeeded, Declan would either end up dead or become an unwitting entry point into the Somerville Irish Mafia. Jarek had seen it before—how Gregor infiltrated rival organizations, turning their strengths against them before destroying them completely.
Not this time. This time, Jarek was the one pulling the strings of destruction.
“Is she well?” Elizabeth interjected with a pleading look in her eyes.
“I would’ve thought you’ve been talking by phone since we left?” Jarek raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t put any restrictions on Tatiana’s movements or who she talked to. She had no knowledge of the locations or anyone associated with the Somerville operations, so nothing she said or did would put the organization, or him, in danger with the Feds or the police.
“She’s not responding to my messages, and she doesn’t answer when I call,” Elizabeth admitted with a dejected look. “It’s not like her. She would never ignore me.”
“I must say, your reaction surprises me, Elizabeth,” Jarek continued, crossing one leg over the other in deliberate relaxation. “So selfish and demanding without a thought for her and how she feels, and here I believed you’d be pleased that Tatiana is such a successful and talented businesswoman. She’s already transforming the new Boston headquarters.”
Elizabeth’s knuckles whitened around her teacup. “When can I see her?”
“When she wishes to see you.” Jarek dropped the statement like a guillotine blade.
“This was not our arrangement,” Gregor growled as he finally abandoned pretense. “You said—”
“I said I married her to clear your debt. And I have.” Jarek leaned forward and leaned his elbows on his knees. “The terms of our agreement are still in the process of being met. What happens between a husband and wife is their business alone.”
The lake beyond the windows shimmered, indifferent to the human drama unfolding. A pair of mallards skimmed across its surface, their wake spreading in perfect symmetry.
“You cannot keep her from her family,” Elizabeth’s voice cracked.
“Oh?” Jarek’s eyebrows rose. “The same family who shielded her from knowing her grandfather orchestrated the slaughter of innocent people? The same family who dripped poison in her ear about how her parents abandoned her when, in truth, they were trying to escape your husband’s brutality?”
Elizabeth flinched. Even now, decades later, the mention of her child’s escape wounded her. It confirmed what Jarek had long suspected—Elizabeth had genuinely loved her son, perhaps had even helped him flee, only to watch Gregor destroy him in the process.
“Tatiana isn’t as forgiving as you would like,” Jarek continued mercilessly. “Knowing the roles you played in her beloved uncle’s death and your lies about the kind of organization you ran... all of it.”
The hollowness that had carved itself into Jarek’s chest after losing everyone he loved vibrated with savage satisfaction. He had spent two decades drowning in that emptiness while transforming into the perfect dark weapon of revenge.
“Boston?” Gregor stood up so abruptly, the teacup crashed to the floor. “What are you saying?” Gregor straightened in the chair as Jarek’s earlier statement registered. “That she closed the Atlanta operation?”
“No, it’s still operational but only as a branch. Not to worry, I have put measures in place to prevent you from underhanded schemes using her fleet.” He smiled at Gregor’s expression.
“You will bring her home. Now.”
“Or what?” Jarek didn’t move. He didn’t even blink at the glaring threat in Gregor’s eyes. “You’ll kill me like you killed Nikolai? Like you killed Barto Petrov or my family in the street? I welcome the attempt.” A cold smile sliced across his features that transformed his handsome face into the purposive display of a wolf showing just enough fang to remind them who now controlled the hunt.
“But here’s a fair warning—if anything happens to me, documents detailing your organization’s structure, accounts, and alliances will find their way to Federal authorities. Tatiana added an addendum to that effect herself to our marriage contract.”
It was a lie but a convincing one. Gregor’s face contorted with rage but was underscored with a more satisfying look of helplessness.
“This isn’t over.”
“On the contrary.” Jarek rose smoothly. “It’s been over for almost twenty years. You just didn’t know.”
He nodded to Declan, who hadn’t spoken a word throughout the exchange. His purpose had been solely to unsettle Gregor as a standing witness to his embarrassment. It worked like a charm.
“Word on the street,” Jarek’s voice dropped to a velvet-soft murmur that sliced through the tension in the room, “is that you’ve placed a rather substantial price on my head.”
He leaned forward in a movement that was deliberately predatory. The smile he flashed was with all his teeth—like a shark scenting blood in the water.
“If you want to play that game, I’m salivating for it. But understand this,”—his words carved the air between them—“before I permit your final breath to leave your body, I will systematically dismantle everything you’ve built. You will end your days as nothing but bone and sinew, crawling through filth, begging for scraps like the vermin you truly are.”
His eyes burned with cold intensity. When he spoke again, each syllable dripped with the promise of marked devastation.
“Cancel that hit, Polov,” he whispered, the softness more terrifying than if he had shouted them out loud. “Or I begin tightening the noose. And I won’t stop until I’ve watched you choke on your own desperate gasps for mercy. Your empire? I’ll reduce it to ashes within weeks. Your reputation? Dust. Your legacy? Erased as if it never existed.”
He straightened and adjusted his cuffs with deliberate care.
“Consider carefully if aggravating me further is worth the exquisite suffering I’m positively aching to inflict upon you, which I have paused only because of Tatiana. Make the decision, Polov. The clock is ticking.”
