The elevator doors to my penthouse slide open to reveal both of my guards face down in a pool of blood. The entire apartment has been ransacked. Pictures have been torn from the wall, furniture thrown over. Every drawer pulled out, every closet open. My jaw tenses. My fingers draw into fists as I make my way through the space toward the kitchen.

A man in a white suit sits slumped against the cabinets, his thousand-yard death stare aimed at the ceiling. The metal handle of a butcher knife protrudes from the base of his throat. Boris bristles next to me, cocking his gun. My body coils with tension from the act of blatant disrespect. Groaning, I turn from the kitchen and make my way to the bedroom, the only noise that of my shoes clicking over the marble. I stop outside one of the rooms. What will I do if I walk in and find my krasivaya with all the precious blood drained from her body? I rest my palm over the bedroom door and take a steadying breath. When I go to turn the knob, it's locked. "Camilla?" I shout, shaking the handle.

A whimper floats underneath the door. I take a step back and kick the door down with a bang. The room is untouched. Empty. Another tiny, muffled cry comes from under the bed. Boris cocks the gun, following closely behind me as I walk into the room. "Little girl," I say as I bend over and lift the dust ruffle to the bed. She screams, clutching a doll and scooting toward the wall.

"It's okay. Remember me? I'm Camilla's friend." I try to sound reassuring, because isn't that how one speaks to a child? I hold out my hand. "Come on." She takes my hand and I gently pull her out.

Her face is splotchy, her cheeks wet with tears. "I want my daddy," she sobs.

"It's okay." The little girl falls into my chest. And what do I do? She's clinging to a man who took her like I will save her... "Where did she go?" I ask.

"She went to get the bad men."

My pulse races, beat by beat morphing into a loud drumming in my ears. The gall of Mario to set me up. The audacity. I pull my phone from my pocket as I push to my feet and leave the child in the room with Boris. I go straight through to the balcony, closing the door behind me as I dial Mario's number. The hustle and bustle from the city below hums around me, feeding the sense of chaos swirling inside me. The line clicks. "Would you like to tell your daughter goodbye?" I say before Mario can even say hello.

"Wh-what? I don't understand. I did what you asked," he says, his voice trembling.

"No!" I slam my fist over the wrought iron railing. "You set me up."

"Why would I do that?" he shouts. "You have my daughter! I didn't tell anyone. I didn’t tell a singl—"

"As I said, would you like to tell her goodbye?"

"Please, no!" he begs. "Please. I'll do anything. Whatever you need." There's a sense of utter panic to his voice, and while it does delight me, this is not the panic of a man caught in an act. No, this is the panic of a man caught off guard.

"Very well." I hang up, block Mario's number, and tuck the phone in my pocket before leaning over the railing to stare at the people below. They mill about carrying on with their mundane lives, drinking coffee, laughing. They live in a disillusioned bubble of safety all the while I'm perched directly above them, watching. With a sigh, I step back into the apartment, calling for Boris to take the child home. And as I watch him escort her and her doll into the elevator, I wonder if perhaps I have lost my touch. Have I allowed love to weasel her way so deeply into my soul that my crown of ruthlessness has tarnished?

Possibly...

The twinkling city lights shine through the window, casting light into the dark room. Sometimes silence and darkness are required to think. A deprivation of the senses if you will... I sit, waiting for a call to come through. One I know eventually will.

Everything The Horseman has done has been personal. My life's work. My home. My little kitty. Any smart man has his moves planned out. There was a reason he took Camilla. If he'd just wanted her dead, she would have been left here for me to find. I must say, I'm unfortunately coming to form some level of respect for my enemy on the sole principle that he thinks so highly of himself as to overthrow me. What a pity it shall be to end such a worthy adversary's life, but there can only ever be one god. And that will always be me.

When my phone rings with an unknown number, I smile. "It's not polite to keep me waiting so long," I say.

"Ronan Cole."

"And with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" I light a cigar, dragging the smoke deep into my lungs as I continue to stare at the lights of the New York City skyline.

"I believe you would know me as The Horseman, but that's not important. What is important, is what I have that you want and vice versa."

"I see." A sudden fear attempts to grip me within its clutches. A fear of what fate may await Camilla, but I swallow it back, because in the end, it does not matter. It does...

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" he taunts. "Do not feel ashamed. She has been the ruin of many—like Helen of Troy. She is something that men are prepared to go to war for. Die for." He sighs.

"What is it you want?" Smoke crawls through my lips.

"Why," he chuckles, "I want to destroy you of course. Like any good enemy."

"Many men have thought to do that before you. I'll warn you, it never ends well."

I hear the creak of a chair. "Ah, but I can almost taste your fear Ronan Cole. Like a dying animal, you sense the end is near. You have nowhere to run, no clients, no mansion, no woman. And no power."

The lack of decorum insults me, but still, I must stifle a laugh at his outlandish claim. I fear no one. "The only place I want to run, is to you," I say.

"I'm touched. I will take you up on that offer. First, Camilla and I are going to have a little fun. I'll be in touch."

My teeth grind together when the line clicks. Camilla can handle herself, but the insult comes with the thought that this man will fuck her to make me angry. To desecrate what is truly mine. He fucks her to fuck me, and that creates a fire within my veins that will only be snuffed by blood.

By the time The Horseman extends his invitation, I will be more than prepared.