Chapter 177 177

Chapter 177 177
Kreshnik jerks his arm towards the chair, growing impatient. “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to. Sit down and do as you’re told.”

“And what? You’ll spare me?” I snort. “Don’t pretend I’ll get a gold star for following orders. You’re going to kill me either way.”

Kreshnik stalks towards me slowly. “You’re right. I am going to kill you.”

I stand as tall as I can. It’s hard to feel powerful in a thin t-shirt and nothing else, but I refuse to die as a coward. “Then fuck you.”

“Ah-ah,” he warns with a wag of his finger. “You’re being selfish, dear. Your behavior won’t just reflect on you. It will be a reflection of the entire class. Everyone will suffer.”

I look around the obviously empty room. “No one else is here.”

“Not yet. But they will be.”

My heart is in my throat. I have to clear it twice before I can voice the question. “Who?”

His smirk is lethal. “As I said, don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“Timofey won’t fall into your trap.” I’m saying it mostly to convince myself. To ease the panic clawing at my insides.

“You don’t think so?”

“No, I don’t. He’s smarter than you. He won’t fall for it.”

Kreshnik pushes me down into the chair and leans in until his cruel face is all I can see. “He already has.”

I shake my head, even as his words drip like cold water down my spine. “If you think Timofey will throw away his entire Bratva for me, you’re wrong. I won’t let him.”

“Don’t underestimate your appeal.” Kreshnik steps back and eyes me from head to toe. “Men have thrown away everything for less. But I’m also not the type to put all of my eggs in one basket. I have a back-up plan.”

I’m about to ask what he means when I hear a sound. A soft whimper coming from the corner near the Christmas tree.

Is Timofey tied up beneath the drop cloth?

I search the tree, looking for signs of movement. All of my senses are heightened, my body in tune to every movement and sound.

Then I see it.

A basket on the floor. It’s wicker, so it blends into the shadows. The blanket inside matches the drop cloth, a pale cream color. But it’s… moving.

“What is—”

“Men will do a lot to avoid seeing their family murdered before their eyes,” Kreshnik says, strolling over to the basket. He reaches down and plucks a bundle out, taking it into his arms.

I feel like I’m going to be sick.

He turns to me, and I can see Benjamin. Swaddled and perfect.

He’s alive.

My hope wasn’t misplaced. He’s alive and breathing. Benjamin is alive.

“Unfortunately,” Kreshnik says, pressing a kiss to the baby’s pink cheek, “you, the baby, and Timofey will all die either way.”

The hope turns to dust in my hands. Benjamin is alive.

The question now is: for how much longer?

49

TIMOFEY

The entrance to the building is lit up like a gaudy beacon. A signal fire screaming, “Invest in us so we can waste more money on fancy parties.”

The fountain was brought in specifically for the event, driven in on an oversized truck and filled with water dyed a special shade of blue. It took eight men all day to set it up. Not to mention the valets, the servers, the women who are paid by the hour to make the important guests feel “welcomed.”

They won’t write “escorts” on the cost breakdown, of course. It will be lumped in with some other line item to make sure no one can accuse the board of bribing investors with prostitutes.

If it had been up to me, this event would have been an email. But the board, in all of their wisdom, insisted. I’ve made the company more than enough money that I relented. If they needed to burn some cash to blow off steam, then so be it.

Apparently, I should have kept them on a shorter leash.

But this party isn’t a symbol; it’s a target. And the only person who could have defended them from attack isn’t even on the guest list.

I have a feeling that by the end of tonight, they’ll all be forced to face their regrets.

I slam my car into park and climb out at the curb. A valet scrambles over. “Keys, sir? We can park—”

“Leave it. I’ll be back.”

“But, sir… You can’t—I have to park—”

“Leave it,” I repeat in a growl.

The kid is barely twenty, if that. He slinks back to the valet stand, and I cut through the crowd of guests mounting the stairs.

Women in gowns and jewels cling to the arms of their rich husbands. All of them have a scowl reserved for me.

They probably don’t recognize me out of a suit.

The chairman of the board has no trouble recognizing me, however. Manuel is standing next to the fountain with an investor he’s been trying to bag for months. I tasked him with talking to the man, despite the fact I have enough blackmail on the banker to demand not only his investment, but the keys to his house and the cut he makes laundering cartel drug money. I’ll never tell Manuel that little secret now. His loss.

The moment he sees me, Manuel separates from the conversation and sidles up next to me.

“What are you doing here?” he hisses, a smile still on his face.

I don’t break pace, forcing Manuel to jog to keep up. “I heard there’s an open bar.”

“Seriously, Timofey.”

“Seriously,” I say. “I could use a drink. By the looks of it, you could too. Maybe a few drinks would soften up your favorite investor over there enough that he’ll forget you’re an insufferable blowhard.”

I can practically hear his teeth grinding together. “You aren’t dressed for the event.”

“Really? What do you think is the appropriate look for a former CEO? A suit felt too formal.”

As we walk, my eyes scan the crowd. I don’t see Kreshnik anywhere, but I’m not surprised. He’ll reveal himself only when he is good and ready.

Unless I find him first.

“Timofey, I don’t want to call security, but—”

“Fuck you. Of course you want to call security on me. It’s the only way you would ever be able to personally escort me from the premises. You sure as hell aren’t capable of doing it yourself. You couldn’t move me an inch to the left if your miserable fucking life depended on it.”

Manuel adjusts the cuff of his shirt. “I don’t want to call security, but if you are here to fuck up this event, then—”

“Then what?” I snap, turning to tower over Manuel. “I’ll no longer be CEO? You saw to that already. And you’ll live to regret it. You’ll live to regret interrupting me now, too. Because one day, I’ll be back on top, and you’ll still be a barnacle clinging to the underside of my boat for dear fucking life. If you’re not careful, I’ll scrape you off and let you float into the abyss.”

Before Manuel can say anything else, I walk through the front doors into the lobby.

The main party is in the convention hall to the left, but the lobby is clogged with people. They are gathered around the coat check and taking pictures in front of the photo booth set up next to the receptionist’s desk.