No matter.
Soon the bastard will be dead, and I will be free. Justice for my mother and brother will be served, and I can rush home to bury my cock in my wife’s tight cunt.
“What are we going to do about Archer?” Dima asks. “He’s here in the city. Could be coincidence, but I’m thinking we aren’t the only ones who know about Kirill’s dirty laundry.”
Jonathon Archer.
AKA Ivan Tkachenko, my cousin.
Who I thought to be my brother before Mark hit me with Kirill’s true parentage. I wince at the implication. It means that Roman is not my cousin by blood. Kasyanov is the surname of the man I knew as my uncle. There were only a handful of times I’d seen him before Kirill kicked me to the curb. It wasn’t until I began fighting in the underground that we reconnected.
It was a weary connection, full of distrust and then later filled with disgust when Roman came begging for me to take him in. I was working for Tomas by then as his enforcer. My uncle didn’t want an Italian, Russian hybrid for son. Said his Italian side would make him too soft.
Now he is one of my most ruthless killers.
If his father wasn’t already dead, I would have brought him along to do the honors.
“We might be able to use him,” I surmise as I lean back more comfortably in my seat, crossing an ankle over my knee. “If Kirill really is cheating Andrei of money, he isn’t going to take it lightly. There’s a chance we could use Ivan’s connection to his father while exploiting mine.”
“You gonna tell him you’re related?”
I blow out an amused breath. “I’m pretty sure he already knows from his research. There is no way he would have missed it.”
“True, but looking back, nothing he’s done makes sense,” Dima contemplates as he too gets comfortable. We are landing soon. “He takes on the guise of a deceased FBI agent for years and never once goes after you. Then he suddenly teams up with the Wards? For what?”
“He wanted to use Ava to get the video.” The statement isn’t as confident as I want it to be. “Frame me for Elias’s murder.”
Dima shoots me a skeptical look.
“Really?” he questions. “Because from where I’m sitting, that makes no sense. Christian’s betrayal of his father was spontaneous. He didn’t plan it out. Not to mention, he had Mark involved long before he solicited Ava. Using her was just an excuse. He didn’t need to. He wanted to. Everything he had Ava do, wasn’t necessary. Mark could have easily slipped him that information via a secure server without any of us being the wiser. He chose to use her. The question is—why?”
I reflect on what he says as Stephanie’s broken voice announces that we are descending into London. I stare out the window, a sneer painting my lips at the sight of the city below me. London is a cesspool of the worst crime families. Boys playing at men. They are reckless here and most ofthe underground is run by dirty corporations instead of blue-blooded mafia families.
Despicable.
George lands the plane with the same finesse as always, the jolt barely detectable as we hit the runway and coast toward the hangar. When he powers down the engines and Stephanie releases the staircase, we are off like a shot in the Ferrari F12 Berlinetta I procured several years ago when I was still traveling back and forth from this hellhole.
The Ferrari weaves through London traffic, handling like a wet dream. I think about having it shipped to the states just so I can fuck Ava in it. The machine has power and I customized the interior from Ferrari’s standard nude leather to black, adding in hand stitched red thread to compliment the exterior.
This Ferrari isn’t just built for speed, it was made to be street legal until the city limits fade away and you can let loose. I bought it for the aerodynamic design. The engineers structured the car so well that air seems to slip right down the flanks of the car making for smoother turns and transitions.
The yellow coated attendants outside the car whistle as we pull up to the valet of the Savoy hotel. A place, I am told, where Guccio Gucci once worked as a baggage porter. I toss my keys to the one attendant who isn’t vying to get to my car and hand him a two-hundred-dollar tip.
“Not a scratch,” I threaten. “Or I break fingers.”
The boy audibly gulps, his carotid visibly pulsing as he swallows hard and nods emphatically. I pat his cheek and then make my way through the hotel doors with my bag in hand.
“Welcome.” The woman at the front desk smiles broadly at us, her eyes shining as she takes in our expensive suits and polished demeanor. “Can I get your name for the reservation?”
“Pavel Kasyanov.” I give her my dead uncle’s name. Using my own means showing my hand and I’m not ready for that. Not yet.
“Oh yes,” The woman’s smile brightens even further. “You’re in our River View Suite. Here are your cards.” She hands me the small envelope containing our room keys. “I can show you to your room if you like.”
Jesus.
The woman’s eyes are hooded, pupils blown open with lust as she gazes up at me from underneath her lashes. It is bold and brazen. At one point I would have taken up her offer and brought her up, fucked her, then dismissed her. But not anymore. The only woman who makes my cock twitch is currently mourning my death on the other side of the world.
“Well…” Dima smirks and moves to push past me, but I am not having it.
