Page 55 of Blood & Snow
What do I say to a man who owns me?
What do I say when part of me wants to be owned?
My finger remains suspended over the keys, trembling with indecision while his words burn into my memory.
You belong to me.
The terrifying truth is that I'm beginning to believe him.
11
XANDER
The church courtyard empties slowly after the christening ceremony, families bundling their children against the cold while chatting about the celebration.
I watch from across the street as my targets emerge from the crowd—two men in expensive coats who handle money laundering for the Brotherhood's remaining operations.
They think their presence on sacred ground provides protection.
And the irony of conducting surveillance outside a house of worship doesn't escape me.
These bastards think hiding among the parishioners will save them, but I know it won't.
Not when I'm stalking them.
My phone buzzes with a text from one of my soldiers confirming the targets' identities.
These men funneled Brotherhood profits through shell companies and offshore accounts, making them valuable sources of intelligence about remaining family assets.
Taking them alive would provide names and locations I need to complete Markov's deadline.
The crowd thins as families depart, leaving the courtyard nearly empty.
The men walk toward their car while discussing business in voices that carry across the cold air.
Perfect timing for what comes next.
I cross the street and approach from behind, letting my footsteps announce my presence only when escape becomes impossible.
The taller one turns first, eyes widening as he recognizes me from somewhere, likely photos he's been shown to hunt me down.
The second one reaches inside his coat but stops when my gun appears in his peripheral vision.
"Hands where I can see them," I tell them quietly.
"No sudden movements."
The men comply, raising their arms while scanning for witnesses or escape routes.
The courtyard offers neither.
Church services have ended, and the afternoon sun creates long shadows that conceal our interaction from passing traffic.
"We're unarmed," the tall one says, and his voice is miraculously steady.
"Just businessmen leaving a family celebration."
Just a businessman, huh?
