Page 100 of Black Ledger

Xeniya Morozova

Age 35

Present

Idecided to let them think they had trapped me. Let them think they had won before I took everything from them.

Severin was a hunter, but to me he was just prey, and it was time to strike.

The wind howled outside, and its whistle set an ominous tone. Artificial light streamed through the warehouse windows, along with the cascading light of the full moon. Beeping from cranes and trucks sounded at a constant tempo outside.

The docks never slept. Especially not the Bratva’s docks. Kaz was efficient. There was a reason his empire rivaled Severin’s. But ultimately, it all belonged to the Brotherhood.

Inside, pallets of packages stretched in uneven stacks. Some boxes were massive, while others were the size of a music box. This was one of their legitimate warehouses stocked with low-priority cargo. Miroslav had been assigned here on purpose. It was the kind of place they could afford to lose in a gunfight, or worse, and considering that I might have soaked it in lighter fluid, it was a smart call on Kazimir’s part.

I wanted to leave an explosive imprint on Severin’s kingdom.

What could I say? I’d gotten far more dramatic with age.

I waited, tapping my fingers on a box, invisible in the shadows. It wasn’t 11:11 p.m. yet, and I didn’t want to ruin our tradition. After all, I had visited Miroslav every third Thursday for the last year.

It wouldn’t be kind to disappoint him. A girl was committed to her torments.

Yes, I probably should have stayed away. Severin was setting his trap for me. He’d discovered my pattern and was hiding in the shadows like a tiger readying to pounce.

I knew it all, yet I couldn’t stay away.

I was a curious little cat.

And it was time for Severin and the Fury to meet face to face. Time for our first official showdown.

Nerves tangled in my stomach. My lungs clenched tight, and anticipation made acid lick the lining of my esophagus. It was infuriating.

You’d think being dead would stop all of these body sensations… but if anything, it only heightened them. They were so fucking annoying because I never faltered—never felt hesitant. I was a vengeful spirit, and no man could ever hurt me again.

And yet…

Severin Volkov broke every single one of my rules.

He’d always had.

And probably always would.

A black trench-coat dress clung to my curves. It had a slit that ran all the way to my upper thigh, showing off my toned legs and nearly giving a glimpse of my red lace underwear. I didn’t wear an undershirt, so the coat dipped low over my chest, exposing my lace bra and all of my cleavage. I topped the look off with sky-high stilettos. The heels were sharp metal knives with a cap on the end to help me balance. Last but not least—and only because I didn’t want Severin to see my face yet—I wore a hat with a thick black lace veil obscuring my features.

My hair was styled in loose silver waves. I didn’t bother to dye it for this—not that dye held in my hair. At most, it stayed for seven days. My hair always turned back silver anyway. It was useless to fight it.

Part of being a Fury, I guessed.

At 11:10 p.m., I walked slowly toward Miroslav, my heels clinking with every step. Shadows clung to my body as I made my way closer and closer to my target.

The clocks I’d placed throughout the warehouse chimed, and the cuckoo birds sprang from their nests and sang their alarms. And at exactly 11:11 p.m., I appeared in front of him like a ghost, my body solidifying inches from his.

Because I was indeed an actual ghost—well, not a ghost per se; I was a Fury. A vengeful spirit back from the dead, seeking justice.

“Hello, Mirko. Miss me?” My voice was a haunting song. “I’ve missed you.”

And without preamble or warning, I kicked him in the balls. He crumpled to the ground in front of me, a pathetic, weak man.