I look down at Alexei.
His eyes are open. Empty. Staring at nothing.
His throat is?—
The haze that had taken over me falls away, and it's like someone slams me into a cold bath.
I scramble backward, off his body, still holding the letter opener just in case he magically awakens.
I'm honestly not sure if I'm hallucinating or not.
I try to stand. My legs won't hold me, and I collapse against the wall breathing heavily.
The adrenaline is fading. I'm shaking. Weak. I haven't eaten in days and I just?—
I just stabbed a man to death.
I hold my breath and wait. My mind races, but with the fog lifted, I know I need to be quiet.
Still.
There's no noise. Alexei isn't breathing. He's deader than a fucking doornail, but he's not what I'm afraid of. I grip the letter opener and wait.
Footsteps in the hall get closer, and my heart stops as I hear a knock on the door.
"Boss? You need anything?"
I freeze. Letter opener still in hand.
Another knock. "Boss?"
I hold my breath. Don't move. Don't breathe.
Finally: "Must be busy. Told me not to disturb him anyway."
I wait. Count to one hundred in my head. Then two hundred.
Nothing.
No alarms. No shouting. No one else coming.
I look at the clock. How long has it been? I check my phone with shaking, blood-slicked hands. I can barely grip it as I try to slide it on, so it's unlocked.
Shit. Fifteen minutes since?—
It's just me and Alexei's body. Blood is everywhere. It's pooling underneath him, and I'm surprised that there is so much of it.
His face is frozen in fear and surprise, and I can see the tendons and muscle of his throat. The sight of it makes me gag, and yet...I'm darkly impressed with myself.
He never stood a chance. He never saw me coming. So many men died at his hands, and yet, I bested him. Without even thinking about it or trying.
I killed him.
I killed Alexei Morozov.
The Pakhan of the Russian Bratva.
In his own club.
