Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
The last few remaining Armenian lieutenants holding out their guns finally let them drop once it’s clear what is going to happen.
Aram doesn’t see it though. He’s focused on his son, and he’s livid with rage, a bright fury, his face turning pink then purple. “I should never have let you live, you worthless little shit,” he roars. “I should have killed you a long time ago. You were never good enough. You were never strong enough. I always knew—”
“Do it,” Arsen says.
“Gladly.”
I pull the trigger. The gun barks and Aram’s skull explodes in a shower of bone fragments and brain matter. His blood stains the men unlucky enough to be standing near him.
Aram Sarkissian falls to the ground, no longer a threat, no longer a problem, just a corpse now.
I shoot Aram one more time in the chest before looking at the assembled Armenians.
“The war’s done,” I tell them, daring any of them to disagree. “Your leader’s dead. The rest of this shit is up to you people. I don’t give a damn what you decide, but if I see any of you near Philadelphia again, I will come back, and I will burn this place to the fucking ground.”
“You think we’re going to let this go?” one of the men speaks up. He’s older, graying hair, face grizzled and scarred. “You think—”
I put a bullet in his head. Blood sprays onto the wall behind him, and he falls down to my feet. I look at the remaining Armenians.
“Anyone else?” I ask.
None of them move.
“I’ll handle it from here,” Arsen tells me. There’s already a visible shift in the group as several of the men move to his side, leaving a few others alone on the other half of the alleyway.
Battle lines drawing up.
But not my fucking problem.
“Good luck,” I tell him and walk through the crowd. I’m practically humming with joy and the rush of victory. I killed my enemy with one surgical strike, and now dozens of lives will be spared.
And I’m aware that this is in part thanks to Karine.
My beautiful, clever wife.
We join Anton at the other end of the alley and leave the Armenians in our wake.
Let them kill each other. I don’t give a fuck anymore.
Sirens blare in the distance. The restaurant’s truly on fire now. Smoke pukes into the sky and flames lick up from the roof. I walk on, away from the death and the fighting, across the parking lot toward my car.
Karine gets out and runs to me.
“I told you to stay inside,” I say, wrapping my arms around her.
“I guess I don’t always listen,” she says.
I bruise her mouth with a possessive kiss, claiming her for mine, daring anyone to complain.
Nobody does.
“Time to go,” Anton says as the sirens come closer.
“Is Arsen okay?” Karine asks once we’re driving away from that mess.
“He’s alive and his father is dead. But is he okay?” I shake my head, and I honestly don’t know how to answer.
But none of that matters to me anymore. Arsen’s in the past.
Karine’s my future.
“Whatever happens now, it’s up to him to figure out.” I take her hand and squeeze it tight as I drive away from Baltimore.
Chapter 43
Valentin
Five Months Later
I walk slowly through the garden in the back of the mansion. Winding gravel paths lead between the big, blooming flowers.
Oleg Fedorov walks with me. The old man seems diminished now, like the winter took a lot of energy out of him.
“I hear your daughter’s still on the run,” I tell him, trying not to smile as I say it. “What’s her name again? It’s funny, I was going to marry her, and now—” I gesture in the air as if she turned into a ghost.
He glares at me. “Yes, Natalya is still missing, but she’ll be back.”
“Natalya, that’s right. Well, thank your daughter for me, will you? Without her, I never would’ve married Karine.”
“I suppose you’re lucky then. I have plans for my daughter, however, and I was hoping you’d give me your approval.”
“We can discuss that another time, but I’m open to your ideas.”
He smile slightly and his expression softens. “There’s talk about your wife, you know.”
“I don’t like talk about Karine.”
“Nothing bad, don’t worry. The brigadiers are just beginning to wonder when you’re going to make an heir.”
“What, we can’t enjoy being newlyweds?”
“No, unfortunately. You’re the pakhan. That isn’t how it works for you.”
I grunt in response, although I know he’s right. The heir issue has been floating between me and Karine for a while now, and though I know she’s ready, I’m not sure I am.
Not because I don’t want to have babies with her. I want a dozen babies, a million of them. I want a family with my beautiful wife.
It’s more that things are good right now.
The Bratva has been calm ever since Aram’s death. The Armenians have been busy killing each other as Arsen wages a vicious and bloody civil war. Karine’s been nervous for her cousin, but I’m just happy that shit’s all the way down in Baltimore and far away from my beautiful wife.