Page 110 of Villainous Kingpin

Now that I knew she was alive and well, living her life happy and free, all the while I was burning down this world, looking for her, red haze marred my vision. The anger that she’d left me was so strong, I had to choke it down. It burned in my throat, leaving ash and acid in its wake.

I wanted to make her hurt, so she had a taste of the pain I went through for the past nine months.

“Who’s the guy next to her?” Dante asked. “It doesn’t look like her skating partner.”

“Sasha Nikolaev,” Priest answered. “You’ll see him a lot.”

My gaze darkened and Dante snickered. “Fuck, I can see we’ll have to kill him.”

He wiped a hand across his mouth in a poor attempt to hide his amusement and thrill at the challenge. Fucking Dante was all about challenges. Crazy fucker.

“You can try,” Priest retorted in a sarcastic tone, “-but more than likely you’ll fail. Sasha Nikolaev is rumored to be one of the best contracted killers for Cassio King, his gang, and the Nikolaev men. She has been under Sasha’s protection.”

“Getting sweet with a Russian, huh?” Dante egged on and I had to fight the urge to shoot him. “The irony of it all.”

I couldn’t think about Wynter and the blonde prick on the screen; otherwise, I’d put a bullet in everyone’s goddamn head.

“It’s platonic between Nikolaev and the skating star,” Priest added. It didn’t ease the fury. I grabbed a cigarette and tapped it on the table, though I wouldn’t light it.

“You have to admit, they make a striking couple,” Dante mused.

Leaning back, I rolled a cigarette between my fingers and shot Dante a look that conveyed he was close to being my dead cousin.

“They’re both too blonde,” Emory reasoned, trying to soothe my seething anger.

Priest flipped the screen and unfortunately, it switched to an image of Sasha and Wynter together in Portugal. A reporter must have snapped a picture of them jogging together. I fucking hated how good they looked. They’d have pretty, blonde babies.

Over. My. Dead. Body.

“Priest. Continue.” My voice whipped through the air as a red mist blurred my vision. It turned out my mother was right to fear I’d become a mold of my father and the Syndicate. It was exactly what happened.

I still remembered the disdainful look in her eyes as she walked away, with little Emory in her arms.

“You’ll turn into your father,”she whispered as she walked away without a backward glance. She hated me before I even had a chance to prove to her, I could be a better man.

For Wynter, I wanted to be a better man and she walked away without a backward glance too. After nine months of going mad, it turned out she was alive and well. Fucking skating.

Images of the woman that I’ve been hunting for the past nine months flashed through the screen. Gold medals. Competitions. Accomplishments. Travels. Friends.

“Freeze that,” Dante barked, straightening up in his spot. “Who’s that?”

An image of a woman with a face resembling Wynter’s stared at us. Eyes that looked empty. Face that was drawn but spoke of beauty that faded in sorrow and resignation.

“That’s her mother, Aisling Brennan,” Priest answered. “Also Wynter’s coach.”

Dante shook his head. “It can’t be,” he muttered. “She looks like-”

“Like Wynter,” I snapped, annoyed at his behavior. “I can see.”

Dante shook his head. “No, she looks like my father’s old mistress.”

We all straightened up. “What?”

“I’d remember her anywhere. She looks like my father’s old mistress. From way back, when we were kids. Her hair was black back then, but it could have been colored. Or a wig. She always hid her face behind sunglasses and her hair under her shawls.”

The four of us shared a look. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m goddamn sure,” he snapped. “And the day I saw her bring the baby. Priest. You don’t forget a woman that brought a baby to your door.”