Page 10 of The Payment

When she spoke again, her voice was deadly calm.Each word was chosen carefully to use as a vindictive dagger aimed at his heart.

“You built me this beautiful cage, Jarek.But you forgot one very important aspect—even the most elegant penitentiaries still hold prisoners.And prisoners dream of nothing but escape.”

“Five years is a long time to have that dream, my dear wife.”

She loathed that he didn’t seem perturbed at her resolution for their future.

“Twenty years even longer...and yet...look at where your dream got you.”

“You’re delusional if you compare my driver with yours, my dear wife.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that, Jarek.You lost your humanity because the moment you became consumed by revenge was the moment you turned into a demon.”Her mouth contorted into a vicious curl and twisted her elegant features into a mask of pure contempt.“You had a driving incentive...but so do I.The debt wasn’t mine, the currency you demanded even less, but I’m going to make damn sure that in the end, the biggest payment is going to be yours.”

Chapter Five

Jarek

Aweek later, the luxuriousestate of Gregor Polov, Lakeshore Drive NW, Berkeley Lake, Georgia...

Jarek relished the crisp autumn air as they approached the Polov estate.Its grandeur, which was once intimidating, now struck him as merely pretentious.The sprawling Georgian mansion with its manicured lawns had lost its power over him.Today, he held all the cards.

“Ready?”he asked Declan, whose features were artfully disguised beneath a prosthetic mask.Although Jarek wasn’t wearing one, he had insisted Declan did to keep him protected from Polov.

His underboss nodded.The artificial skin crinkled in an almost natural way.

Not bothering to knock or be announced, Jarek pushed open the door and walked through the marble hallways to Gregor’s den, the wood-paneled sanctuary he favored, overlooking Berkeley Lake.Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the water like a living painting.Beyond the glass, red-winged blackbirds darted between cattails, their distinct calls piercing the morning quiet.The man sure liked to live large.Jarek grimaced.So did he, but at least he didn’t do it with blood money.Corrupt money, yes, but his hands were clean of death, and he could sleep at night.

Elizabeth and Gregor sat in matching wingback chairs, talking animatedly.They were the picture of refined domesticity, which nearly made Jarek laugh at the charade.

“What the fuck are you doing here and where is Tatiana?”Gregor’s voice erupted as he noticed Jarek crossing the threshold.The old man’s Russian accent thickened with rage, and his baritone echoed against the walnut panels.It was a voice that had ordered countless deaths and was commanding even in his dotage, albeit scratched with whiskey and cigars.“What have you done with my granddaughter?”

Jarek savored the moment, letting the question hang in the air as he settled into an armchair uninvited.Sunlight streamed across the Persian rug between them, illuminating dust motes that danced in the charged atmosphere.

“My wife is exactly where one would expect her to be...in Boston at her new home.”

He watched Elizabeth’s face drain of color as her teacup rattled against its saucer.The mask of the socialite cracked, revealing raw maternal concern for her granddaughter.Despite her complicity in Gregor’s empire of blood and corruption, Jarek noticed that her love for Tatiana blazed authentic and unrestrained across her features.It reminded him of his mother—how she had cradled photos of Emma, tracing her granddaughter’s face through tears.How she had wasted away after the massacre, and her heart fractured more with each passing day until it simply stopped.Six months after he had lost Emma and Lisbet, his mother followed, leaving him utterly alone in a world suddenly devoid of warmth or purpose.

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