As they turned to leave, Jarek stopped at the threshold, looking back at Elizabeth’s crumpled expression.
“She asked me to tell you something, Babushka Elizabeth.” He delivered the lie with perfect sincerity. “She said she understands why you never protected her parents... that fear makes cowards of us all.”
The wound landed precisely. Tears flowed freely over Elizabeth’s porcelain-like cheeks. As he strode down the hallway, the birds continued their morning chorus, oblivious to the human heart breaking inside the mansion’s walls.
Jarek
L akeshore Drive NW , Berkeley Lake, Georgia...
The drive away from the Polov estate twisted through dense woods before emerging onto the main highway. Jarek sat in the driver’s seat of the black SUV. His posture was relaxed, but his energy crackled with wolfish satisfaction. He watched the mansion shrink in the rear window while savoring the taste of victory like fine whiskey on his tongue.
“Fuck, Boss. I love watching you in action.” Declan peeled away the prosthetic mask with practiced fingers, wincing as the adhesive pulled at his skin. “That Russian mobster quivered in his boots. I could even see him checking his response right at the end.”
Jarek’s lips curved into a razor-sharp smile. “And Elizabeth’s face when I delivered the supposed message from Tatiana? The woman nearly collapsed.”
He loosened his tie as he pressed back against the leather seat. The confrontation had gone precisely as planned—better, even. Gregor’s impotent rage and Elizabeth’s devastation were additional delicate sips of the revenge he’d been crafting for a decade.
“If he knows what’s good for him, that fucking hit had better be canceled by the time we arrive in Boston.” Jarek’s voice remained conversational, as though they were discussing the weather rather than murder contracts.
Declan tossed the mask into a specialized case and ran his fingers through his flattened hair in a familiar move. He glanced sideways at Jarek.
“And if it’s not?”
“Then it’s time to pull the plug on his association with the Sicilian Mafia.” The idea sparked a surge of anticipation through Jarek’s veins. “He’s been cherishing that alliance for the past thirty years. It would give me the greatest pleasure to yank that fucking magic carpet from under his feet.”
“Fucking A, Boss.” Declan cheered with excitement lighting his eyes. “We should do it whether he cancels that hit or not.”
“Yeah... it’s not off the table, Declan.” Jarek stared out the window as he watched the Georgia countryside blur past. “If Polov thinks his debt is paid in full with the white, delicate flesh of his granddaughter, he’s in for a surprise.”
The words left his mouth before he recognized the hot, visceral rage behind them. The sudden fury blindsided him. Not in a calculated and cold way like his usual anger, but raw and bleeding. His jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
That the old bastard believed Tatiana was truly traded like currency—his own blood, his son’s child—sparked a revulsion in Jarek he hadn’t anticipated. Accepting Jarek’s casual bartering of her life, her body, and her future, as though she was nothing more than collateral damage in men’s games of power, was despicable.
It mirrored too closely what had happened to Lisbet and Emma.
His hands curled into fists, and his knuckles whitened as he tightened them. He had married Tatiana to destroy Gregor and had meticulously planned to use her as a weapon against her grandfather—yet Gregor’s willingness to sacrifice her burned like acid in his chest. The hypocrisy of his own reaction wasn’t lost on him. He had maneuvered her into position with the same cold reckoning, yet at the same time, he couldn’t stomach Gregor’s cavalier disregard for her humanity.
What the hell was happening to him? This wasn’t part of the plan. Tatiana was a means to an end. The perfect instrument to weaken Gregor to affect his complete destruction. Nothing more.
Declan frowned as he watched him closely and noticed his sudden tenseness. “Boss?”
Jarek unclenched his jaw with deliberate effort and smoothed out the tension in his shoulders. He couldn’t afford complications, especially not ones stemming from his own conflicted reactions. The path forward required surgical precision, not emotional entanglements.
“The old man thinks the ledger is balanced,” Jarek’s voice steadied into its usual controlled cadence. “That handing over Tatiana cancels out the blood debt he owes me. As if one life—even hers—could ever equal what he took.” He straightened his cuffs in a gesture that helped him refocus.
“I’m not done, Declan. He’s just too blasé about Tatiana paying his debt. He’s not feeling the pain I wanted him to, so I’m going to take everything from him. His business. His reputation. His legacy. Leaving him with his entire family hating him. And when he’s standing in ruins, with nothing left but the knowledge of how completely he has been destroyed—only then will I let him die.”
The rush of purpose washed away the unwanted confusion. This was the path he had originally chosen twenty years ago as he was kneeling in the ruins of his life. There was no room for doubt, for misplaced empathy, for second thoughts about Tatiana’s role in it all.
“Let me make one thing clear.” Jarek’s expression hardened back into the mask of the feared Dark One he had become. “I realize now that Polov’s debt won’t be paid until I personally close his eyes for the last time. I plan to make him suffer extensively before granting him that mercy.”
He accelerated as he glanced in the rearview mirror. The Polov estate disappeared as the road carved around a bend.
The second domino had toppled in what would soon become a cascade of destruction.