CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Apologies, brother,” whispered Vasily, staring at the chaos in front of the university building. He was viewing it through the cameras his men had placed around the university. Right now, he was seated comfortably in his mansion, staring out at the sea.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said one of his men.
“It’s alright. It had to be done. Although, he was the last of my siblings and the only one I trusted. I couldn’t risk him speaking to those men. Who are they? I have my suspicions but I’d like it confirmed.”
“We’re not sure,” said Peter. “My men are checking into it now. They’re obviously trained, skilled, but we’re just not sure.”
Vasily stood, pacing back and forth in front of the window. He was an old man and wanted to do this one final thing before he died. He wanted to rule the old Mother Russia like no one before him.
“The girl. The girl that we were most interested in. What was her name again?”
“Marissa Jordan, sir.”
“Jordan. Jordan,” he repeated. He looked up and out the window once again. A name that had haunted him for decades. In another time, another country, a lifetime ago, a man named Jordan had taken the life of his only son. Could this be possible?
“Sir?”
“Bring me the folder on my son.”
The man nodded, leaving his boss alone and returning a short while later with a massive, thick folder. He gently set the papers on his desk and turned to leave.
“Peter? Make sure that I’m not disturbed but send in some food for me,” he requested with great courtesy.
“Of course, sir.”
Left alone, Vasily combed through the folder of his sons’ death. He was working another part of their family business. A risky part. Drugs and the trafficking of women. It was dirty business but highly profitable. Peter didn’t know he was being watched and made a crucial mistake.
He thought he could take on the three men that day. He had no idea what he was doing. Photos of the murderer were sent to him by his beloved, now dead brother, and he began his search.
Unfortunately, the men seemed untouchable and he was never able to find them.
Not one of them. But Jordan seemed such a common name.
It never dawned on him when the woman’s last name was the same.
Then the man staring straight into the camera after the shots rang out for his brother, struck a chord with him.
He looked identical to the father, or perhaps it was the grandfather that took Alexei’s life.
“No matter,” he whispered to himself. “I’ll kill them all.”
Peter came in with a tray of food, including two bowls of the best caviar available. Vasily nodded at him as he left the room. It was hours later when Peter returned, taking the empty tray from his desk.
“Sir? We have some news about the men that took your brother.”
“And?” he asked anxiously.
“They are a problem.”