Free Web NovelChapter 28: Monday
Tessa approached Faye and Alfonso, then bowed with a smile. "Greetings, Madam and Sir Eisenthurn."
The two smiled back at her warmly.
"It’s been a long time since we last saw each other, Ksana," Faye said.
Tessa hummed. "It’s been so long since I heard my Russian name from you, Madam Faye."
"My dear, call me Mama Faye. It’s been so long since I saw you, and now you’re acting like a stranger. Come! Sit down." She invited Tessa—no, Ksana—to sit on the opposite sofa to face them.
The place was warm, the kind of warmth that came from decades of shared history. Ksana remembered this Gazebo from her childhood—the same vanilla-colored cushions, the same polished wood, and the same faint scent of Faye’s perfume lingering in the air.
She had hidden behind that very sofa once, years ago, when she was still learning to trust again.
"Well, thank you for your help, Ksana. I have all the information I need to let the Auclairs down if they think about biting the Eisenthurns." Alfonso’s face turned back to something cold and stoic, the mask he wore so often that Ksana sometimes wondered if he ever took it off even in sleep.
"It’s my pleasure, Sir Alfonso—"
"Eh? Papa!" Faye corrected sharply, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. Ksana nodded and a small smile tugged at her lips. "Okay, Mama."
Alfonso looked at Faye. "How many daughters are you actually planning on adopting?" He sounded serious, but that was just his normal voice when he had no more expression to show at the moment.
Ksana had learned to read between the lines with him—the slight tilt of his head, the almost imperceptible softening around his eyes. He wasn’t annoyed. He was teasing, in his own way.
"Shut it. I can have as many daughters as I want!" Faye didn’t let Alfonso get to her. She waved a hand dismissively, but there was no real heat behind the gesture. This was a dance they had performed thousands of times before.
Watching their exchange of banter made Ksana giggle. The very couple who had saved her still hadn’t changed. They bickered like an old married couple because that was exactly what they were—old married couple who had somehow survived decades of danger, betrayal, and loss without ever losing each other.
Faye looked at Ksana. "By the way, why did you agree to let Alfonso just make you his spy?" She sounded like she was interrogating now, her eyes narrowing slightly. But Ksana knew that look too and it was concern dressed up as suspicion.
"It’s okay, Mama. I have no current jobs to finish," Ksana said. She kept her voice light, but there was truth beneath it. The last assignment had left her hollow in a way she hadn’t expected. Walking away had been easier than she thought it would be.
"I just asked for help, darling. It’s not like it’s hard for Ksana. She’s a trained spy. And... a Russian." Alfonso said the last part like it explained everything. In a way, it did. Their shared heritage, the unspoken understanding of what it meant to come from that part of the world. It bound them in ways words couldn’t capture.
Faye sighed at Alfonso’s words, but then she looked at Ksana directly. "Sweetie, you’re already rich. Stop being a spy now. You know how dangerous your job is."
Worry laced Faye’s voice, genuine and deep. She had watched too many people in that line of work burn out or vanish entirely. The thought of Ksana meeting the same fate twisted something in her chest. Her hands reached out and took Ksana’s, squeezing gently. The skin was softer than Ksana remembered, but the grip was just as firm.
"Mama, don’t worry. I have already quit my job. Haha, trying to come clean a little." Ksana assured her. She squeezed back, as let the warmth of the gesture sink into her bones.
Faye’s eyes softened. "That’s good, child. But don’t wander too much. You can work in our business."
"Good timing. The president position is empty," Alfonso added. He said it so casually, like he was offering her a cup of tea rather than one of the most powerful positions in their empire.
"Ohhhh! That’s so great!" Faye clapped her hands together, already imagining how much lighter Keres’s burden would become. She turned to Alfonso with a look of genuine delight.
"See? I told you things would work out."
"Oh no! That would be too much! Keres was the President of the Eisenthurn business, right?" Ksana’s eyes widened. She knew the weight of that title, had seen Keres drown in paperwork more times than she could count.
The memory of Keres hunched over her desk at three in the morning, dark circles under her eyes, cigarette burning forgotten in the ashtray—that image had never quite left her.
Alfonso shook his head. "It’s fine. Besides, Keres is so busy. I want to somehow lessen her paperwork."
Faye was pleased with his words. "That’s right. Our Keres is working too hard. Besides, there’s nothing wrong. You and Keres grew up together. You both are like siblings, yeah?"
Ksana smiled and nodded at the generosity of the Eisenthurns. Ever since she was a child, Faye and Alfonso had never treated her like an outsider. Except for their pampered and spoiled daughter, Keres—but that was a different kind of love entirely.
Keres had always been the storm to her calm, the fire to her ice. They had clashed and laughed and fought and cried together. Siblings, yes. But also something more complicated. Something Ksana had never found the words for.
