Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
I’m not speaking to anyone, but Konstantine replies as if I am. “He won’t touch her. He only wants to protect her.”
There lies the issue of my jealousy.
For the first time in my life, I don’t want to saddle the white horse my brother uses to ride in and save the day. I want to straddle the beast and slay the dragon before rescuing the princess from the tower.
I want the accolades I never waited around for even after my greatest victories.
I want to be the hero of the story instead of the villain for a change.
But I can’t alter a story when not even half of it has been written.
My narrative is still in the plotting stage. There are many pages left to comb through. So as much as I want to skip to the alternative ending I never saw coming while suffering through a prologue no child should have to face, I need to give this tale the chance it deserves.
I must see it through—even if it kills me.
“Reestablish surveillance at the earliest convenience. I want eyes on Zoya twenty-four-seven.” By I, I mean I. “Make sure I am the only person who has full access to her surveillance feed. The fewer people aware she is being monitored, the less likely the feed will be infiltrated.”
Konstantine lifts his chin, his eyes never moving from his laptop screen. His inability to maintain eye contact makes sense when he asks, “And Mikhail? What do you want me to do with him?”
It takes a long time for anything, excluding death, to enter my head, and even then, the plan is indicative. “I will deal with him.”
I don’t know how or when, but I’m sure we will eventually come to a head over his inability to follow orders.
I’d just rather it be when he’s not grieving.
Even my strength struggles to reach its full potential when my head is buried in the remorse of my past, hence my lack of involvement in organizing surveillance for Zoya.
It is easier to deny your every want when it isn’t being flashed in your face.
One sniff of Zoya’s scent in her apartment and I once again wanted to backtrack on every decision I’ve ever made.
I would have if I hadn’t been called by my family’s physician minutes after tracking down the thug who mugged a woman by knifepoint before adding Zoya’s minimal belongings to his takings.
I’m needed at home.
If I weren’t, my head would already be buried back between Zoya Galdean’s legs.
My cock’s twitch of conformation is responsible for my next demand. “I want our team based out of Myasnikov until informed otherwise. What happened this morning cannot occur again.”
“Okay,” Konstantine says before he shocks me by questioning my directive. He usually never seeks confirmation of my orders. He follows them to a T, conscious of the downfall if he were to stray from them for a single second. “But can I ask why?”
“No, you can’t.”
I’m not being arrogant. I honestly don’t know why I’m suddenly mindful of Zoya’s security. I would like to blame the low-ranking gangster whose death will spread caution across the globe of the consequences of messing with her. Ethics won’t allow it.
I want to protect her as desperately as I want her to scream my name, but both tasks will be difficult to achieve if I don’t bridge the three thousand miles between us.
Chelabini was my hometown growing up, but last month was the first time I’d been there in years. I have too many skeletons there, too many ghosts.
I refuse for Myasnikov to be stained in the same manner.
“I will instruct Anoushka in the morning to start arrangements to transfer our home base. We will join you in Myasnikov at the earliest possible convenience.”
Stealing Konstantine’s chance to reply, I exit my chauffeur-driven ride seconds after it pulls to the entrance of one of my many palatial mansions. My brisk departure saves the driver from shutting down the engine, which means Konstantine can begin an immediate departure to Myasnikov.
Help flounders when they spot me coming. I’m not a kind man, and their scramble to act busy announces I am not afraid to show this.
“Andrik,” a familiar voice greets a second before she commences removing my coat.
Anoushka was the longest serving nanny to the Dokovic clan before I promoted her to my head of staff. Her title and longevity in my inner circle give her the right to call me Andrik. Only those closest to me are privileged, and they’re mindful it isn’t to be used anywhere that could have it overheard.
The remembrance announces my car’s weave through the manicured lawns of my mansion had the effect I was aiming for.
It is just Anoushka and me in the entryway of my home.
“Where is my father?”
Anoushka shakes out my coat to rid it of the sprinkles of rain I gathered during the short trek from the driveway to the main house before she hangs it in the coat room. “With Zakhar in his room.” Her smile is gentle. “Zak has been asking for you all day.” The drop in her smile softens the lines sprouting in the corners of her glistening eyes. “You were gone longer than expected.”