Page 11

Raidon

T he soft blue glow of Raidon’s phone screen briefly illuminates the dark room.

A message has dropped.

Veronica: Do you think Rhistel is gonna die?

He sighs, slipping a bookmark between the pages of the book left open on his lap. Snapping the book shut, he lifts his phone into his hand, letting his finger hover over the message bar.

It’s 2: 00 AM. He should be asleep or, better yet, doing something reasonable with his time. Instead, there is a copy of Wings of Flame and the Dawn of Anarchy, in his hands.

The buddy-reading idea has ended up becoming a ritual—one he didn’t quite anticipate taking so seriously. Yet, here they are, deep into their third book together. And as much as he wants to complain about her obvious disregard for time zones and the simple human need for rest, he never does. Because despite himself, he likes this.

Her messages keep dropping.

Veronica: I swear if he dies I’ll be so mad. He is literally the only reasonable character in this book.

Veronica : Well, him and Lord Khirron, but after his dragon died, that man has been making bad and annoying decisions.

Raidon watches, waiting.

She always does this—ramble through text messages like she is thinking out loud, dumping all her frustration onto him in real time. And he will wait. Patiently. Silently. Devotedly. He never really had a problem with waiting. In fact, he has become obsessed with it.

Somewhere along the way, waiting for her messages has turned into some sort of addiction. Every time her name appears on his screen, something unnamed always shifts inside him.

It has been two weeks since they last saw each other in person. A time length too short for two strangers to become so close. But it’s like that innocent coffee date changed something—marked the beginning of whatever is happening between them.

It has just been fourteen days, but it feels like somehow she has carved herself into the marrow of his bones, his existence. And it isn’t because they have spilled secrets to each other, peeled back layers of each other and laid themselves bare to one another. No. It’s because in two weeks, she has spoken to him more than anyone has in the last thirty-two years of his life.

The more her messages pop on his screen, the random memes she always sent that he never really found funny, and her silky voice piercing through the speaker of his phone, the more he sees glimpses of life beyond the one he has lived thus far. A life of color, warmth and laughter.

Raidon still hasn’t figured out what she really is. Why they met or why they are still talking. Why he has become so fixated on her. He doesn’t know what her presence in his life means. But he knows one thing for sure.

She is really beginning to shift the earth beneath his feet. But here is the scariest part. He isn’t scared at all.

His phone buzzes again.

Veronica : Okay, you can reply to my messages now.

His lips twitch, his hand lifting to adjust his glasses over his eyes. Then he types.

Raidon: If he is wearing the protective talisman the highlady of the house of breath gave him, I doubt he’ll die.

That’s a lie. Well, the author has tricked them, made them believe the talisman is a lifesaver. But it really has no significance other than to make you believe you can go to war and return unscathed.

Veronica: Do you think so? The writer kind of has this kink of killing off characters after readers have emotionally attached themselves to them.

Raidon’s fingers hover over the screen, itching to type the truth he has been afraid to tell her since they picked up this book.

Rhistel Greenwich is going to die in the next two pages.

Raidon knows this because he has read this book a couple of months ago. He only agreed to read it because she was so excited about it when she found it a few days ago.

He never really cared about happy endings. Never worried about who lived or who died. But she always does. And now he wishes the author would have written the book a bit differently.

Raidon: We could just stop reading it?

Veronica: Nah, I need to see how it ends.

A quiet exhale leaves him.

Well, he tried his best.

It is about ten minutes later when Raidon’s phone starts vibrating again with messages over and over. The weight of Veronica’s new emotional state can be felt through the echo of every chime.

Raidon sighs, knowing what it is before even checking. They are currently on the page where the dragon rider, Rhistel Greenwich, dies.

Veronica: Noooooooo

Veronica: I HATE THIS BOOK. I HATE THE AUTHOR.

Veronica: I hate everyone that said this book was a must read.

Veronica: Why would they do this to me?

Veronica: I knew it. I KNEW IT. But I still had hope, you know. I still believed and look what that got me?

Veronica: God, I’m actually in pain. Like real, raw, physical pain. I feel like I have lost a loved one.

Raidon rubs his temple, his finger hovering over the phone, waiting. He can almost hear her voice in his head, rising with frustration, laced with that quiet, dramatic intensity.

Veronica: Reply already. What the hell? I’m pouring my heart out to you, grieving and you are just sitting there reading my messages and sipping your expensive whiskey?

His lips twitch.

Raidon: I remember telling you to let us stop reading it.

Veronica: No, you didn’t. What you did was give me false hope. You told me the talisman would protect him.

Veronica: For heaven’s sake, Snow white, I trusted you. And you let me walk right into the fire.

Raidon exhales. She is so impossible.

Raidon: You said you needed to see how it ends.

Veronica: I was wrong, okay? I’m just a baby. What do I know? You are older. You should have known better. You should have stopped me.

A pause. Then another flurry of text.

Veronica: I actually need a moment to process this grief.

Veronica: No, I need a fucking decade.

Veronica: I know you don’t understand all these things, Snow white, but Rhistel deserved better.

Veronica: Lord Khirron better burn that entire kingdom down.

Veronica: Actually, no. I don’t care anymore. Let them all suffer.

Raidon drags a hand down his face. Exhaustion weaving into his bones. He just wants to lie down and rest. Yet he is here, listening to her being utterly ridiculous, allowing himself to be caught in the whirlwind of her emotions, letting them bleed into him in ways he has never let anything else.

