Page 17 of Merciless Queen

I love this moment. Revel in it. The moment they debate trying to escape me. It’s amusing to watch their minds work.

I pace around him, disappearing out of view.

“I told you everything I know, and still, you’ll kill me?”

I answer his question with one of my own: “Do you know what people say about my captives?”

His shoulders lower, but he maintains some semblance of courage in his rigidity and firm tone. “That they never survive you. You’re called the Merciless Queen.”

“Yes. So if I let you go, how would I look then? Word could spread. Others might assume I’m a changed woman, that I grant mercy, and it’ll be open-season on my temperament. I can’t have that.”

I stop behind him, lifting his bound hands in my own. With the blade, I trace the column of his neck until he shivers. His shoulders shake and his head bows, like someone who’s accepted his fate.

Slice.My arm drops and the knife cuts through the zip tie, freeing his wrists. And him.

The bookkeeper shudders through his relief, his shoulders tensing as I lean closer, pressing my chest to his back, eyes flicking toward Anastasia over his shoulder. Her lips are pursed in consideration, but I can also spot the question clearly etched in her expression:what are you doing?

Ignoring her for now, I drop my lips to the curve of the man’s neck, trying my best to breathe minimally and only through my mouth to avoid taking in his stench. “I told you an hour ago that if you cooperate, you’re free. And while you didn’t for a while, in the end, you have, and I believe that you don’t know more, which means you’re no longer useful. My captives may never survive me, but I see us as partners after tonight, don’t you?” I pause, listening to the way his breathing stops altogether, and I imagine his mind racing to figure out what’s the best response. “Here’s how this will go. You will go home and collect whatever’s important in your pathetic life, and then you will disappear. I don’t care where you go but your affiliation with your boss ends immediately.”

“Miss Volkov?—”

With the grip I still have on his arms, I twist one up, effectively shutting him up with a low gasp of pain. “Don’t interrupt me. This isn’t up for negotiation. You’re only free because you’ve played your role well tonight, so don’t take my gratitude lightly. Go home,” I repeat softer this time, also releasing my hold on him, “and disappear for good. My men will be watching you, so I’ll know if you go against our deal and continue your work for him. I should warn you, I don’t give second chances so I truly hope you’re not stupid.”

This time, he seems to understand my seriousness and jolts away from me, his long limbs taking him across the warehouse instantly. He staggers every couple of steps; the pace of an injured man fighting through the bruising and cramps in order to reach safety.

He reaches the exit, but when anyone else wouldn’t waste time in opening the door and officially disappearing, the bookkeeper hesitates and turns to face me.

“Miss Volkov,” he calls in a shaky voice. “You should know…in my time working with him, I had access to many of his business documentation, and there’s a contract existing, signed between him and your father.”

I know the precise document because Papa had the original draft. Lev and Dimitri found it in his office in the weeks following my takeover, since I refused to go in that blasted room—still haven’t—but it didn’t detail anything useful.

His offer of information is interesting since he owes me nothing. The sneaky bookkeeper has certainly surprised me. Seems he’s playing his own game, offering extra information as gratitude for his life.

“I’m well aware of the deal between my father and the minister.”

Knew it. Lived it. I was the price of that deal but that detail isn’t noted on the contract, so it’s no wonder he’s unaware of the specifics.

His head bobs once in acknowledgement before turning and pushing his way out of the warehouse. If he’s wise, it’ll be the last time I ever see him. For his sake, I truly hope he’s not dumb enough to go against my kindness. As I told him, there will be no second chance.

“Hm.” Anastasia slowly paces forward, her head tipped to the side as she stares at the dried blood drops on the stone ground, the only remaining evidence of the most recent captive. “That was unexpected.”

I shrug and flip her knife back to her. “His death wouldn’t have changed anything. I do believe he told me all he knows because there’s no wayhewould risk many people knowing his true location.” Especially for reasons similar to what happened here today. “A deal’s a deal, so he lives.”

She knocks her shoulder against mine playfully. “Don’t be getting soft on me.”

“Never.” I nudge her back. “Posol'stvoin a few hours?”

Anastasia grins. “Hell yeah. I can use a drink after this week.”

It’s beentwo years since Papa’s death and the feeling of walking through my mansion’s doors as its owner, rather than an occupant, will never grow tiresome. I’m no longer a pretty face to be sold off to the highest bidder.

Instead, I’m the organization’s boss. The one who makes the decisions, the choices, and more importantly, claims control over my own life. There will never be a man with authority over me again.

In my wing, I shut my bedroom door, the same I’d had since birth. Although Papa’s room is larger, and if following tradition, is where I should be sleeping, I want nothing to do with it. Everything of his, office included, has been locked up and forgotten.

Dimitri claims it’s the grief talking, but I say hatred. Sometimes, I reflect on the conversation Dimitri and I had in the cemetery two years ago, marking it being the last time I’d visited my parents’ graves. In his own way, Papa was a great Bratva leader, but he also signifies another time in my life. A past I now avoid any and all thoughts of. A time when I feared approaching his office because it’d end with me getting yelled at. A time when he forced me to look and act a certain way, all to entice a connectionhedesired. A time when I wasn’t myself.

Regardless, Papa’s death hurt in ways Mama’s never did. Even when claiming to be fine, the heartache was a physical pain; that the man who raised me was no longer in my life. But the ache was also fleeting because as the days, months, and then years passed, I grew into who I was always meant to be. Papa’s death paved the way for my potential, and once understanding that, my grief was manageable. Had he survived the showdown with Erico Rossi, I’d definitely be wed off by now. Likely forced to conceive an heir I have no interest in having.

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