Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Mikhail nods. “I’ll get to work, but it’ll take some time. I’ll need some cash to replenish the crypto I need to use.”
“For what?”
“Services,” Mikhail says. “Paying hackers. Maybe a bribe or two. In the meantime, don’t you have some planning to do?”
“Planning?”
“There are wedding bells in the air…”
I stand up, shaking my head. “I’ve always admired that about you—how you can joke, laugh away serious matters, but not this, Mikhail. This… this marriage isn’t funny, okay?”
Mikhail leans back, narrowing his eyes as he looks up at me. “Sure, Dimitri,” he says in a searching tone.
I turn away, leaving the room. The end of my days belongs to me. After the business and the stress, I give myself the freedom to change into my workout gear and lock the door to the private gym. As I warm up on the treadmill, I can’t stop thinking of Lia.
With everything going on—my father is dead, the Sokolovs and the city are under threat—I still see Lia’s messy bun, the pencil in her hair, the fear in her eyes. I still feel the need to help her.
But tomorrow, my wife-to-be is to arrive. I have to remember who I am. I’m not my own man, with my own desires. I am now the Sokolov Pakhan and the CEO of one of the most successful tech companies in the world. In the end, I stop trying not to think of Lia, though. She won’t leave my mind.
Midway through the workout, an idea occurs to me while my muscles are straining, sweat coats my entire body, and my clothes are sticking to my skin. It’s not something I should entertain. I’ve got so much else I should be thinking about.
Yet I know I can do it once the sun sets and the world is quiet. What’s stopping me? I can get her address from the work database. I can’t be with Lia. I can’t kiss her. I can’t own her curvy, thick, perfect body.
Maybe, though, I can help her. Just this once.
CHAPTER 4
DAHLIA
Iwake with a headache, staring at the crack in the ceiling. Sometimes, I think it will cave in, and the apartment above will crush me. Once, I spoke to my landlord about the sagging, cracked ceiling, and he just looked at me like I was insane.
I’m sure the headache comes from my lack of sleep last night. After speaking with Dimitri, it was like everything else was dark and gloomy in comparison, as though our conversation was a single light color in a painting of gray.
Going into the bathroom, I take a quick, cold shower since the hot water is busted, then quickly towel myself off and get dressed. Luckily, it’s been a warm summer so far. I’m not looking forward to fall and winter, though I’ve got to be grateful I live on the West Coast. I’d be screwed if I was in some snowy, windy, miserable place.
I’ve just put on my work clothes when there’s a knock at my door. I’m guessing it’s my landlord since the knock is coming from the apartment door—not the buzzer, which means they’re outside. I bite down, fighting off the annoyance. The rent is due tomorrow, but he often likes to hassle me. I guess it makes him feel big.
But it’s not my landlord. It’s my neighbor, Lyle, the man who routinely hits his wife and shouts so loud it’s like he wants to keep the whole building awake. When I see it’s him—bald, tatted, and mean—I half close the door.
“Can I help you?” I say.
He makes a low, weird, shuddering noise. I look closer. What the hell? He’s terrified, I realize. Lyle is usually the bully, the big bad wolf huffing and puffing.
“I wanted to say sorry,” he mutters, staring at the floor with what looks like tears in his eyes. Or are they allergies? “… for all the times you’ve heard me and my wife arguing.”
“If you were really sorry,” I say, gripping the door hard as I get ready to slam it, just in case his response is to do something violent, “you’d leave that poor woman alone.”
“She’s gone,” he says, “to a woman’s shelter. We’re never going to see each other again. I’m leaving Vegas. I just had to—wanted to—say sorry.”
With that, he turns away, leaving me to watch him go with confusion. Lyle is usually drunk, but he seemed sober then, so maybe it’s that. He’s finally had a clear, non-drunk look at what a monster he truly is. It’s inspired him to change his ways. Is that it?
It’s hard to accept because he was so cruel before, but I guess it’s not impossible. Either way, I don’t have time to hang around and think about it. I have to work.
At work, I switch from podcasts to a fantasy audiobook. I’ve been trying to listen to podcasts to help me find the motivation and the means to reinvent my situation, but sometimes, I just need an escape. Everybody is talking about Mr. Konstantin, speculating about how he died, but I only hear that when I’m forced to remove my headphones to look professional.