He is starting to care a little too much. And that is dangerous, reckless. A soldier shouldn’t care too much. And most of all, the Pakhan of a powerful Bratva shouldn’t be caught in a web of emotion.

But here he is, breaking the number one rule.

Raidon: If I had any intention of reading it still, your ranting has obviously ruined it.

Veronica: Oh, please. Like you have the capacity to feel disappointment…or anything at all.

His fingers still. Something about that last text makes his chest tighten. He finds himself staring at her words, a strange sensation settling over him.

She is right, but not exactly. He actually doesn’t usually feel anything. Nothing at all. But now he is feeling a lot. Way too much. He feels in a way that it’s starting to seem like his body will shut down from the weight of it all.

His phone vibrates again.

Veronica: Are you still there? Or has my suffering bored you to sleep?

He inhales sharply, a faint tick in his jaw.

Raidon: I’m still here.

Because he is. He always is.

Veronica: I just realized it’s 2: 00 am on your end. I’m so sorry for keeping you awake.

Raidon: It’s okay.

Veronica: Do you wanna go to bed?

Does he feel like going to bed? Yes.

Will he go to bed?

Not if she is still interested in keeping the conversation going.

Raidon: I don’t know.

Veronica: Do you wanna stay awake all night with me then? We can talk about stuff.

His gaze flickers to the new set of blue light illuminating the dark room, a gentle buzz slicing through the quiet air.

It’s his other phone. Another life. One Veronica isn’t aware of.

Raidon shifts, stretching over to grab the phone from his nightstand. His thumb immediately swipes across the screen, the phone brought to his ear.

“Sokolov,” he answers, his voice low and controlled. It’s his second-in-command, Alex Sokolov.

A soft chuckle comes from the other side. “I didn’t think you’d still be awake, boss.”

Raidon glances at the other phone. Veronica’s last message is still displayed on the screen. Do you wanna stay awake all night with me, then? We can talk about stuff.

“I didn’t think so too.”

Sokolov doesn’t pry. He never does. Because he is never meant to. All he has to do is obey instructions, carry out his duty to its fullness and protect his Pakhan and the Bratva at all cost.

“We’re heading off to the dork in an hour,” Sokolov informs. “The shipment’s cleared. But I need the confirmation from the previous manifest. I need to verify the last drop before I finalize the deal with the client.”

Raidon’s fingers tighten gently around the device. His gaze drifts to the door of his room. His indoor office is all the way across the hall.

“Wasn’t it cleared the last time?” Raidon asks.

“With the Cosa Nostra, yes. The ‘Ndrangeta are still down with ten percent to clear up. The Camorra cleared the last one plus the previous one. The Luchesse is who we are meeting at the port. I can’t remember if they cleared the last one. I need you to help me confirm before we finalize the deal,” Sokolov explains. “You know they can be sketchy. Always trying to be smart.”

“Alright,” Raidon exhales tiredly. “Give me some minutes.”

“Take your time, boss.” There is a shuffle of boots against the pavement. “In the meantime, we’ll be heading to the dork.”

Raidon hangs up, pushing himself off the bed.

His other phone buzzes with a message.

Veronica: Are you ignoring me?

Raidon takes in a sharp breath.

Raidon: Sorry, something came up.

Raidon: Just give me a second, please.

Veronica: Okay.

With his other phone slipped into his pocket, Raidon walks across the room, opens the door, and goes straight into his ensuite living room.

Approaching the exit door, he pulls it open. The hallway is dark and quiet, except for the distant hum of the city beyond the forest of spruce and cedar, which his home is nestled in.

Proceeding to his office, he keys in the code, and a robotic chime sounds as the door is unlocked.

As soon as he enters, the office is filled with the scent of paper, ink, and a touch of sandalwood, rose and earth. And it’s just the way he left it; minimalist, orderly, untouched by anything that doesn’t belong or serve a purpose.

He walks across the room to the large steel safe, which is built into the wall behind a bookshelf. His fingers hover over the lock before he begins to input the codes.

A faint click echoes and the heavy door pulls open.

He freezes, eyes narrowing at the sight.

The ledger isn’t there. Just a mountain of cash in many different currencies.

He scans the safe, but it was untouched, no signs of forced entry, no misplaced items. The sequence of events suggests a simple entry, code input, ledger removal, and departure.

A slow breath escapes him, followed by a sudden, irritating buzz beneath his skin.

A deep breath, then straightening, he closes the safe, appearing unconcerned. Like there isn’t currently chaos in his head.

This ledger is everything. It holds the secret of his empire between the pages. It’s the key to make or destroy everything he has worked for years for. And now it’s just…gone?

He digs his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone.

“Boss?” Sokolov’s deep voice pierces through the speaker.

“I won’t be able to get the information across to you immediately.” Raidon walks around his desk, rummaging through drawers. Looking for clues. Any clues. “Don’t make any transaction until I call you.”

Maybe he took it out and forgot to put it back?

“Is there a problem, boss?” Sokolov asks.

“Just a little complication.” Raidon hangs up, his body lowering to his leather chair. He powers up the desktop and pulls up the footage of the CCTV camera.

He knows the last time he held that ledger. It was around 12 noon yesterday. But he remembers putting it back. Whatever happened to the ledger took place in that time period.

“Fuck.” A curse breaks out of his lips.

The footage is gone. From noon yesterday until now.

It has been deleted. Wiped clean without a trace.

And there is only one reason this kind of reckless situation could have occurred.

His manor houses a foe.

One, if not two or more of his soldiers have betrayed him.