12 years later

"I Don't Care" - Apocylptica, Adam Gontier

The celloist in the corner of the ballroom plays a drab tune. Women in lavish gowns flit around the room while the men in tuxedos watch their every move. To be honest, I hate the formalities of political campaigns. It's all a show, after all, a power play. Ironically, none of the people in this room truly hold power. For a man in control must be the most perfect of villains, and heartless power is the only absolute authority there is.

Prime Minister Vasily steps to the side of the room, and I spot Anastasia clinging to Nikoli Derevichi's arm. Wisps of blonde hair frame her elegant face. Her dress fits just so. My, she is the epitome of a refined woman...at least on paper. She glances at me, a light blush painting her pale cheeks before Nikoli leans down to whisper something in her ear. He steps to the side with a group of men. I turn away, sipping the bland Chardonnay because I know Ana will be making her way over here at any moment. She is so very predictable. How mundane.

Within seconds, a delicate hand brushes my shoulder. "Ronan?" Anastasia whispers. Her fingers trail along my arm as she steps into my line of vision. "Where have you been?"

"You shouldn't touch me in public, Ana." I lift the glass of wine to my lips, nodding across the room toward Nikoli, her husband and the President of Russia. I force my brow to wrinkle as though I'm concerned with him. Lies. He should be concerned with me.

"I need you, Ronan.” Her eyes drag over my body. “I crave you."

I inhale, pretending I'm torn. "Ah, Anastasia... Careful.” Nikoli's gaze cuts over toward us. A slight smirk plays at my lips as our eyes lock from across the room—two men battling for the affection of one woman. So suspenseful.

"Ronan..." Anastasia whines.

Desperation is such an unattractive quality to possess. It’s not that I want Anastasia, but that I need her. Every step I take is planned, calculated, and Anastasia is simply a piece to the puzzle I've spent the last seven years constructing. So, I smile and bite down on my lip as though I'm restraining myself from taking her into the hallway and fucking her. "Not here," I whisper before I step away, heading toward the patio.

The frigid air and a flurry of snow greet me when I open the door. I pause in the doorway to pull the cigar from my breast pocket and light it. Smoke swirls in front of my face as I stare at the lights of Moscow dotting the horizon. I wonder what it will feel like when all of this is mine? Smiling at the thought, I turn to watch through the window as all the little puppets dance on strings they don't know they're tied to.

My jaw clenches when I spot Ivan Menova speaking with Nikoli. My pulse throbs. When Ivan notices me watching him, an uneasy smile shapes his lips. He shakes Nikoli's hand, combing his fingers through his hair as he heads to the doorway. As soon as Ivan steps foot onto the snow, he shivers. "It's cold tonight," he says.

I take a slow drag of my cigar, the bright red glow of the cherry casting shadows over his face. I don't say a word. I can see the worry setting in on his furrowed brow. Fear is like blood in the water, it beckons me. It sends a jolt of adrenaline through me, sparking a want for violence.

"Another shipment goes out to Pakistan this Friday," he says.

Laughing, I blow smoke directly in his face and he coughs. This man has the audacity to approach me? I know he's had men intercepting shipments of my ammunition to the Middle East. And I'm not certain whether he's brave or just stupid, which is why I've not had him killed. Yet. Stupidity warrants a humane form of death, but bravery—tsk, tsk.

"Mr. Cole," he says. "The shipment."

"Tell me, Ivan. Do you take me for a stupid man?"

"No, of course not." There's a slight tremor to his voice. Poor soul.

I hand my cigar to Ivan, and his forehead wrinkles with confusion before his cheeks wash white. He stammers over unintelligible words. Stupidity does get people into such trouble sometimes...I take a single step toward him and place my lips so close by his ear that I can feel the heat from his skin, smell the cheap aftershave he's doused himself in. "I know what you've done, Ivan. Enjoy that cigar, it will be your last."

He drops the cigar and when he turns to run, Igor is already blocking his way. Clasping my hands together, I step to the side. There's only a small pop of air from the silencer when the trigger is pulled, and Ivan falls face first into the pile of snow at the doorway. I smile because the splattering of blood does look quite festive.

I straighten my suit, and step over the body, walking back into the warmth of the party. After all, it would look suspicious if I left so suddenly, wouldn't it? I may hate the niceties of these political campaigns, but I do so enjoy the business dealings sometimes involved. Several people stop me to talk and I oblige, eventually excusing myself. I grab a glass of wine and lean against the far wall, waiting.

The quartet plays on and then a man yells. I glance up just as he runs in from the patio, and my body tingles with anticipation. “A man’s been shot!” he shouts. Women shriek, men scurry around with cell phones to their ears. There's quite the commotion forming over Ivan lying in a puddle of blood, and I simply stand here, utterly amused by them all. Death is a natural part of life. I don't understand why everyone gets so upset. My observation is interrupted by the vibration of my phone in my trouser pocket. I fish it out and place it to my ear. "Yes?"

"Jésus did not accept the offer," Boris says.

My jaw twitches and my pulse tick, tick, ticks up, thrumming in my throat. "I'm sorry. What did you say, Boris?"

"He won't sell the land."

I stare across the room at Anastasia as she clings to her pathetic husband's arm. "Get me a flight to Mexico. Now," I say before I hang up, shove the phone in my pocket, and walk out of the party with my fists clenched at my sides.

I have business to tend to.

The next morning, I sit in front of Jésus Garcia's desk with Igor and Boris beside me. I check my watch before staring through the window at the barren landscape. The desert hills of Juarez seem to stretch on for an eternity, hot and scorched.

I've decided I hate Mexico. I hate the cartels, the lack of finesse and respect they possess. They're nothing more than savages with ammunition, but unfortunately for me, the Sinaloa cartel own land I am very much in need of. Maybe when I'm done with it, I'll blow their entire city of Juarez clean off the map. Maybe...

The door to the office creaks open and Jésus walks in dressed in a cheap suit. Several men toting guns follow him into the room. The cartels and their guns... Jésus' ink black hair is slicked back, and there's a permanent crease in his forehead. His eyes set on me as he steps behind his desk and takes a seat. "I don't make deals with Russians." He smiles, and I fully expect for a gold tooth to glint in the light, but it doesn't. How very disappointing.

"Four million dollars," I say, adjusting my cufflinks. "I will give you four million dollars for the land surrounding Lago Estrellado."

"No." He plucks a half-smoked cigar from the ashtray on his desk and lights it.

I stare at him, one side of my lips ticking up in an annoyed smile. "I don't think you understand the generosity I'm providing you with this offer."

"I shit on your generosity." Jésus grins wide. "As I said, I don't make deals with Russians."

My pulse drums in my neck, blood rushes to my face. "I'll assume you don't understand who you are dealing with, and I will give you one more opportunity to make a wise decision, my friend."

"I know who you are, and I don't give a shit!"

Closing my eyes, I draw in a breath. I don’t accept no. Ever. I open my eyes and push up from my seat, giving Jésus a passing glance as I head toward the door of his office. I tried to be nice, I did.

Now, what to do about him? Murder is so boring, and if Jésus is killed without strategic planning, another leader will just step into his place. I'm one for the theatrics, the festivities, so I'll simply play a little game of chess. Pit cartel against cartel, sit back and watch the carnage like an emperor at a gladiator show. And then, when Rome lies in ruins, I'll swoop in and take my land. For free.

Once we're in the car, I glance at Igor. "Find out everything you can about the Juarez cartel and Gabriel Estrada, would you, Igor? Nothing like having Jésus taken down by his own enemy."