Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
I motion toward the kitchen table for us to sit down and reach toward the wall to turn on the light. Elle pulls out a chair and sits.
“I’m all ears,” she says as she pulls a small notepad and pen out of her pocket.
“No notes,” I say.
“Fine,” she frowns. “But then after you’re finished, I have some questions to ask that I want answers to.”
I nod, unsure whether I’ll oblige her request. We’ll see where this goes, I suppose. I’m already breaking all of my usual rules, so I might as well allow her to stay for a while and play this through. I take a seat across the table from her, keenly aware that even the wide, wooden tabletop doesn’t seem to put enough physical space between us. Then, I take a moment to think and breathe before I speak.
“You want to create a criminal profile of me,” I say, remembering all the tidbits of character evidence she has on her apartment wall, all of it about me and my life.
“It’s what I do,” she says.
“Do you normally spend years profiling each criminal?”
“No,” she says with narrowed eyes. “You’re different. You’re personal.”
“I see,” I nod. “And you want to find out what makes me tick?”
“I want to find out everything about you. I want to know how you became the Ghost, what role you play in the mafia, and what you did that night in the alley when my mother was killed. I want to know why it seems like you’ve been following me for years, too. And I want to know why you—”
“Wait,” I interrupt, already knowing what her last question will be. She wants to know why I didn’t pull the trigger sooner that night. “One thing at a time.”
I think about her questions, wondering to myself how far I want to go with this. But I didn’t bring her out here for nothing. It’s hard for me to trust anyone, especially after what happened back in Moscow. I haven’t ever trusted anyone since that night. Walking into a trap and having your brother tortured and killed in front of your eyes will do that to a person and leave trust issues that are nearly impossible to overcome. But in order to get Elle to tamp down her hot pursuit of answers, I’m going to need to reveal a few glimpses of my past to her.
I take the first question head-on and give an honest answer.
“My older brother was the Ghost,” I say. “He was two years older than me, and when we were in our late teens back in Russia, we were both part of the Bratva.”
“The Bratva?” Elle’s innocence makes her seem softer, less like a criminal profiler and more like a woman caught up in something over her head.
“The Brothers’ Circle, a brotherhood of Russian organized crime,” I explain. “Surely you’re aware that many of the people you have dealings with, and even friendships with, are associated with the Russian mafia here in Las Vegas.”
“Yes, of course,” she stammers, not wanting to appear naïve. “I just didn’t realize that it was also called something else. And Valentina and I haven’t spoken in years.”
I raise an eyebrow at her unsolicited remark. I never specifically mentioned Valentina. Clearly, being at Luc and Valentina’s wedding has stirred up some past unresolved feelings about their friendship.
“When I was in the Bratva with my brother,” I continue, glossing over her remark. “We were trained to be the best at what we did.”
“You mean kill people.”
“Yes. I see no point in sugarcoating any of this for you now. You’ve already seen me kill once before, Elle. But the extent to which my ledger runs red with the blood of others I’ve killed is a lot worse than you and your research have uncovered.”
She sits back in her chair, and her chest heaves with a weighty sigh as if she’s bracing herself. “Tell me.”
“My brother and I were young prodigies. He was the best at what he did in those days. I was still in training,” I explain as I paint the picture for her. “He was silent, stealthy, and above all deadly. The leadership used to say that he could kill so quickly that no one ever saw him coming or going, that he was like an apparition. I used to tease him about being a ghost until finally the nickname stuck.” I pause not to remember the details of those years but to forget them instead. “We were raised in isolation, apart from the rest of the boys our age. My brother was my best and only friend for much of my life. He was the only one who knew what it was like to be groomed as a Bratva prodigy, and I had much to learn from him still.”