The conversation drifted to other things after that—old memories, old friends, people who had come and gone from their lives. Ksana found herself laughing more than she had in months, the tension in her shoulders slowly unwinding.
But somewhere across the city, Keres was feeling none of those things.
~~~•••~~~
Keres was alone in her office.
The image of Asteria sobbing did not leave her mind.
She poured herself some whiskey and then lit a cigarette, the flame flickering briefly before catching the tip of her cigarette. The smoke curled upward in lazy spirals, but there was nothing lazy about the conflict inside her.
Her hands were steady—they were always steady—but her chest felt like someone had cracked it open with a crowbar.
At those moments, all she wanted to do was get eaten by the earth and never come back.
She had replayed the scene a hundred times already. Asteria’s face crumpling. The way her voice had broken on that final word. The sound of her footsteps fading down the hallway. Every detail was seared into her memory like a brand.
"What the fuck did you just do to me, Asteria? I’m supposed to not care about you," she muttered under her breath as she let the strong whiskey cascade down her throat.
She took it raw and unforgiving.
Even though the whiskey burned, whatever she was feeling right now was much stronger than the burning sensation in her throat. It clawed at her insides, demanding attention she refused to give.
She hadn’t asked for this. She hadn’t asked for any of it. Caring about people was a liability. Her childhood trauma had drilled that into her head from the moment she could walk. Emotions got you killed. Attachments got everyone around you killed.
So why couldn’t she stop thinking about Asteria’s tears?
She took another long drag of her cigarette, the smoke filling her lungs before she exhaled slowly. The office was dark except for the glow of the city outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Somewhere out there, people were living normal lives. Going to dates, kissing their partners, sleeping peacefully.
Keres never had any of that.
She had power, money, respect, fear, but peace had always been out of reach, hovering just beyond her grasp like a mirage in the desert.
The whiskey glass was empty again. She reached for the bottle to pour herself a tiny amount.
Then Sandro entered.
Without hesitation, Keres threw the glass in his direction. It sailed through the air, spinning end over end, but he coldly dodged it. The crystal shattered against the wall behind him, pieces raining down onto the floor.
He didn’t even flinch. He just walked straight toward her like this is a normal day for everyone.
"JUST WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?! DIDN’T MY ASSISTANT TELL YOU NOT TO DISTURB ME?!"
Keres was furious enough to tear her throat from screaming rather than ask him calmly. But either way, Sandro didn’t care. He approached with a piece of paper in hand, his expression was unreadable.
He sighed. The look on his face told her everything that this was a serious problem. Sandro never sighed, he was the kind of man who could watch a building burn down and simply note the wind direction. A sigh from him was like a scream from anyone else.
"What’s this?" Keres asked, her voice still sharp. She snatched the paper from his hand before he could answer.
"We have a problem. The Mexican gangsters are causing havoc in our territory." Sandro dropped the bomb without introduction or metaphors. Just raw information.
"What territory?"
"Our black market here in New York. Instead of paying our goons the exact amount, they just opened fire. Fifty of our men died."
Keres was so shocked that she went somber and immediately stood up. The chair scraped against the floor, the sound was harsh in the silence that followed.
"What the fuck?! Who the hell dares to provoke me?!"
Fifty men. Fifty families who would be getting calls tonight. Fifty mothers who would never see their sons again. The numbers blurred in her mind, replaced by faces—men she had worked with, drank with, trusted with her life. Some of them had been with her for years and some of them surely had children.
"No one knows, but inside that letter, they’re asking you to meet them at an exact date and time. The threat is also there," Sandro said. He pointed at the letter still in her hands.
Keres looked down and read the contents.
"Prepare yourself, Eisenthurn. Meet us at xxxc-building, 23xxx street, and be there at 8:40 PM this Sunday. You’ll pay us for what you’ve done."
Her jaw tightened. The words seared into her brain, each syllable was a challenge she couldn’t ignore. Someone thought they could threaten her, thought they could take what was hers.
The audacity made her blood boil, hot and furious in her veins.
"What day is today?" Her voice dropped into that low, dangerous tone of an Eisenthurn who never backed down from any challenge. It was the voice that made grown men tremble. The voice that had ended more careers than she could count.
"Today is Monday, boss."
"Good." She crushed the cigarette into the ashtray, grinding it down until the ember sizzled against the glass. "Prepare the elite team. Make sure to bring your best snipers. We’re not leaving a single one."
Sandro nodded once, his expression unchanged, and turned to leave. But he paused at the door, glancing back at her. The hesitation was unusual for him.
"Boss. You should eat something first." It wasn’t a suggestion. It was the kind of order that only someone who had known her for years could give without getting shot.
Keres waved him off. "Just do your job."
He left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.
