Page 34 of Deadly Knight

The car turns left and disappears from sight.

And that’s it.

Katya’s gone.

And like her childhood home across the street, I, too, am empty. Also now owned by another person; an organization, in my case.

Another car’s driving up the road, destroying the ghostly memory of the taxi, and I step away from the curb. Instead of continuing by, the sleek black car rolls to a stop in front of me, now recognizable. I’m aware the blackout windows are bulletproof and the backseat is a rich, white leather that reeks of cigar smoke and cognac.

And that its passenger will roll down the back window, and I’ll be met with the leering sneer of my father even before he does precisely that.

“You really are pathetic.”

“What are you doing here?” I step closer to the car.

“Checking on you. Must be a difficult day.” His lips form a fake frown, feigning any apologetic feeling. “Hard to lose someone the way you did.”

By my sides, my fingers press into my thighs before I reach over and snatch his neck in my grip. One day, but not right now, that fantasywillbe a reality.

“Just fucking go.”

“Syn,”he croons in a low tone, his head turning to look at Katya’s empty home. “Nice real estate investment. Whatever are your plans with it?”

Imagining strangers moving into that place, invadingherhome, disgusted me. So I bought it by paying more money than her parents were asking for. If I can’t be with Katya in Canada, I’ll damn sure help her and her family any way I can.

I’m almost positive Katya’s father figured out I was the buyer, simply by the overpayment on a house with little inquiry, buthe never reached out to ask, and I never admitted. Either way, Katya can have the future she wants. What I paid would alone cover her tuition, living expenses, and set her parents up in a new house.

“None of your business. I purchased it with my own money.”

“Hm.” Papa props his chin up on his hand, finger tapping slowly against his cheek. “Word on the street is you’ve been asking around for the names of the men I hired.”

“Da.”No point in denying it. Iwanthim to know what his actions have done. “You buried your tracks well, but I’ll eventually find them.”

“Don’t bother.” Papa reaches a hand out the window and flicks a small piece of paper towards me. Gravity drops it to the cement between the car’s wheel and my feet. We both watch it land, and Papa commands, “Pick it up. Trust me.”

I’ll never trust you.But I do lower into a crouch, retrieving the folded-up square. Eyes on him, I unfold it, only glancing down when the paper’s fully spread.

It’s a list of four names.

“Here.” Papa tosses something else at me, and I scramble to catch it in time before the gold-encased pen lands on the ground. It’s engraved with his name, and I recognize it to be one of many he carries around. “So you can cross off the names as you go.”

“What are you playing at?” Why, after everything, would he help by handing over the names of the men he hired?

Papa’s lips curl up at the edges in a malicious grin. “I want my son back. I want an heir worthy of the Bratva. A soldier to be proud of. I’m not interested in watching you chase your tail to figure out who they are when your energy could be so much better spent on killing them. I told you why I did what I did, and you respondedexactlyas I expected you to. With passion. Determination.” He flicks his chin towards the paper in my hand. “Make me proud, Dimitri.”

Then he presses the button on his door, replacing the black-tinted window between us, and the car begins its slow drive away.

I watch until it disappears over the slight bend in the road and turns from sight before skimming over the four names he’d written.

Artur Blok.

Danil Andronikov.

Georgiy Yolkiv.

Maxim Klimtsov.

With the fancy, gold pen Papa cherishes, I scribble one more name beneath the fourth, vowing to make that death the most painful.