Page 17 of King of the Dawn

I stared out the window of my office. It faced the front of the house, down the mile long driveway to a distant guard box. Three men were at the gate, and an eight-foot-tall white wall surrounded the property. I had checked, and double checked the pressure plates, and sensors around the grounds, and meticulously ran surveillance at every point of the cameras up and down the walls that faced in and out.

No one was going to be sneaking in. And the guards knew that if they did not follow my strict orders, the pakhan of the New York bratva would be very, very Russian, and eliminate their entire bloodline.

It was an empty threat but it worked within our society. I was putting the fear of God in every man, woman and child across the criminal underground.

I didn’t ask if we could delay our honeymoon. After the human pyre we built on our property and the reception, the hunt took precedence. And I was very happy hunting.

It’s not the most common brother-sister hobby… I’m sure that there was a time in Yuliya’s life she would have preferred that I took her to the mall, instead of taking her into the woods to train. But after decades by my side, my sister was a trained killer, and it was an activity best done in good company.

Yuliya and I had strapped weapons to our side, beneath boxy blazers, as we wore matching utility suits, designed to hide weapons in the lining. Our shoes of patent leather had soles made from soft foam, the kind used at the bottom of running shoes. If we wanted to, we had space in our clothes to wear body armor. We didn’t do that today, since we were going to “friendly” territory.

We were going down the freeway to the Green Estate when she finally started briefing me on the developments of our mission. She was at the wheel, and I was staring out the window at the passing world of mountains and greenery.

“Brock remains missing, but the Irish have completely disavowed him,” Yuliya said, her crimson lips up in a smirk. “He has nowhere to hide among his own people.”

“What is that on your mouth?” I asked, lifting a brow.

Was this new transformation in my sister because of Corbin, or her new friendship with the Murphy Girl? I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t figure out if I liked it or hated it. She was letting others influence her, when she had always been her own pillar of strength.

My sister was always beautiful. Even when she was gangly, with wild brown hair that frizzed, and her face was full of childhood acne. I had always liked how low maintenance she was. Her bare face and practical clothes kept undeserving eyes from being drawn to her true beauty - the one in the heart. It meant that there weren’t ambitious men banging on her door for a chance to elevate themselves and turn her into a more typical woman in the backwards bratva world… she was no typical anything.

Was she conforming to please Corbin? And if so, did he deserve it?

No. He did not.

She brought her fingers to her lips, wiping away the offending lipstick as if it was something shameful, a light blush coming to her cheeks.

“You’re not turning into one of those…” I sneered. “Trollops, are you?”

Okay, it was a sexist comment. But I was trying to get a certain reaction.

“Stop it,” she said, punching me in the stomach, right before she turned into the Green Mansion’s long drive.

The guards took one look at us and waved us through. Obviously, we were expected.

We walked into the mansion, with its creepy old world Tudor-style, placed on top of a bald hill that was surrounded by thorny, sticky trees. The place was fucking weird. Like it was surrounded by enormous, bare thorns.

We were beckoned to the front door by a guard, and we walked through the grand double doors into a large foyer and front room. There was a frightening, blood-red canvas to our right: a self-portrait of Eoghan as the devil, devouring his enemies.

The painting was fucking legendary, and there were a ton of rumors about where the blood for the paint had come from.

“I heard he stuck one of his enemies, and bled them out slowly while he painted.” My sister’s smirk was sadistic and cruel. “He painted it in front of them, and presented a fully finished work of art, before putting the man out of his misery.”

“Is that admiration I hear in your tone?” I asked, tapping my foot impatiently on the hardwood floor. “The man’s melodramatic…” We both stepped towards the painting, inspecting its finer details.

The work was good. I had to admit it. But it was still fucking weird.

“And pretentious,” I said as I lifted my eyes towards the Devil with an Irishman’s face.

“Don’t be jealous because you didn’t think of it,” Yuliya teased.

I rolled my eyes.

“That kind of shit belongs in a B Movie, not real life,” I grumbled.

I didn’t want to admit that it was an interesting way to strike fear in the hearts of his enemies… I didn’t want to give a Green credit for anything.

“The guy’s a creep,” I finally said, as a cough floated down towards us.

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