Page 13 of The Debt

The last rays of sunlight streaming through the windows painted the room in hues of amber and gold, but there was nothing warm about the atmosphere that had settled over them.

“Jaysus!” Blinded by the magnitude of Jarek’s intentions, Declan misjudged the height of the bar and slammed his glass onto the marble surface. He raked his fingers through his copper hair and shook his head. “You’re going to walk straight into the lion’s den? Have you lost your fucking mind?” His weathered face was a canvas of conflicting emotions.

He stalked across the room, his heavy boots silent on the marble floor. Both men were tall with imposing figures, but whereas Jarek remained calm, Declan’s agitation was unmistakable. Stopping within arm’s reach, he searched Jarek’s face.

“This isn’t an operation where we just waltz in to take out a gang of street punks,” Declan said in a thick Dublin patois. “Polov’s compound is a fortress. The man has an army of ex-Spetsnaz agents at his disposal, and that’s not counting that giant psychopath who guards him like a deranged Pitbull.” The thought of confronting that monster in close quarters sent a shudder through Declan’s chest.

“If this is your idea of how to send a message, I’d rather take my chances walking naked into a lion’s den smelling like a side of beef. Surely, there are smarter ways to provoke this motherfucker without committing suicide in the process.”

The bright collage of city lights beckoned for attention beyond the thick-paned glass, but Declan’s focus remained fixed on Jarek as he waited for an explanation that would make sense of this apparent death wish.

“Relax, Declan.” Jarek’s voice held that dangerous velvet quality that always preceded his most ruthlessly bold ideas. He reached for the decanter. The amber liquid caught the city lights as he poured himself a drink. “You know the old Irish saying, ‘show the fatted calf, but not the thing that fattened him’? That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” His cryptic laugh echoed off the penthouse walls. “I’m going to be wined and dined by Polov, my dear friend, and he won’t have a fucking clue it’s The Dark One he’s entertaining.”

Declan’s face contorted in disbelief. “What exactly is going on in that head of yours?”

The smile fell from Jarek’s face, replaced by something cold and ancient—a darkness that had been born in the shadows of Atlanta’s bloodiest streets.

“I lost a wife and a child, Declan.” Each word dropped like icicles into the space between them. “He has a debt to pay... I intend to collect.”

“You…” Declan’s eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. His face drained of color. “Tatiana Polov?” He took an involuntary step backward. “You’re going to force him to make her marry you? Are you fucking mad?” His voice rose with each question. “She’s his only grandchild, Jarek. His princess. He worships the very earth she walks on. Not many people know this, but the man reorganized his entire operation just to keep her out of that life. He’ll never agree to that, no matter how you approach that challenge.”

Jarek moved to the window. His features shifted between the polished businessman he portrayed and something far more dangerous.

“Ah, but therein lies the crux of the matter, my dear friend.” He turned with a raptorial gleam in his eyes. “I’m not going to threaten him. I’m going to do much better than that.”

His smile returned, but it was different now—cruel, the smile of a man who had spent years plotting this very moment.

“I’m going to make her fall in love with me.” He swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber catch the light like liquid gold. “Can you imagine it, Declan? His precious granddaughter, the one person in his life who he kept away from his crime-soaked world… until now, that is.”

“What do you mean until now?”

“I heard whispers of him wanting to marry her off to one of his associates, Barto Petrov, who is old enough to be her father.”

“I don’t imagine she’s happy about that.”

Jarek shrugged. “It makes my quest so much easier. Envision his reaction when he realizes his precious little princess has willingly given her heart to the very monster who is out to destroy him.” A soft, dark chuckle escaped him. “It’ll be the ultimate betrayal... a just payment for the debt he owes, don’t you think?”

An oppressive silence descended to mute the conversation. For long moments, Jarek sat in silence, muted by the overwhelming thoughts of vengeance he had planned.

Jarek knew what Declan saw when he watched him. Not just the sophisticated crime boss of the present but glimpses of the broken man who had emerged from that bloody night in Atlanta twenty years ago. The night that had triggered the transformation of Jarek Farrel into The Dark One.

A montage of visions swept through his mind as he recounted the episodic moments of the last twenty years. He recapped all that had transpired and the characters, dead and alive, who were involved. Over the years, he continually replayed this loop tape to remind him of his mission—to avenge the senseless deaths of his loved ones, no matter that it dragged him into the darkest place he’d ever been.

“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph,” Declan whispered, crossing himself out of habit. “You’re not just going to destroy him. You’re going tomakehim destroyhimself.”

“Now you’re thinking like an underboss.” Jarek raised his glass in a mock toast. “Welcome to the long game of vengeance, my friend.”

Chapter Eight

Tatiana

Two weeks later… The Pearl Icon, an exclusive underground Club, Sheraton Atlanta Hotel, Courtland Street, Atlanta…

Tatiana settled onto a sleek black leather barstool. Her elbows rested on the polished marble counter that stretched the length of the massive steel and stone bar. The exclusive underground club was her favorite where she maintained a standing membership.

She watched the three bartenders move in a synchronized choreography while they attended the clientele. Their black shirts and silver vests popped in bright relief under purple lighting.

Swiveling on her seat, she scanned the discreet seating arrangements that flanked the bar. Many of Atlanta’s rich and famous would come to avail themselves of the anonymity offered and indulge their passion for decadent behavior.

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