Page 53

The Omniscient

A low hum crackles over the line, distorted for the first few seconds before the voice cuts through, smooth, deeply accented, and controlled.

“How have you been holding up?”

The man on the other end of the line exhales sharply, tension woven into his breath. He’s sitting on a chair in a dimly lit room, a glass of vodka half empty beside him, and a cigarette nearly burnt-out latched between his fingers.

“It’s been a nightmare,” he admits, his voice intentionally low. “He’s been restless, of course. You know, running himself into the ground just to keep things from crumbling. He’s been making numerous calls, reaching out to allies, traveling across countries just to reinforce his standing.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette, his eyes narrowed as he sniffles. “He knows the ledger isn’t just gone. It’s a threat. If it ends up in the wrong hands, which of course, it currently is, he’s done for.”

A soft, satisfactory chuckle drifts through the receiver. “And in all this chaos, the bastard still had time to pursue matrimony?” It’s more of a rhetorical question, so the man at the other end doesn’t reply. “Anyway, let him continue to run. Let him break his back while doing so. His power is already slipping through his fingers.”

The mole swallows hard. “He has been tightening security though. You know he’s a psychopath from the very beginning. Killing at whim. Now anyone who breathes wrong around him gets a bullet to the head or a dagger to the throat. He doesn’t trust anyone anymore. And his violence has gotten worse ever since Abbey Markov showed up without the ledger and without a confession.” The mole’s voice lowers as he glances around, even though he knows no one is even a mile close to where he currently is. “And I think he knows there’s someone else. Using Abbey Makov as bait didn’t divert his attention from the inner circle. He’s a smart man. He knows Abbey isn’t the only one. There’s someone else within his Bratva.”

“If he hasn’t found you, then he isn’t as smart as you give him credit for, Soldier.” The man’s voice is smooth, pleased, even. “You’ve done well. Keep doing what you have been doing. Help him look for the ledger. Feed his paranoia. Make him continue to chase his own tail. This ledger has come second to our weapon now. We’ve found a faster and ultimate weapon to end him without a trace, remember?”

At the last comment, the mole nods in recognition, a knowing smile lifting the corners of his lips. “Yes.”

“Tell me about her,” the man says. “How has her matrimony been treating her? And our little note? Any reaction yet?”

There’s a short silence as the mole drags in the last of his worn-out cigarette.

“She hasn’t reacted yet.” He throws the remains of the cigarette on the floor, his boot stepping over it, killing the last of the flame.

The man hums in interest. “Really?”

“Yes,” the mole clarifies, lifting the glass of vodka to his lips. “She has seen it. I know she did. I made sure I left it in a place she couldn’t miss. But she hasn’t reacted publicly. She’s always inside that room, anyway, only coming down to the garden in the evening and then dining for breakfast and dinner.” A gentle thud echoes as the mole slams the glass on the table. “It’s like she’s pretending it doesn’t exist.”

“Patience,” the man assures. “Human minds are very fickle. Keep tugging, soon she’ll make the mistake of trusting the person behind the notes, soon she’ll break, and soon, she’ll help us take down the mighty tree that has been tormenting us for years.”

The mole rubs at his temple, uncertain. “You really think that girl can do this? She’s quite weak, mouthy but I don’t think she’s capable.”

“He’s crazy about her,” the man points out. “Perhaps not love, but he’s definitely obsessed with her in a way. That his fixation on her is what we need, that little weakness reserved for only her.”

There’s a short silence.

“Soldier,” the man calls.

“Sir?”

“Raidon Volkov doesn’t belong on that throne,” the man says, his voice leveled with hidden sentiment. “I can not ascend the throne. Unfortunately, I do not have children that can. But I will not allow that Japanese boy to keep dragging us around like we’re his cattle. If we can’t kill him, I need him stripped of his powers. I need him sent back to where Eugene Volkov found him. He doesn’t belong to us. We never accepted him. He stole our throne.”

“He’ll go down, boss.” The mole assures with a new sense of determination. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Good.” A hint of amusement laces the man’s tone.

The call ends with a soft click.

The mole exhales, setting down the phone. He hunches over his lap, his arms propped on it, face buried in his palms. The room suddenly feels so cold, colder than it was before.