Page 67 of Defiant Devotion

I grunted a laugh. “No, really?” I joked. Then I shook my head. “I appreciate the offer, as implied as it already was, but I plan to settle down with Sonya and have a family. For the first time in a long time, I want to focus on my family.”

“You have one now, with the Baranovs.”

I nodded. “I know, but I mean me, Sonya, and our baby.” I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s been a pipe dream.”

Lev glanced at me as he drove. “You’ve always thought you were a loner and now you’re realizing you’re not?”

“No.” I sighed and decided Lev and I could be friends one day if I tried to not irritate him. Opening up to him felt right. “I wasrejected from my Bratva family as a child, in Russia. My mother brought me back to the States, and I eventually joined the military. That didn’t suit me either since I never truly felt like I had my place there, either.” I shrugged, hating how I’d struggled to know my purpose and place. Perhaps it took the idea that I’d soon be turning forty and I needed to retreat from killing slightly to secure a family in order to have a purpose.

“I understand.”

I looked at him and furrowed my brow. “You can? You’re familiar with being rejected and lost?”

“Yeah.” As he went on to explain his backstory, that he had been an orphan until he saved Oleg’s life and was taken into the Baranov family, I realized he could say that he understood. He’d lived through that feeling of not having a place too.

We neared the Benson estate, and we shelved the talk about our pasts. It was game time, and almost in sync, we grew more alert and ready. This was time to focus and execute. Lev was no slouch with taking out hits, and I appreciated that he could be an ally. A friend in the future.

A brother.

After he parked, we exited the car and fell into a perfect partnership. I didn’t have to worry whether he knew what to do, and likewise, he innately seemed to trust that I’d have his back and concentrate on my role.

No guards stopped us from entering the big house way outside the city, but that didn’t surprise us. This location was harder to find, one house among many that the Benson family owned. Because it was remote and the ownership was hidden underlayers of deeds, it was far from common knowledge that this country house was somewhere the Bensons could call home.

The second Lev and I stepped inside, another sharp crack of thunder struck outside, and a low, growling rumble followed. Vibrations from the thunder rose up from the floor as we strode further into the house.

Guns raised and at the ready, we progressed inside. With nods and silent, careful steps, we snuck in.

And the scene we ultimately found wasn’t one I bet he expected. I sure hadn’t.

“What in the fuck…?” Lev uttered it silently as he scoped out the massive, round study. Bookcases lined all the walls, and with the wood on all surfaces, the masculine room seemed dim with the storm raging outside.

Plenty of light remained for us to see the dead bodies.

Ford Benson, Eric’s father, lay sprawled out on the navy carpet. He died on his back, his lifeless eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. Several bullet holes showed clearly on his chest. Ripped white fabric denoted where he’d been shot, and the profuse spread of crimson on the pure-white garment indicated how quickly and severely he must have bled out.

Across from him, seated in the huge leather chair behind a massive mahogany desk, was Eric Benson. Or what remained of him. The bottom of his head showed where a gun had been fired upward beneath his chin. Brain matter and blood were splattered behind him from the fatal shot.

The suicidal shot.

As Lev remained on edge, gun up and checking to see if anyone else was here, I approached the desk. The only item on it, other than Eric’s limp arm and the gun that was still loosely in his grip, was a paper.

I leaned over, not touching anything and disturbing evidence, and read it.

“Killed himself,” I announced.

“No shit?” Lev asked.

I nodded, skimming the handwritten letter quickly. “He vowed to kill his father for pushing him into a life he didn’t want. This claims he’s suffered from depression all his life and hated his father for refusing to let him treat it, because that would signal a weakness and no Benson was weak. He couldn’t make himself be a puppet for his father, not in office, and he refused to go through with the plans his father and O’Malley expected of him.”

Finished summarizing the letter, I looked up at Lev.

“Damn,” he said, deadpan.

I smiled. “Looks like we’re not needed here.”

Eric was no longer a threat. I couldn’t wait to tell Sonya.

“No. Not here,” Lev replied. “Let’s go find O’Malley.”

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