Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Kliment nods before dragging a hand over his clipped hair. “We’ve just got to hope Henry’s help doesn’t start before they dock.”
“Henry Gottle?” When Kliment nods, I ask, “Why would he help them?” Henry Gottle is the boss of all bosses. He rules fairly but sternly when you’re on his side. The Bobrovs haven’t been there since Milo, Kirill’s younger brother, was pinned for the murder of Henry’s brother. Milo and Kirill’s father were killed the same day we were banned from trading in the US.
Ghost notches up his chin, soundlessly demanding for Yev and another guy I’ve never met to help me onto a chair before he answers, “Katie’s not-so-clean past is why Kirill won’t let her go.” Unlike the hundreds of times I’ve hinted at this over the past couple of months, Ghost’s comment this time around sounds more like a confirmation than a question.
After stuffing me into a chair like I’m a ninety-year-old geriatric, Yev spreads a family tree across the bed next to me. Just like the Bobrovs’ mafia ties, the Gottles’ lineage spans for centuries.
“What the fuck?” I murmur, my voice still groggy, when Yev places the Bobrov family tree on top of the Gottles’. Because it has been traced onto see-through paper, you can see several branches of the Gottles’ trees extend further than the Bobrovs’—including the Petrovs’, Katie’s direct bloodline.
“Henry being the boss of all bosses already bumped his family’s rankings, but even if it hadn’t, Katie and any children she has will still rank higher than the Bobrovs’ on overall mafia rankings.”
My eyes shift from Yev, the person endearing to lessen my confusion, to Ghost when he says, “The kid in Katie’s gut is Kirill’s key back into trade in the United States.” He works his jaw from side to side before saying, “The Petrovs debunked around the same time we were kicked out, but their turf remains.”
“Their turf is Katie’s hometown?” I clue in, my brain finally clicking back on.
Ghost nods. “Yep.”
“So what happens when it comes back that she’s not carrying his kid?”
When Ghost remains quiet, his trust still low, I shift my eyes to Kliment.
He shrugs before muttering, “I was still waiting on the results when I was booted out.”
Booted? What the fuck does he mean he got booted?
“The compound and monastery were burned to the ground,” Ghost confesses, his jaw ticking. “They didn’t give a fuck who was inside when they set it alight.”
My second attempt to walk isn’t any better than my first, but since Yev instantly props me up, I don’t land face-first on the floor.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Ghost asks, his voice a roar. “There’s nothing left. It is piles of ash.”
“My daughter is fucking there,” I admit before I can stop myself. My voice cracks with emotions when I mutter, “I ain’t leaving her there. If I’m never going back there, she shouldn’t be there either.”
I don’t need to speak another word. Ghost lifts his chin in understanding before demanding for Kliment and Yev to go with me. “We can’t be sure he didn’t leave people behind in case we made it back to shore.” He waves his hand around the sterile room. “That’s why we’re here.”
Although I want to deal with my unease about how heavily we’re leaning on the Yurys right now, I need to get my daughter first.
“Call Storm. She’s been with Henry for years, but she looks past the shine to find the treasure beneath.” An ill-timed smile crosses Ghost’s face when I mutter, “Just don’t tell her it is coming from me. She still hasn’t forgiven me for Ana.”
Storm and I were somewhat ‘friendly’ before I hooked up with Ana. No girl likes to be pushed aside for another, especially when that girl is a decade younger than you.
Soot and rubble are all that remains from several centuries of hard work. Not even the concrete pillars of the monastery survived the blaze intact. The heat must have been immense, so you can picture how low my heart rate is when I gingerly make my way to my daughter’s final resting place. It is in the back garden away from prying eyes but surrounded by angel ornaments.
“I’ve got it,” I assure Yev when he drags away a branch as black as the tar slowly seeping through my veins.
Debris are spread from one corner of the yard to the next, and a handful of the monuments I stared at in awe as a kid now look like Satan’s spawn. They’re black, melted, and covered in ash.
“Here, try this.” Yev hands me a stake that’s lost the rose bush it was holding up. Its spiky end digs through the dirt better than my hands, and soon has me making good headway through the ground separating us.
When the hard end of the spike makes a ‘ding’ noise, Yev says to Kliment, “How about we go check if they missed anything in the underground bunkers?”