Page 34 of Zafira

“What a surprise, Mr. Guzun.” The concierge beamed at Arian, who quickly searched his memory banks since the young man looked familiar. Based on his reaction upon seeing Arian, they must’ve met before. It didn’t take long for him to find the door with the details of when this particular man had appeared in his life.

“Gregory Hamlin, how is your father?”

“You remembered! I didn’t think you would; it’s been over ten years, and our meeting was so brief,” Gregory dragged in a deep breath to calm his excitement. He was clearly in awe of the powerful man in front of him.

“Your father is a good man. If not for his quick action that day, I would’ve lost my prize bull.” Arian winked. “That monster is still around and strutting his stuff on the farm because of your father putting his own life in danger to cut him free from that barbed wire.”

“Dad told that story ‘til the day of his death two years ago. It was a proud day for him—saving the bull of the man who feeds the hungry all year round in our village.”

“It’s a small gesture,” Arian waved off the praise. “My condolences on his death. How long have you worked here?”

“Three years,” Gregory pushed out his chest. “It’s temporary while I study law. One more year and I’ll be a qualified solicitor.”

“Come and see me when that happens, Gregory. We’re always looking for young talent in our legal department at AVV Airpro.”

“Are you serious, Mr. Guzun?” Gregory’s face lit up like a flashlight in a pitch-black night.

“Of course, I am.”

“Wow, I can’t believe this,” he muttered but smiled widely. “I imagine you are here for Mrs. Guzun?”

“Indeed. Is she home?”

“She hardly ever goes out, so, yes. Shall I announce you?”

“I’d like to surprise her, if you don’t mind.” Arian plastered a sheepish look on his face. “It’s time this little tiff between us comes to an end.” He leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “To be honest, I’m a little nervous. Imagine that, right? The effect a little female could have on a big lug like me.”

Gregory laughed. “Indeed, sir. My girlfriend wraps me around her finger every day.” He gestured to the elevator on the left. “That one will take you directly up to the penthouse suite level. Good luck, Mr. Guzun.”

Arian nodded as the elevator doors closed behind him. It had come as a surprise to find Izolda staying in Moldova. He had thought she would have fled as far away from him as possible.

“Fuck, I’m not ready for this,” he muttered as the shudder of the cab indicated it was ascending. Their marriage never had a chance, especially once he found her on the phone talking to Sanders on their wedding day... right before Zafira was shot. It had been downhill from there. Maybe they might have been able to get past that... except for his actions weeks later...

The last straw for Izolda had been the night when he had cruelly fucked her in front of the mirror.

“Destul, I truly messed up that day.” He had also told her he had never loved her, that he had only married her to keep her close to find out who was the mastermind in the saga that had been unfolding at the time.

When he had returned from saving Vanya, she was gone. Guilt had kept him from looking for her. It’d been over a year since he had last seen her. That she was still close by filled him with a frisson of hope that perhaps she hadn’t come to hate him... much.

Worse, he couldn’t blame her if she did. He had treated her in the same callous, ruthless manner Boris Sidorov did—the one thing he had sworn he’d never do.

Still, the knock on the door was firm and confident. The Pakhan of the Guzun Bratva never showed weakness, not even when he felt more vulnerable than ever in his life.

“Give me thirty seconds, then come in,” Izolda shouted from inside the suite as the door clicked open. “I just got out of the shower. You can leave the tray on the kitchen counter.”

Arian allowed a minute before he entered. The penthouse’s sleek, modern design greeted him as he stepped inside—a sanctuary perched high above the bustling city below. The open floor plan flowed seamlessly from one area to the next, bathed in a soft palette of earthy tones and whites that lent an air of sophistication to the space.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched along one wall. Beyond the glass, the urban landscape sprawled out in a mesmerizing display of lights and shadows, a reminder of the world below.

“So serene,” he murmured as he stood in front of the window. “I wish my life could be like this.”

In the center of the room, a plush sectional sofa curved elegantly. Its neutral upholstery blended effortlessly with the surrounding décor, accented by throw pillows in muted tones of taupe and ivory.

Arian’s gaze swept across the room, taking in the carefully curated art adorning the walls, the sleek bar that gleamed with polished chrome and glass, and finally, the grand piano standing like a silent sentinel in the corner, its ebony finish contrasting with the lightness of the room. Arian knew Izolda loved playing and could envision the music filling the space, the melodies weaving through the air like whispers of secrets shared in confidence.

His wife had encased herself in a hotel that was more than just a living space—it was a home, a sanctuary, a retreat from the chaos of the world below. Arian turned to stare out to the city below, forcing himself to relax. A tranquility washed over him, a welcome respite from the tension his role as Pakhan of the Guzun Bratva had demanded from him over the past two years of fighting for survival.

“You’re not the server from the restaurant.”

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