The Killer’s Vow by Aria R. Blue
Simon
My darling’s a killer too.
The only difference is that she does it for necessity while I do it because I’m good at it.
It started when she was fifteen years old.
Vera Reznikova was engaged to an old pervert named Igor. She was to be married to him when she turned eighteen.
If her family knew what kind of a man Igor was, they didn’t say anything about it.
After weeks of being molested by him, circumstances aligned for her to get away with a crime. She was handed an opportunity.
And she took it.
She took his life.
It was only the beginning.
As time went by, mysterious things kept happening to the men who wanted to marry her.
After Igor, there was a man named Pavel.
Being one of her father’s business partners, he was always going in and out of the Russian compound. He asked for her hand when she turned eighteen, and Maxim agreed to it.
A few months later, Pavel was found floating in Lake Michigan.
A car accident. His car was never found, but it was speculated that he drove off a bridge after a meeting at Maxim’s house.
It was chalked up to his drug problem, and nobody thought much about it.
And then the same happened with Victor Dorokhov.
Only this time, the mode of death was different. Victor became mentally unstable a week before his engagement with Vera.
His body was found on his bathroom floor. There was a gun in his hand, and a bullet hole on his forehead.
He took his own life.
After Victor, there were four other men.
One of them died at the breakfast table. Cardiac arrest.
The other three met similar fates, their bodies suddenly giving up on them.
After seven men were killed, it dawned on Maxim Reznikov that his daughter didn’t want to get married.
He came to the conclusion that his daughter was somehow responsible for these deaths.
And his wife came to the conclusion that Vera was cursed.
But not a single person thinks that Vera herself is capable of killing.
How could she? She was never taught any self-defense, let alone how to get away with murder.
But based on the research I’ve done on her, I have a suspicion.
It’s been five days since the groom-to-be was shot at the altar.
I’ve been biding my time in Chicago, learning as much as I can about the mysterious Bratva princess. I’ll be meeting her tomorrow, after all.
“Would you like anything else, sir?” the server asks.
I check the time before I glance up from my phone.
Normally, I would wait until company has arrived, but that’s only when I’m pretending to show respect.
“Yes,” I say, and then I order potato varenyky and stuffed cabbage rolls.
“Have you taken a look at our appetizers?” he asks.
“Your finest vodka will do,” I say.
This morning, I started to feel homesick, so I decided on a cozy Russian restaurant in Wicker Park.
Just as the chilled vodka is placed on my table along with some salted pickles, my guests arrive.
I stand to greet the two boys.
Both of them are skinny kids fresh out of college. They’re broke and living in their mom’s basement, but they’re also the best hackers in this city.
“Mr. Scott,” they say, using the American last name I gave them. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Likewise. Vodka?” I ask.
They look at each other and nod. I keep my eyes on them as I pour them their glasses.
They’re both awkward but excited.
But what matters most to me is that they’re highly proficient in what they do.
“What have you learned about the family?” I ask.
With sweaty palms, they hand me a report with everything I need to know about the Reznikov family.
Hacking is something I’m good at, but sifting through large amounts of data to find little kernels here and there is tedious work.
I flip the papers until I find the section on Vera.
She took a few university classes online. Going through the next paragraph, I check what the courses were.
As I suspected, she learned about the life sciences—human biology and botany.
She was never taught how to fight with her body.
So she found a way to make her mind lethal.
“Do you understand that what you’re doing is a crime?” I ask, putting the report away and taking a bite of my food.
Both of their eyes widen.
“Relax. I’m not an undercover cop,” I say. “I just want to make sure that you’re aware of what you’re doing. Because I have another little project for you. How do you feel about international hacking?”