Page 42 of The Debt

Her words sidelined him. For the briefest moment, he wished things were different. His expression remained unchanged as he continued.

“We will build a life together, love… in our hearts, we’ll find our home and our future.”

The rest of the ceremony was a blur until the words, “You may kiss your bride,” penetrated Jarek’s mind. The profound joy and satisfaction he had expected to feel were strangely absent but for that moment, Jarek didn’t question it as he pulled Tatiana into a loving embrace.

“My wife,” he murmured as he kissed her. A kiss that, unbeknownst to him, promised bliss and a forever after filled with love and happiness.

“My husband.” Her smile was brilliant as he lifted his head amid the applause of the guests.

Jarek was struck by the realization that for the first time since he had started this voyage of vengeance, visions of Lisbet didn’t interfere with the moment. Maybe he had been right. It wasn’t his wounds that needed healing. He had moved on from mourning his family, although their memories would forever be guarded in his heart. For today, he’d concentrate on giving his newly minted bride a wedding day and night to remember… because tomorrow… her entire dream of happily ever after would shatter.

Jarek

The next morning… The luxurious estate of Gregor Polov, Berkeley Lake…

Sunlight streamed through the dining-room windows, catching the crystal glasses and creating rainbow prisms across the white tablecloth. Laughter filled the air as Gregor, Elizabeth, and Tatiana lingered over breakfast, reliving moments from yesterday’s wedding celebration.

The peaceful morning shattered when a stranger walked in unannounced. His formidable presence commanded immediate attention. In his mid-sixties, he cut an impressive figure in black jeans and a crisp white cotton shirt. Salt-and-pepper hair brushing his collar amplified sharp eyes that missed nothing. His firm jaw spoke of unwavering determination as he studied the three people watching him.

Beneath the prosthetic mask, Jarek’s pulse beat with anticipation. Every detail had been meticulously planned. Every move he’d made, including designing the mask with a built-in voice modulator, had led to this moment, planned to play out with perfect timing.

Gregor glowered at him, and his face flushed with anger as Jarek insolently returned his look.

“Who are you? How dare you enter my house unannounced?”

“I believe you’ve been looking for me, Polov.” The words dripped with mockery from Jarek’s lips. “I thought I’d save you more time and money by dropping by and introducing myself.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Gregor’s eyes flickered with suspicion. His hands clenched into fists.

“How many people are you looking for, Polov?” A smirk played across the mask’s features. “They call me The Dark One.”

The color drained from Gregor’s face. His eyes darted around the room, the realization hitting him that Skull, his ever-present shadow, was absent. Jarek savored the mounting tension as he watched Polov’s legendary composure crack like thin ice.

“No need for concern, Polov. I’m not here to cause a bloodied scene.”

“Then what the fuck do you want?” Gregor spat the words. “Or are you here to gloat about dismantling more of my alliances?”

“Oh, there’s more than enough time for that.” Jarek’s modified voice carried across the room. “No... I am here to set your mind at ease as to why you have become my target.”

Gregor’s jaw worked as he visually struggled to keep his fury contained. Fear flickered in his eyes—the fear of a man who faced an unknown enemy.

“Elizabeth, Tatiana... leave me alone with this... this prick!”

“No, they stay.” The mask shifted as Jarek smiled, knowing how much he was going to enjoy the next few minutes. “Especially since what I have to say affects both of them as well.”

Under the mask, Jarek’s satisfaction grew. The time had come for Polov’s world to crumble.

The tension in the room crackled like static before a storm. Gregor’s face had turned an alarming shade of red as his breathing sounded heavy and irregular.

“Get to the fucking point,” he snarled in an accent thickening with rage.

Jarek moved with deliberate slowness deeper into the room. Behind the mask, his eyes remained glued to Polov’s face. He kept track of every micro-expression and every tell. Twenty years of waiting had honed his patience to a razor’s edge.

“You know, I’ve often envisioned this moment. The first time when I faced you and asked if you remember them.” The darkness that had lived inside Jarek for two decades rose like a tide, threatening to drown his carefully maintained control. His gaze briefly flickered to Tatiana. His wife. His supposed new love. The innocent caught in this web of vengeance. She sat rigid in her chair, her knuckles turning white where they gripped the edge of the table.

“Remember who?” Gregor spat out.

Jarek was fascinated by the spittle flying from his lips. Polov was unraveling faster than he had imagined he would.

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