Page 115 of Beautiful Ruins
He had made a monumental mistake bringing himself to my attention.He had also made the fatal mistake of believing he could involve Izzy in his debts and walk away from it.That alone sealed his fate.
Now it was only a matter of time before someone followed the bounty, knocked on my door, and handed me the location of the spineless bastard who thought he could traffic what was mine.
And when they did, I intended to personally relieve the world of his special brand of stupidity.
My home.
My sister.
Izzy.
That invisible boundary between my life and my work had been shattered the moment Chernov’s men kicked in my door and opened fire like they were testing the strength of my response.
Now they would get it.
I stood over the layout Archie had provided, the club’s floor plan spread across the table under harsh overhead lighting.Entrances, exits, service corridors, private rooms, security points.Every detail marked in glaring, efficient ink.
“They rotate guards every forty minutes,” Archie explained, leaning on his cane beside the table.“Back rooms host their senior members.The public floor is mostly for revenue and cover.”
“And the head?”
“Sergei Ivanovich,” he answered.“Mid-level enforcer under Chernov.He’s ruthless, loyal, and ambitious enough to rebuild what remains of the outfit.”
My jaw tightened.
“And Nathan?”
Archie’s gaze flicked up.
“He’s been known to frequent the establishment,” he confirmed.“He’s keeping his head down, but I know he’s trying to reconnect with surviving contacts.He believes proximity to Ivanovich will buy him protection.”
A humourless laugh left my throat.Protection.From me.
“He chose the wrong shield.”
Atlas folded his arms across his chest, studying the plan.
“We go in fast.There’ll be none of the usual drawn-out engagement.Cut through what remains and collapse the structure.”
Marcello nodded once.
“Back corridors first.Civilian floor second.”
Gianni cracked his knuckles slowly.
“And if Ivanovich resists?”
I looked up.
“Did you not get the memo that no-one leaves that club alive?I’m going to fucking level it to the ground.”
The club was loudthe moment we stepped inside.
Music thumped through the floor, the bass vibrating in my chest.Flashing lights cut through the dark red and gold interior, making everything feel hazy and overstimulating.From the outside, it passed as just another upscale nightlife spot for rich men with poor taste.
Half-dressed servers moved between tables carrying trays of expensive liquor, their expressions polite but distant.Dancers performed on raised stages under harsh lights, their skin shining as men tossed cash without hesitation.Private booths lined the walls, partly hidden by curtains that suggested privacy without truly giving it.
The air smelled like alcohol, cheap perfume, sweat, and money.
