Chapter 17
Nikolai
Present
There’s something delicious about the silence before a man begs.
It’s a silence that lives in his throat, clawing to get out, tangled between pride and raw, bleeding fear. And that’s where I prefer them—on the edge. Still hoping, but already ruined.
He’s sitting across from me now. Mr. Lowell. Knees bouncing. Wedding ring glinting under the too-bright bulb of this little backroom in the warehouse. A back room with one window, a window giving us a perfect view of his crying family.
Messy place for a man to die.
“I’ll make it right,” he chokes out, voice shaking. “It was just a slip, Nikolai. I didn’t mean—”
I hold up one hand, gesturing for him to stop.
He does. Because they always do.
I stare at him, calculating how many pieces he’d break into if I dropped him from the story above us.
“I’m not angry, Mr. Lowell. Anger is an emotion I reserve for people I respect.”
He swallows, the sound so loud in the room that it echoes.
“What I am,” I say, stepping forward slowly, “is insulted.”
I crouch in front of him, resting my elbows on my knees like I’m a friend about to offer advice.
“See, you made the mistake of thinking you were untouchable. And you made that mistake with my name in your mouth. That’s something I can’t afford.”
His lips part, ready to protest, but I cut him off.
“Don’t grovel. It’s ugly. And useless.”
I stand again, slowly rolling my sleeves. Let him wonder why. Let him sweat.
“Please don’t touch her.”
“Your wife?” I question and gesture my body towards his crying wife in the passenger’s seat of the black SUV we picked him up in.
He nods, weary, and a grin forms on my face.
He starts crying, mumbling, “No, no, no.”
Of course he thinks I’ll rape her. That’s what he would do.
I laugh. “No, no. I wouldn’t. The thought disgusts me. I don’t find pleasure in using women who aren’t begging for my cock.”
I let that land. Then lower my tone to something colder than the steel beneath our feet.
He lifts his head a fraction. Relief. Pathetic relief.
“But I would snap her neck.”
He flinches. Good.
“I’d watch her fall to the floor like a marionette with her strings cut.
And you—” I lean in. “You’d drop to your knees and say her name.
Maybe even beg her to come back. Beg her forgiveness, pretending it would change a damn thing.
” I clasp my hands together, and mock his voice, “I’m sorry, Melissa.
I shouldn’t have pissed off Nikolai. I didn’t know he’d make me watch your brutal end. ”
His whole body shudders.
“That’s what you’d say, right?”
I let the silence stretch. Then, lightly, “That’s what it feels like when I show mercy, Mr. Lowell. Like violence almost happened.”
I step back, brushing invisible dust from my lapel. “But here’s the difference between men like you and men like me—when I say I could do something, I mean I’ve already planned it. Just waiting for the excuse.”
Ivan enters behind him, quiet as always.
“His phone,” I say.
He digs into his coat, pulls out his phone, and scrolls through his messages.
“She was ours to deal with,” I say aloud, as if he needs to hear it again. “And you sold her. Cheaply.” I look at him with pity, “You’re lucky I value message over mess, Mr. Lowell. You’re going to walk out of here alive. But not untouched.”
He blinks.
Then I take a step closer. Softening my voice to a razor’s whisper, “because next time… I won’t touch your wife’s neck.” I pause, then smile, “I’ll hand her the gun and ask her which of your children she wants to shoot first.”
He pukes on the floor.
Ivan sighs and I light a cigarette before stepping over the mess.
“But I’m not going to kill you, Lowell.”
He sags. That pathetic sound men make when hope returns. It’s disgusting.
“You’re going to wire ten million. You’re going to disappear. You’ll never say my name again and you won’t speak a word.”
His lip trembles. “I swear—”
“I said not to speak,” I snap, and he flinches.
Ivan steps forward, silent as a shadow, phone in hand, holding the screen up for me to see. I take it, scrolling through Lowell’s texts until I find her name.
The girl. My girl. Not important yet. But… useful. Someone who will be very useful later.
I exhale slowly, smoke curling between us as a warning.
“Actually,” I mutter, as if he might hear mercy, “I’ve changed my mind.”
“What—”
Ivan doesn’t flinch. Just steps back as I draw my gun, place it between Lowell’s eyes, and pull the trigger before the thought fully forms in his skull.
His body crumples.
Blood spreads across the warehouse floor, and Ivan looks to me, expression blank. “Cleanup?”
“Of course.” I exhale once more, flicking ash from my coat. “But leave the ring on his finger. Let them find it. Let them know who he was. Then deal with his family.”
I step outside. The night smells of salt and oil, and I think of the girl who’s next on my list. The one who won’t expect me. The one who will test me.
And I smile.