Page 36 of Scarlet Thorns

“I don’t give two shits about the cost. Just do it.”

The line goes dead, leaving me alone with Igor’s body and the weight of what just happened. My hands are steady as I light a cigarette, but something feels different inside my chest. Hollow. Like I’ve crossed a line I didn’t know existed.

Fifteen minutes later, my cleanup crew arrives in an unmarked van. They work with professional efficiency— wrapping the body, bleaching the blood, polishing away evidence until the parking lot looks untouched. Good as new. Igor’s Mercedes disappears with them, destined for a chop shop that doesn’t ask questions.

I drive back to my office in silence, navigating Boston’s streets in what feels like slow motion. The thirty-second floor feels different when I enter— not like a sanctuary anymore, but like a monument to choices I can’t unmake.

Vodka helps take the edge off, but it doesn’t touch the cold spreading through my chest. I stand at the ceiling-height windows, watching the city sprawl below me like a circuit board of light and shadow.

I killed Igor Shiradze today.

Not really in self-defense, or in the heat of the moment, but because he pushed me past a boundary I didn’t know I had. The man who threatened my unborn child doesn’t get to keep breathing.

But for the first time in my adult life, I feel something I haven’t experienced since childhood.

Shame.

It sits in my stomach like spoiled food, making me question everything I thought I knew about myself. What kind of father kills a father? What kind of man brings this darkness into his child’s world before that child even draws breath?

I drain another shot of vodka and check my phone. No messages from Galina, no updates from Melor, no emergenciesrequiring my attention. Just silence and the weight of Igor’s blood on my hands.

Tomorrow, I’ll have to tell Stanley what happened. Tomorrow, I’ll have to restructure our entire operation around the hole Igor’s death creates. Tomorrow, I’ll have to figure out how to live with what I’ve done.

But tonight, I sit in my expensive office, drinking expensive vodka, and wondering if my unborn son will grow up to be proud of his father— or will he be terrified of him.

Chapter Fourteen

Osip

I wake with my neck twisted at an angle that would cripple a normal man.

The leather couch in my office served as my bed for exactly four hours. The city beyond my windows is already alive with morning traffic, but all I can think about is the weight of Igor’s body sliding down his Mercedes, the wet sound his final breath made.

My hands don’t shake as I pour coffee from yesterday’s pot. Cold, bitter, perfect for a man who killed his business partner just hours ago. The vodka bottle on my desk is empty— I spent the rest of the night trying to wash the taste of blood from my mouth.

It didn’t work.

I’m reviewing the financial damage Igor’s theft will cause when Stanley crashes through my door like a fucking hurricane. No knock, no greeting, just pure dramatic bullshit. His face is flushed with excitement, eyes bright with something that looks dangerously close to satisfaction.

“Shiradze is dead,” he announces, like he’s delivering Christmas morning news.

The shock on Igor’s face when I caught his wrist flashes through my mind— those final seconds when he realized his arrogance had gotten him killed. I keep my expression neutral, voice steady.

“I know.”

Stanley’s excitement falters slightly. “You know?” His voice rises to that whiny pitch that’s always annoyed me. “He owed me two million dollars, Osip. Two. Fucking. Million.”

The audacity is breathtaking. Yesterday thismudakwas accusing me of theft, and now he wants to collect debts from a corpse. I lean back in my chair, studying his face for signs of sanity.

“What exactly does this have to do with me?”

Stanley plants both hands on my mahogany desk, leaning forward with the kind of aggressive posture that would get him killed in any serious establishment. His cologne is too strong, his desperation too obvious.

“You will pay what he owed me.”

A bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it— harsh, humorless sound that echoes off my office walls. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

I stand slowly, letting my size and presence fill the space between us. Stanley tries to maintain his aggressive stance, but I can see uncertainty creeping into his eyes.