Page 32 of 10 Days to Ruin

Brian’s body wobbles in place for a moment. Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, he falls over, staining the carpet red.

Peter doesn’t move. His eyes follow the fall, the calm on his face giving way to mute horror.

Must be his first dead body.

“Got something to say?” I ask as I place the gun back in the drawer it came from.

He shakes his head so hard it’s a miracle the damn thing doesn’t fly off his neck. “No, sir. Nothing.”

“Good. Then get lost.”

He springs up from the chair and makes a beeline for the elevator, jamming his finger into the button like mad. It’ll take a while to reach us up here on the top floor—Feliks always gets a kick out of sending it back to the lobby. His way of hazing guests.

Once Peter is in front of the elevator bank, shaking so hard he needs the wall as a crutch to stay upright, Feliks leans into my ear. “Was that wise or was it reckless?”

“Neither.” I shrug. “No one gives a shit about him. He won’t be missed.”

“You could have fired him.”

“I fired something.”

A small smirk quirks his lips. I’m aware Feliks doesn’t always approve of my methods, but he understands them. This man betrayed us. He turned mole against us. Bratva or not, that’s unacceptable.

“I’ll call the cleanup crew,” he concludes.

“See that you do.” He’s walking away when I add, “Oh, and Feliks?”

“Yes?”

“No witnesses.”

He gets what I’m saying immediately. With a nod, he turns and saunters up to the elevator bank, whistling. The second the doors ping open, Peter’s body hits the floor.

I grab my jacket and follow. “And they say I’m dramatic.”

Feliks spreads his hands wide in anaw-shucksgesture, a pistol with silencer clutched in his palm. “What can I say? I’m theatrical at heart.”

I step over Peter’s corpse. “Make up a trail. Lottery win, job offer overseas, romantic getaway—I don’t care. Just make them disappear.”

“Understood,pakhan.”

“And make me a reservation for tonight.”

“Sure. The usual place?”

“Yes.” I stride into the elevator. “But make it for two.”

Realization blooms in his eyes. “I see,” he murmurs wickedly. “Should I wait up to drive you home?”

“I really don’t give a fuck, Feliks.”

I press the ground floor button. Feliks’s shit-eating grin is the last thing I see before the doors close—but for once, he isn’t wrong. I won’t need a ride back tonight.

Ariel and I will be otherwise occupied.

12

ARIEL

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