Prologue
Kronid
7 Years Ago . . .
Laughter fills in the background of this city bar from a bachelor party sitting a few tables behind me. They keep drinking, ordering more pints of beer every ten minutes. And I sit here, staring down at my phone for the Romanian to show up. He’s not a businessman or someone I’d typically enjoy speaking to, but my father’s allies gave me a heads up about his impending arrival. From what I was told he didn’t come alone either, and I know for a fact he and his friend have been seen with my younger half-sister, Bianca Petran.
Her parents killed my father and while he wasn’t a saint, he was the only person I had left in my life to care for me. After his death I was thrown into foster care and after my fourth foster home I made a promise to myself. A promise about how I’d go after those responsible for my father’s death, how I’d hunt them down and make them regret ever changing my life. I doubt they’d ever know about the terrors I went through being thrown around like a sack of potatoes, but they’d know my name before they died.
At least that was my plan before I discovered the circumstances surrounding my father’s death, and about the horrors he committed as well. I’d never call him perfect. He wasn’t anywhere close to it, but he was still my father and I still cared for him. After my mother’s death he became the only one who I could rely on and when he died, the only person I could truly rely on was myself.
Today I met with one of my father’s oldest friends, a man deeply integrated in the Romanian mafia who sat me down and told me the truth. The gritty, ugly truth about my father and what he’d done. It’s been a couple hours since he left the bar and I’ve been nursing vodka ever since, drink after drink, using the vodka to settle my mind. So far it hasn’t worked.
My father made himself seem like a royal when I was a boy. He made it seem like he was the man on the right side of the tracks and the people he was fighting with were the ‘evil’ ones. It turns out he was the evil one, and while I knew he wasn’t telling me the entire truth. I assumed he was being somewhat honest with me. What I never expected was to discover this—my father was a murderer, kidnapper, pedophile, and rapist.
My father stole my sister’s mother from her childhood home when she was sixteen, after murdering her parents. He kept her captive in his home for years, continuously raping her which resulted in my sister’s birth.
I remember Bianca when I was a child, but we’ve never had a relationship after that. She was so young I doubt she even knew I existed.
“Want another?” the bartender asks me, motioning with his eyes toward my half-empty glass.
I nod, picking it up I down the rest of it and hand the glass over. “Yes, that’d be great.”
“I’ve worked here for years and I’ve never seen someone take their alcohol like you have. That’s saying a lot since I’ve witnessed so many groups like them.” He motions with his head toward the group celebrating a few tables behind me.
“Yes, well, it’s a hidden talent I have,” I joke, hoping it’ll get the guy to shut up. I’ve never been a fan of talking to strangers, especially when I’m mulling over what I’ll do next. It seems pointless to keep going after the Romanian mafia when the reality is they’ve done nothing wrong. The person responsible for the wrongdoing is dead, so I need to drop it and move on with my life.
I could go to Portugal, Greece, or even Australia. They’re three of my favorite places to travel and would make a great home for me. Luckily, my father left me some money if he ever passed before I was an adult so I’ll be able to take care of myself.
Grazing my hand over my pants leg I realize the edge of my passport is starting to fall, so I yank it out and open it, staring down at the name I’ve gone by for a few years now—Kronid Aldea. I abandoned my father’s surname during my quest to seek vengeance, a vengeance he never deserved in the first place. Closing it, I slide it in my suit jacket pocket and the bartender hands me my glass as a shadow appears on my right side. The bar isn’t overly packed, but it’s quite busy.
Metal screeches against the floor and I clear my throat. “You can take another seat. There are plenty around,” I grumble, finally looking to see whoever’s beside me.
Much to my surprise, Stefan Dalca has arrived early. He’s rumored to be my younger sister’s boyfriend, yet he’s almost as old as her stepfather. Oh, how scandalous. “Did Bianca send you to come after me?” I chuckle, downing a bit of the vodka. I want to keep my wits about me, but damn I need more alcohol in my system.
“She sent me here to show you mercy before her parents ordered your death,” Stefan states so matter-of-factly. It’s enough to cause me to cock a brow. For a moment I believe he’s fucking with me, but the growing silence between us confirms he’s anything but kidding.
“I understand why they want me dead, but what I don’t understand is why Bianca wants me alive. We haven’t seen each other since we were small children.” She might’ve been three when I saw her last.
Stefan stares me down. “After what you’ve done you should die. But, it’s not my place to order your death.”
“Then what is your place?” I question him, waiting for Stefan to grace me with the arrogant remarks. I’ve often wondered if the man actually lives up to his reputation.
A sharp stinging sensation hits me on the alternate side of the neck. I turn to glance at whatever’s stuck me and see a tall brute. He has teardrop tattoos going down one side of his face and I start to weave to the left and the right.
The bartender who’s been serving me over the last few hours comes over from the other side. “Shit, looks like the alcohol’s finally catching up with him. He a buddy of yours?”
“Yes, my brother,” the tear drop man responds just as my eyes flutter one more time. The last thing I hear is him say, “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.”
Chapter One
Dema
Present Day . . .
If you asked me when I was sixteen where I’d be at twenty-one, I’d tell you I’d be working with my mom in her ballet studio in Richmond, Virginia. Along with having my art being shown in galleries all throughout the country.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d lose my mom and father to a drunk driver who caused the head on collision, killing them both instantly on impact.
Without any relatives in the U.S., I ended up leaving the country. My entire world turned upside down as I moved to Moscow, Russia. Talk about a culture shock. I knew my mom and I were both from Russia and moved to the States when I’d been no more than a few weeks old. She was a prestigious ballerina who ended up pregnant, but when she started showing her obvious pregnancy, she was let go from the company.
She met my dad, the man who’s raised me from day one, they married and were together until the end for them. It’s romantic in a sad way if you ask me.
After their death I ended up being shipped off to Moscow to live with my grandparents. Don’t get me wrong, I love them to pieces, it’s just difficult when it comes to fitting in. I’m not fluent in the language which makes things even harder. I sometimes want nothing more than to go back to the States, but then I feel horrible because it would mean leaving my grandparents alone without anyone to take care of them.