She stood there for a long moment, staring at the shattered glass on the floor. The amber liquid had soaked into the carpet, leaving a dark stain that would probably hard to get rid later.
Just like everything else in her life—messy, permanent, and impossible to clean.
Keres walked to the window and looked out at the city below. New York sprawled beneath her, indifferent to her rage. Somewhere out there, the Mexicans thought they could take something from her, thought she would negotiate, or thought she would show up alone and scared and ready to beg.
They were wrong.
She reached for the whiskey bottle and poured another glass, this time without ice. The liquid sloshed against the crystal, and she downed half of it in one go. The burn grounded her, pulled her back from the edge of that dark pit Asteria had pushed her into.
Asteria.
Even now, the name sent a ripple through her chest. The way Asteria had looked at her like she had broken something irreplaceable. Keres had seen a lot of looks in her life—fear, hatred, lust, greed—but none of them had hit her like that one.
She shook her head violently. No. She couldn’t afford to think about that now. She had enemies to crush, territory to defend, and a message to send.
Asteria would have to wait. Everything would have to wait.
She set the glass down and walked to her desk, pulling up the security feeds on her computer. The black market district was quiet.
She scanned through the cameras, looking for anything out of place. Empty streets, closed shops, no pedestrians, everyone who knew anything had already cleared out.
Her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
"Sunday. Don’t be late."
Keres stared at the screen, then typed back a single word.
"Counting on it."
She tossed the phone onto the desk and leaned back in her chair. She had been doing this long enough to know that the person who controlled the high ground was the one controlling the fight.
She thought about sightlines and escape routes, about the number of men she would need and where to position them.
Her father had taught her that.
Alfonso’s voice echoed in her memory. "Never let them see you bleed, Keres. The moment they do, you’re already dead."
She wasn’t bleeding. Not where anyone could see.
Then she stood up and walked to the private elevator at the back of her office. The ride down to the basement garage was silent, the polished steel walls reflecting her face back at her.
The garage was dark when the doors opened. Two of her security team waited by the black SUV, their expressions were neutral but their eyes were sharp.
They had been with her for years. They knew when to talk and when to stay silent.
"Where to, boss?" One of them asked.
"The armory. I need to check our inventory personally."
They didn’t question her. They never did.
The drive was short, but every second felt stretched. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows, and Keres found herself thinking about Asteria again.
The way her voice had cracked. The way her shoulders had trembled. The way she had looked so small, so fragile, so unlike the woman Keres thought she knew.
She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white.
Stop it.
The armory was located in an unassuming warehouse on the outskirts of the city. From the outside, it looked abandoned—graffiti on the walls, broken windows, weeds growing through cracks in the pavement. But inside, it was a fortress.
Biometric scanners. Armed guards. Cameras in every corner. Layers of security that would make a military base jealous.
Keres walked through the heavy steel doors and into the main room, where rows of weapons gleamed under fluorescent lights. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com
Rifles, pistols, ammunition, explosives. Everything she needed to wage war. The smell of gun oil and metal filled the air—familiar, comforting in a way that probably said something terrible about her psyche.
Sandro was already there, checking inventory with a clipboard in hand. He looked up as she entered, his eyes scanning her face briefly before returning to his work.
"Snipers?" She asked.
"Three of our best. Positioned here, here, and here." He pointed to a map spread out on a nearby table. "High ground, clear sightlines, multiple escape routes."
Keres studied the map, her finger tracing the building where the meeting was supposed to happen. A four-story structure, windows on all sides, a roof that offered good cover. She mentally marked the positions, calculating angles and distances.
"What about the interior?"
"Sending two undercover inside an hour before. They’ll sweep the place and report back."
"Good." She straightened up and looked at him. "Any word on who’s leading them?"
"Not yet. But we’re working on it."
Keres nodded slowly. "Find out. I want to know who I’m killing before I pull the trigger." Sandro’s lips twitched—the closest he ever came to a smile. "Understood."
Keres walked through the armory, her fingers brushing over the cold metal of the weapons.
She stopped in front of a 500 S&W Magnum pistol mounted on the wall. It was custom-made, lightweight, silent, and her personal favorite. She had used it a dozen times, and every time, the result had been the same.
One shot. One kill. No witnesses.
"Have this prepped for me," she said. "I’ll be taking the shot myself if things go wrong."
Sandro’s expression flickered—concern, maybe, or something close to it. "Boss, that’s risky for you—"
"I don’t pay you to tell me what’s risky. I pay you to make sure my risks pay off."
He inclined his head. "Yes, boss."
She left the armory twenty minutes later, her mind sharper than it had been all day and the fog that Asteria had left behind was clearing, replaced by something colder and more focused.
The anger was still there, coiled in her chest like a serpent. But now it had direction and purpose.
And when Sunday came, everyone would remember why you shouldn’t cross an Eisenthurn.
