Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
He wasn’t wrong.
“Also,” he added, and I looked at him through my barely cracked lids. “You can take out Constantine before he does any more damage.”
Once, a visiting ballerina from Moscow had turned down the advances of Constantine’s oldest. She had acid thrown in her face the following night. He had ordered the carnage like it was nothing. He was casually savage, and if I could do anything to stop him or my father, it was the only choice to be made.
A day later, I walked into the FBI headquarters on Roosevelt Road, went to the desk, told the woman there who I was, and then staggered to the lobby to sit down. I wasn’t feeling all that great. I had started running a fever in the night, and Sava was even more pleased that I was seeking intervention from the Feds. He was concerned that perhaps his doctor was not as good as he thought.
“You’re killing me,” I told him when I opened the door of the stolen car he would return as soon as he dropped me off.
“Hopefully not,” he quipped, squeezing my shoulder.
Once I was standing on the sidewalk, he surprised me by getting out and coming around the car to hug me.
“Thank you,” I said, holding the tears in, swallowing down the pain of parting. Once he was gone, that was it. He was my last tie to my old life.
“You’re welcome, Maks,” he said, smiling at me, water welling in his own eyes as he eased back. “Be good now. This is a second chance. Live.”
“I will,” I promised him.
He left then, without looking back, which was the way it had to be.
Now, sitting in the chair, freezing even in my suit and trench coat, I waited. When Special Agent in Charge Zane Calhoun came into the lobby, flanked by easily twenty other FBI agents, I tried to smile—I knew him, after all—but couldn’t quite manage to pull it off.
“Holy shit,” he muttered before barking out orders to others to secure the building and the parking lot, making sure no one could come in after me. Once he was done, he took a seat beside me. When I leaned sideways to relieve the pressure in my side, he asked, “Are you carrying?”
“No,” I rasped, the jolt of pain taking my breath away.
“Tell me what you’re doing here.”
“You mean alive?” I teased.
“For starters.”
“Reports of my death and all that,” I whispered.
He nodded. “I have to say, you dying in a car accident seemed far-fetched.”
“Oh?” He got blurry for a moment, my eyes watering for whatever reason.
“Yeah, I mean—” He gestured at me, turned and yelled at someone, wanting to know where the goddamn ambulance was, and then was back to holding my gaze. “—I always thought you’d die in a shootout in some seedy warehouse somewhere.”
“Charming,” I said, catching my breath.
“But why rise from the dead now?”
“Originally, my big idea was to come in and speak to you about my father,” I whispered. “But I think I’m gonna end up dying right here in your lobby instead. I’m sorry, man. My plan wasn’t to die on you. I feel like we’re old friends by now.”
He grunted. “We’re not friends, but I’m fuckin’ thrilled to see you.”
“Yeah? Did you know my father is in business with Zeljko Constantine?”
“I heard that. Yes.”
I would have fallen out of my chair if he hadn’t moved fast and caught me. He sank to the floor, gently, with me in his arms. I was surprised to see EMTs rushing across the lobby to reach me.
“We’re gonna take good care of you, Maks, don’t you worry.”
“I had no idea you cared,” I said, chuckling, and then gasping.
“Stop talking now,” he ordered. “And at least with you, I knew the blood wouldn’t reach the streets. It’s been a week, and I have dead civilians already.”
“So you missed me,” I concluded, closing my eyes.
“Yes,” he said, and I heard the honesty in his voice. “Now really, shut the fuck up.”
And I did for a couple of seconds before I passed out.
FOUR
Fucking Sava.
I mean, I loved the guy, but did he even check to see who was operating on me before he let them carve me open?
According to my FBI-appointed doctor, Sean Cooper, I was lucky to be alive, considering the level of bad that my gut was in. Apparently, if you were operated on by someone who didn’t get every piece of glass out of your gastrointestinal tract, and if the environment was less than sterile, there was a chance of consequences. Serious ones. Like sepsis.
I was sick for the next two weeks, touch and go the whole time, and then a corner was turned and my surgeon, Dr. Lamar, cleared me for transfer. She was very nice, had saved my life and even had her top plastic surgeon work on me as well making sure there was no identifiable scar for anyone to notice.