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That’s what I wanted more than anything at this point in my life. To create an environment where everyone suffered.

In the days following the aftermath of the funeral when I’d been brought to my knees, uncertain I could face another day, I’d been forced to realize that all I’d been doing was wasting time. Yes, I deserved to suffer, but not nearly as much as those who’d brought the level of pain no human should endure.

I owned Charleston. That was a simple fact. Even before my father’s retirement, I’d made a point both in business and with utilizing certain friendships to place myself in a powerful position that would carry me well into my future.

As well as my children.

I moved behind my desk.

The window of my office provided a fabulous view of the ocean and the rest of the sleepy downtown. With the majority of clients coming from other countries, it didn’t matter that Black Diamond Logistics was located in a city of less than two hundred thousand people. I’d learned from my father that living and working in a cozy environment had more positives than negatives.

Especially in the art of controlling others.

Sadly, since the fire, I’d begun to feel as if my control was slipping and not just personally or emotionally. When any single person or entity was running high, people were eager to ride on the coattails. However, when a tragedy or failure occurred, people scuttled into the shadows like cockroaches.

That’s exactly what had occurred in the days and weeks following the fire.

People were terrified of being collateral damage. Now the concerns were valid.

Sara’s tragic death hadn’t been accidental. Yet again, the assailant wouldn’t be found, the vehicle used already passing through a chop shop as I stood here.

Then there’d been the perfectly timed phone call.

My muscles tensed just thinking about Isabel’s voice.

In my callous attempt at finding answers, I’d done little more than alienate all those around me. I’d also gone through the various stages of grief, finally reaching acceptance.

They’d been gone for almost three weeks to the day and the world hadn’t stopped turning because of my anguish. Even the news cycles, which had revolved around the attack, had faded into little more than a mention on the internet.

As expected, neither the police nor anyone else had been of much help. I was no fool as to why they weren’t interested in turning over rocks.

I was Bratva and some of the people lost had been considered demons and nothing more. In fact, I’d gathered a sense of satisfaction that I’d been made to endure what I’d inflicted on others.

Fuck them.

Fuck the entire goddamn world.

I’d died inside on that day and so be it. I’d turned into a killing machine, but instead of my acts being messy, they would become cold and calculated. Since I remained uncertain of my enemy, I had full intent of making everyone around me suffer the same level of treachery and heartache.

One by one.

Anyone with any connection to the Dixie mafia had succumbed to my rage. And not one of them had provided me with a single detail.

Everything had changed that morning and in hearing Isabel’s voice.

“Someone is enjoying fucking with me,” I said almost offhandedly. I’d called the meeting because business had to go on. “I need to know where the call originated from.” I turned my attention to the head of intelligence. A title she’d created, every dollar of her salary well worth dealing with her attitude and scrutiny.

Diana made no bones about telling me when she believed I was wrong about any given situation.

“The number you gave me is attached to a burner phone. There’s very little I’ll be able to dig up on the current owner. My guess is the phone is already in the sewer system,” Diana said. She was flopped on a chair, one leg over the arm, with her laptop in her lap, her fingers flying.

I ground my teeth to the point they ached. “I need to know where the phone was listed for sale.”

She looked up from the screen while swinging her leg. “That was easy. A novelty gift store on the corner of Beach Cove Boulevard.”

Sergei noticed my expression. “That’s the street where Ms. Brighten was run down.”

My skin began to crawl at the notion.