Page 52 of Shattered Empire (Shattered World)

Was any of this real?

There wasn’t time to contemplate further as the darkness washed me under, and both imagination and reality ceased to exist.

PART2

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Iwatched from beneath the cover of a coppice of pine and willow as they lowered my empty casket into the cold ground. There was just enough room between the crowd of people to make out the face of my most trusted men. Their heads were lowered respectfully as Father Michaels presented my pre-planned eulogy.

It was short and concise, and the priest was known for epigrammatic ripostes that kept the crowd from falling in too deep a melancholy. I never wanted people to cry at my funeral. Fake or not. Death was something to be celebrated and not mourned.

My gaze wandered, searching through the faces as they swept past me with an almost concerning amount of unawareness. They wouldn’t recognize me. Not with my disguise, but that didn’t make it any better. How easy it would be for someone to penetrate the unassuming crowd and open fire.

Even with the cemetery highly guarded, my gut churned. That could also be the gunshot wound that was still healing. One week was barely enough time to recover after having major surgery, but I was insistent. Maxim shifted in his spot just behind my wife, his head tilting slightly to the right as he tugged on his earlobe nonchalantly.

Everything was clear.

I took my place at the back of the receiving line, my black umbrella allowing for just enough coverage to keep me from looking suspicious as the rain dropped against it, the sound loud among the silent mourners. I kept my gaze from wandering too much and drawing suspicion. There were only a handful of people who knew I was still alive, and drawing attention to myself was something I didn’t need in case I was recognized.

The line trudged forward, and I took the time to simply look at her. My wife. The woman I had taken a bullet for.Technically. Her jaw was clenched, her emerald eyes hard as she clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides. A sign she was expecting something bad.

Vas hadn’t informed her of what was in store for her. Ava was no doubt under the impression she would be cast aside once the funeral ended. That wasn’t the case. She’d just inherited the largest, most powerful criminal organization on the West Coast. Soon she’d learn more about who I was. What I did.

That I wasn’t merely just the leader of theBratva. I was also the founder and CEO of a multi-billion-dollar security company.

We’d discussed the company before, but in the short time we had been married, I never fully discussed with her just how far of a reach I had, both legally and criminally. The world’s largest target was now painted on Ava’s back. All because I needed to fake my death.

There was a threat out there worse than Christian, and it needed to be taken care of. Something I could only do if everyone believed me to be dead.

My wife was stunning in a pair of high-waisted black trousers that clung to her shapely legs. She’d tucked a cream silk blouse into the waistline and covered herself with a brass buttoned Armani blazer. I was slightly miffed that Vas hadn’t made her wear a thicker jacket. It wasn’t fucking summer out here.

Ava shifted slightly from side to side uncomfortably, her heels sinking into the wet earth beneath her feet. She’d left her hair down, the luxurious red curls framing her porcelain features that were highlighted by a minimal amount of makeup.

She didn’t paint herself up like most women her age, but she did try to appear stronger and more resilient than she felt. It was easy to spot in the way she held her shoulders erect, her spine stiff. Her emerald eyes were hard as she quietly greeted the men and women who came to pay their respects to the newPakhan, no doubt believing the soft platitudes were meant for Vas.

Ava would soon come to realize what I left her.

What I would be back to claim.

Just as soon as I took care of my own problems. Starting with Kirill Kasyanov and that fucking bastard who called himself Jonathan Archer. He might have been an FBI agent, but everything from his name to his background was false. I knew it from the moment I saw him on the video feed Neil provided me of Ava while she’d been held captive by Christian.

It was the reason I’d turned to Serena the night of the gala. Her family’s involvement with my father went back long before I had been born. I needed that information, and so I put the plan together the minute I learned about Kenzi. It pained me to keep what I knew about her sister secret when Ava had been nothing but worried for Kenzi, but I couldn’t risk putting my wife in danger even further.

“Isn’t spying on your wife at your own funeral a bit morbid?” The voice was light, but there was a hardness that tainted it, an edge she couldn’t quite hide. I barely heard her approach. Her footsteps were light on the grass, her shadow barely visible due to the dim clouds crowding the sky. I wondered what my wife would think if she knew the truth about the woman who had so casually snuck up on me. How she had spent the last few years of her life training to be an assassin. A ghost.

“Isn’t showing up at the funeral of the man you killed a bit stereotypical for a psychopath?” I shot back, my eyes never falling from my wife. “It’s terribly predictable, don’t you think?”

“Sociopath,” she corrected calmly. As if it made any difference what you called it. Crazy was crazy, and wherever she had been had given that to her in spades.

Keeping my eyes forward, I shifted slightly, drawing her into my periphery. After all, one should never turn his back on a serial killer. A paid one at that.

I couldn’t help but point out one thing, though. “If my wife sees you, Kenzi,” I smirked, “she’ll kill you.”

The sociopath shrugged nonchalantly, her jacket rustling slightly.

“Vas even told me she has a picture of you with your eyes scratched out pinned to her wall with one of my knives,” I continued, just to see if I could get a rise out of her. “The tip goes straight through your throat.”

“Sisters disagree all the time.” Kenzi smiled widely, her lips parting to reveal pearly white teeth. Fuck, she resembled aStrzyga. A female demon in Russian folklore that was much like a vampire. At least she wasn’t a rotting corpse, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t drink the blood of her enemies.

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