Page 5 of Runaway Queen

I let out a tired sigh. “Kirill can more than take care of himself. I don’t want to be bothered with bratva shit. That life ended a long time ago for me.”

Artur stared at me, a critical look in his eyes. “You don’t get a nickname in prison likePalachif you’re done with bratva life.”

“Being the executioner has nothing to do with bratva business.”

“What’s it about then?”

“Feeding the beast.”

I smiled at Artur, and the old man flinched. That seemed to happen more and more these days. I was the abyss that no one wanted to look too deeply in to.

“Here.” Artur passed me a book. “For your collection.” The Brothers Karamazovby Dostoevsky. “I thought it fitting.”

I smiled and took the volume, rubbing my finger over the title. A classic I’d read before but would happily read again.

“Thank you. I’ll pass on yourvorrecommendation, but thank you for your consideration,” I said quietly.

Artur sighed loudly. “You sound like a fucking politician. Well, I’ll see you when you get out. Surely you can make time between burning the world down and going back to prison to take an old man for a drink.”

“I have my scores to settle. I’ll find you after.”

Artur frowned at me. “Why do I doubt that’s going to happen?”

Because you know me too well.I simply shrugged, watching the old man lever himself up and head out. I turned my gaze around the rest of the visiting room.

It hadn’t changed in seven years. The table by the window was the one where my brother had delivered the killing blow to my sanity.

“It was quick if it helps at all. She’s gone, Nikolai. Sofia De Sanctis is dead.”

He’d stabbed me deep and left me to die. Like a truck blindsiding me at an intersection, I was lying at the scene, bleeding out. I was stuck in that moment, and I had no idea how to come back to the world. I hadn’t lied to old Artur. I didn’t care about the world anymore. I had no interest in having a fresh start or turning a new page, like the therapists droned on about inside. If they could see inside my head, they’d never let me out.

I was going to watch the world burn and warm myself in the blaze.

Hell was waiting for me, and I couldn’t fucking wait to go home.

Back in my cell,I added the book to my prized collection. Every single paperback on the small shelf I’d read countless times. Every word was etched in my memory. The characters in the books sometimes felt more real to me than the people I had once known. Except for her. She would always be the most real thing to me, even if she was only a ghost.

The thought of becomingvorplayed through my troubled mind. It was a surprise to be considered. It was the highest accolade a man like me could ever aspire to. An uneducated, violent felon with a track record that read like a serial killer’s rap sheet. I swung myself onto my bed and stared at nothing. Bran was gone, released a few days ago. I would follow in a few weeks. It was too fucking quiet in the cell without him. I didn’t like the quiet anymore. It only made the screams in my head louder.

I stared at the ceiling, where several things were taped up. My treasures, if such a word could apply to such a meager collection.

A photo of Molly Chernova, my sister-in-law, with two young children. My imposing brother stood behind his family, his hand lying on Molly’s shoulder. They were the only remaining family I had in the world.

Then a black-and-white newspaper clipping. An obituary. I hadn’t bothered to keep the words beneath the photo. Antonio De Sanctis couldn’t have written an obit for his daughter if his own life had depended on it. He’d never known her. He’d never cared enough to try.

Sofia.My lastochka.

The picture quality was terrible. It was far too grainy to make out, unless I let my eyes unfocus a little. She wasn’t smiling in the picture, merely staring a black hole through the camera lens, right at me. Every single night, I stared back, for hours on end, and let my mind wander the halls of the past.

My little swallow with the clipped wings, who had died inside her cage, after all.

Her death had ripped away what little sanity I’d had left. Everything had stopped making sense in that moment, and it had never gone back to normal.

I’d always known I was a damned man. I hadn’t been enough for my mother to live for, and I hadn’t been strong enough to protect mylastochka. Life was a horror, a sickening freak show.

I wanted it to end. I would soon.

First, I had my scores to settle.

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