Prologue
Mikhail
New York
Idrag in a staggered breath as I enter the church I’ve been attending since I was born.
I adjust my jacket, so the outline of my gun won’t be as visible.
The priest doesn’t need to be afraid of me, although I know he is.
Everything is ready now.
All that I need to carry out today’s plan.
I just have this one last thing left to do before I leave.
My confession.
It may seem pointless because of who and what I am, but I’m still doing this anyway.
I’m the youngest son of Sergei Dmitriyev, the Pakhan of the Baranov Bratva. I am his Obshchak, part of the elite in the brotherhood, and my hands have been crimson with blood more times than I can count in this lifetime. Men like me have no hope, especially when we have no plans of changing and going back on the straight and narrow path that should lead to a blessed eternal life in heaven.
There’s only one place for a man like me. I know my dark soul is already damned, but since I escaped my latest encounter with death and the gates of hell refused to let me in, part of me thinks I might not be as damned as I thought.
Or maybe it’s just that the devil spat me out of his lair to do one last bidding.
I don’t care how I made it back; my mother and sister should not be on the other side, and I should not be in the world of the living.
The plan I seek to enact will bring about vengeance for those who should still be living.
My gaze falls on the glass painting of Christ on my far left, and the nun arranging the flowers by the alter gives me the same welcoming nod she greets me with every time she sees me.
I nod back, despite knowing deep down she’s probably wondering why I bother. I appreciate the non-judgmental look she gives me. I appreciate even more the sympathy I witness in the depths of her eyes for what happened to me and my family.
As much as she knows what kind of man I am, she’ll know, too, that monsters aren’t born; they’re made.
They’re created.
People made them that way.
Something happened to them to push them to the dark side, and the only way to battle your demons is to become a monster yourself.
I take the corner to Father Gabriel’s office. He’s expecting me. We stopped using the confessional years ago.
I prefer to look someone in the eyes and confess my sins rather than hide behind a wall.
His door is already open. When I enter the room, he lifts his graying head and acknowledges me in that fatherly way most priests do.
For me, his greeting is always more meaningful. When he looks at me, I know he sees everything I’ve lived through, from the boy to the man I am before him.
“Good day, Father,” I say, giving him the polite greeting I don’t feel.
“Hello, Mikhail. Take a seat and start when you’re ready.”
I sit in the leatherback chair in front of him and rest my hands on the edge of his desk.
Just like last time, I look straight into his dark gray eyes and gear myself up.
