Page 1 of Merciless Sinner

ChapterOne

Virgo

Monte Carlo is another city in this world that never sleeps.

The streets are always bustling with people and various activities, day and night.

Even at this hour of the morning. It’s barely seven, but from what I can see, it could be at the height of noon where everyone is out and about.

I’m sitting at one of the quaint wooden tables in the back of the Noisette Café, watching it all unfold through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

People are all around me. Outside and inside the café. All the tables are taken, and it looks like it’s going to stay that way for the next few hours. I was lucky to get one to myself, even though I got here when the café opened its doors.

I’ve been here for a little over an hour, which has seen me down two triple shots of espressos. I have a fresh cup in front of me, and I hope not to order any more, but I will if I have to.

Coffee usually makes people jittery, but it calms my nerves when I’m anxious. Still, even I have a limit.

Anxiety is an emotion I rarely feel, and I loathe it as much as I do fear.

I can count on one hand how many times the feeling has infiltrated my mind in the thirty-one years of my life. I suppose the first few years of life don’t really count, though, as I wouldn’t remember. I doubt my parents would either. I was told that the moment I was born, my mother handed me over to the nanny while my father was away with one of his many mistresses.

Such is my life.

For the times Icanactually remember being anxious, nothing has come close to this moment.

I’m Virgo Antonov. My name in the Bratva—and to those who know to beware of me— is synonymous with ruthless, fearless, heartless,merciless.

Yet… I’ve come across this one situation I can’t control despite who I am.

I’m not here to drink coffee or watch people walking around the city.

I’m here for the girl.

My girl.

Olivia O’Ridian.

The woman who has lived in my dreams for the last two and a half years. The woman I refused to accept was dead until I had proof.

It turns out my heart was right—she’s not dead. At least I hope not. I haven’t seen her in the flesh yet.

My guards told me she would be here today at opening time. This café is supposedly one of the places she works. But either she’s late, or she’s not coming to work today.

I've seen pictures of her which prove she’s alive. Those same pictures had me on my jet from New York to Monte Carlo within the hour of seeing them.

I have no plan, no strategy, no hidden aces up my sleeves.

I’m flying blind, but I needed to see her.

By the same token, I also know what to expect if and when she presents herself, as the other problem I have is that she doesn't remember who she is.

Meaning she won’t remember me either.

The headstrong Bratva leader in me refuses to believe that could be true, because I find it hard to accept that you can have the kind of history and relationship we had and forget each other.

But I know it’s something I’ll have to deal with as a cold, hard truth if it hits me in the face.

I take a sip of my coffee and decide to down the rest. There wasn’t much left in the cup anyway.

---