In the glitzy world of high-stakes hospitality, Holden Sterling, the revered CEO of Sterling Grand Hotels, finds himself ensnared in a web of intrigue when he meets Eriola Coleman, an architect with a shadowy past. Haunted by demons from her turbule...
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Jonathan's Safe House
In the dimly lit basement of our safe house, I stand face to face with the intruder who had breached our sanctuary. He is bound and guarded by three of my most trusted men, their presence a reassuring barrier between him and escape. I remove my Armana jacket and roll up the sleeves of my crisp white shirt. This is what I live for - the thrill of power and danger. Hailing from the heart of New York, where life is cheap and taking a life means nothing.
I am Russian, born into a family that doesn't shy away from killing. Marco has no idea who he's dealing with. The Bratva runs in my blood. I may not have a traditional Russian last name; my father changed it when we immigrated to America. That's why I have an American accent, so no one suspects my true identity, not even my own men.
My voice is a low growl as I demand answers, "Who the fuck are you, and what do you want?"
The intruder, his face partially obscured in the shadows, meets my gaze with a defiant glint in his eyes. "You think you're the only one with secrets, Covington?" His smirk twists into a grimace as he tests the ropes binding his wrists.
"I'm not leaving here until you tell me everything," I assert firmly, my fists tightening at my sides. Every nerve in my body is on edge, the weight of his words and the unknown threat he represents hanging heavy in the air. The basement feels smaller, suffocatingly tense with the unspoken tension and the promise of revelations that could unravel everything I've worked to protect.
He has no idea how I am managing to control my anger towards him. Standing in this dim-lit basement, I can see the defiance in his eyes. Even in ropes, he tries to act tough. He thinks he knows me, but he's got no idea about the beast I've caged within.
"Spit it out!" I bark, my voice echoing off the cold stone walls. "Who sent you?"
The man pauses, considering his options before he finally speaks. "Your past is catching up to you, Covington. A man named Marco Vitale hired me and my men." He says it in a language I know too well - Russian, my native tongue. My three guards give me puzzled looks, clearly not understanding what he's saying. But I understand him perfectly.
I confronted him, my voice trembling with anger. "Let me get this straight: Marco Vitale hired you and your band of criminals to take out my family and I. But why would he go through all that trouble for just $4 million?" I demanded an explanation.
The Russian intruder smirks, "Oh, Nectarios, there's more to it than that. He was just a pawn in a larger game." My heart stops at the sound of my real name. My real name, one that only a handful of people know, one of them being my family.
"And who, pray tell, is the puppet master pulling his strings?" I spit out through gritted teeth.
"A man known as The Collector," the Russian says with a smirk. "He's been gathering people like us for years. People with... complicated pasts." He chuckles, as if he's privy to some sick joke.
