Page 13 of Cruel Russian Monster
Just maybe, we would've had a chance.
Maybe we’d be happily married now, our marriage uniting our families.
But that man, the one I fell in love with, was gone.
Murdered by my own hands.
But I couldn’t afford to mourn him. Not when he’d made it so clear with his actions: he was here for payback.
It hurt. God, it burned to realize how deeply I’d wounded him. That my hands that once held him, caressed him, were now stained with his blood.
But whatever existed between us once was dead. And when something died, you buried it.
The man driving that U-Haul wasn’t my Jaroslav. And he sure as hell didn’t deserve my tears or my memories.
What I needed to do was adapt to this man.
Because a different man meant a different strategy.
One thing Jaroslav may have forgotten—he wasn't the only one of us who was born and raised in a Bratva family.
He wasn't the only one who knew how to strategize and execute a plan.
He wasn't the only one who knew how to hide his cards well until the last possible second to gain the upper hand.
I'd become exactly who I needed to become, pretending to be what he needed to see. And when the time was right, I'd escape his clutches. The third time would be the charm.
A small smirk tugged at my lips.
Let the games begin, Jaroslav. Let the games begin.
Fifteen minutes later, the U-Haul stopped, and the door slammed. I stood as the outer latches clicked open.
I moved toward the door, and before I stepped out, Jaroslav reached in and gripped my hand firmly. I ignored the goosebumps that raced up my arm.
We were on a private airstrip.
He didn't say anything, just guided me toward a small jet.
At the top of the stairs, a flight attendant greeted us with a smile.
“Good evening, Mr. Safin. Good evening, ma’am.”
Jaroslav gave a nod and led me to the back.
He sat me by the window and took the seat beside me.
“Buckle up,” he said, flatly.
I fastened my belt and turned silently toward the window.
Fifteen minutes later, we were airborne.
I closed my eyes and began to mentally prepare for whatever was coming next.
Seven hours later, we were back in Philadelphia. Jaroslav sat beside me in the SUV while his driver, Tomas, handled the wheel. We drove in silence.
When Tomas pulled into the parking lot of Father Gordon’s church, I shot Jaroslav a confused look.
