The Predator

Moscow at night was a cruel mistress.

The high-end gala.

I wasn’t on the guest list. I didn’t need to be.

Invites are for those begging for approval. I take what I want.

I walked in like I owned the fucking place and practically I did since half of this place was funded by my dear father-Alexei Volkov. Fuck why was I thinking of him now.

My cane clicked against the polished marble floor. Heads turned, whispers flowed through the room like a goddamn tsunami, but no one dared stop me. No one questioned why Judas fucking Romanovski was here. The monster they all feared but could never...