Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
But now he's in love, and I wonder if it hits the same.
I bite down the instinct to snap back at Rafail, that old defense mechanism. I could tell him I'm doing my best, that I'm raising a son alone, that I'm walking through my dead wife's ghost every single fucking day.
But I know him, and I know myself. He doesn't want excuses. And I don’t want to be weak. He wants results. So do I.
So I draw in a breath and let it out slowly. And I find myself wondering, oddly, what Ruthie is doing right now. Is Luka in her presence? Are they curled up on the couch watching TV? Did he help her load the dishes after breakfast? Is she sitting on the floor with him, pushing around his little race car that he loves so much?
She always had more patience with those things than I did—just like her sister—but Ruthie was crazier. Wilder. Mariah would be the one reminding Luka to brush his teeth, and Ruthie would be wondering how many more cookies they could have before bed.
Rafail clears his throat. I did it again—let my memory and focus wane. “What’s the plan? What do you need from me?”
He lifts his chin toward the screen. “This school right here? It’s not random. You know one of our shell companies owns the land behind it. What else can you tell me about this?”
I nod. I know one of our shell companies owns the land behind it. That site is clean. Untouched for years, but now? Movement.
“They’re using it as a base.”
My stomach sinks, and my hands clench into fists. Right near the fucking school.
“We have to keep the kids safe.”
“Yeah. It’s a fine line… Right now, no one’s said a word. Everyone’s still going to class like nothing’s wrong. Local police don’t know a fucking thing.” His voice is flat. Cold. “Fucking Irish scum using innocence like a shield.”
They don’t fucking care that the consequences for crime so close to school grounds carry a heavier weight.
I flex my hands, knuckles cracking under the pressure.
“We take them out.”
Rafail nods once. “Quietly. No casualties. No mess. You lead.”
Of course I fucking will. This is the price of coming back to life—of clawing my way out of the fucking bottle and putting my grief on hold. What did he say? Weaponize it.
I roll my shoulders, already calculating the angle of the approach. How many men. What time. What tools. “I’ll handle it.”
He studies me for a beat too long. “You sure I can trust you?”
There’s a lot on the line.
I meet his gaze. “I’m done fucking up, Rafail.”
He nods again, slower this time. He believes me—or at least he wants to. “You didn’t fuck up, brother. You’re grieving. There’s a difference. Not once have you done anything I wouldn’t have allowed. But you’re on the verge of making decisions that you might regret, and I don’t want that for you. Or for me.”
I know. My throat burns.
“I’ll have a file sent to your office. Clean team. Matvei will pull surveillance. Zoya’s on inside recon as usual. You’ve got until Thursday.”
“Thursday?”
He smirks, but it looks sad. “Luka’s school has an orientation parent breakfast Friday morning. Thought you’d wanna make it. That’s when they show him around, and he gets to meet his new teachers and all that shit. And…”
Fucker.
I blink, caught off guard. “You scheduled this around that?”
His smirk deepens. “I didn’t say I was heartless. Just mean.”
I’m already turning, my mind whirring. I can do this. Purpose. Rage—harnessed. I exit the ops room and move toward my office, my mind on Ruthie and Luka. Rafail’s on the phone, calling a meeting. So I take a second to tap out a quick message to her.
Don’t let him eat all the whipped cream, he gets a tummy ache.
Ruthie
Did you just say… tummy ache?
Seconds later, my screen lights up with a photo—Luka at the kitchen table, his bedhead wild, cheeks puffed out, whipped cream on his nose, his cheeks, and his chin, grinning like he didn’t cry himself to sleep the night before. I can’t help the smile that twitches at the corner of my mouth.
No juice yet, right?
Ruthie
What do you think, I’m new at this?
Fucking brat.
Ruthie
He said please. I bribed him with extra whipped cream and I regret nothing.
I have a quiet laugh. My thumb hovers over the screen longer than it should. What am I doing? I tap out a message before I can regret it.
He’s lucky you’re there. I mean it.
The typing bubbles appear. Disappear. Appear again. Like I’ve set her off-kilter. She’s always quick with a response.
So I send another one.
I have shit to do. I’ll be home late.
Ruthie
Oh no. Missing thrilling morning debates about cartoons and existential dread over coffee?
I groan.
You let him watch that stupid blue dog cartoon again, didn’t you?