Chapter 4 - The Russian Cartel
The name Volkov sent a surge of pure, unadulterated fury through my veins.
Ivan Volkov was my oldest and most ruthless rival in the underground weapons trade.
The thought of my wife conspiring with him made my blood boil with violent intent.
I spent the next three hours arming myself and assembling a strike team of my deadliest men.
Grace insisted on coming with us, claiming she knew the exact layout of the Volkov warehouse.
I reluctantly agreed, ordering two guards to stay in the bunker and protect little Amara with their lives.
We drove through the pouring rain, parking our black SUVs a mile away from the rusted shipyard.
We moved silently through the shadows, taking out Ivan's perimeter guards with suppressed weapons.
The main warehouse door was slightly ajar, glowing with dim yellow light from the inside.
I kicked the door open, leading my men into the cavernous, echoing space.
Ivan Volkov was standing in the center of the room, smoking a cigar and waiting for me.
"Julian Hale, you finally figured it out," Ivan laughed, his deep voice echoing off the metal walls.
I aimed my assault rifle directly at his chest.
"Where are my wife and my daughter, Ivan?" I shouted over the sound of the heavy rain.
Ivan smirked and gestured toward a large shipping container on his left.
The heavy metal doors slowly creaked open.
Seraphina stepped out of the shadows, wearing a flawless designer coat and a perfectly calm expression.
She did not look like a woman who had been held captive for two years.
She looked exactly like a queen surveying her new criminal empire.
"Hello, Julian," she said softly, her voice devoid of any warmth.
I stared at the woman I had mourned every single day.
"Why did you do this to our family?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly.
May you like
Seraphina simply smiled and raised a silver handgun, pointing it directly at my face.
"Because I wanted your throne, Julian, and a grieving widow always inherits everything," she replied.
