Retribution

Retribution

Retribution

Lietha Wards


Copyright 2015 by Lietha
Wards

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All rights reserved. No
part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form
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or otherwise, without prior written permission of Lietha
Wards

This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are
either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

PROLOGUE

Ryan waited patiently for
the older man behind the large highly polished dark stained desk to
finish. He was thumbing through a light tan file folder thickened
with material. This was something that could have been done before
he showed up. The man knew he was coming. He had an appointment and
was expected, but he was trying to show how omnipotent he was, and
maybe irritate him a little, by making him wait.

It wasn’t
working.

No one could ever accuse
Ryan of not being prepared. He was already ten steps ahead of the
ruthless bastard. He’d also dealt with people more powerful. So, it
would take a hell of a lot more than assessing looks and paper
flipping to intimidate him. Yet he couldn’t help but feel a little
annoyed even if he didn’t let it show. This was a waste of time—his
time. It was the old man’s way of trying to establish his power and
authority so he would know the consequences if he fucked up. In
reality, he didn’t need this menial education in intimidation. He’d
read the intel and seen the photographs of the bodies that the
psychopath was suspected of. Well, the bodies that they
found.

Truth was, he was well
aware of Peter Nickolov and his organization. He already knew he
was dangerous. And as much as the exhibition pissed him off, he
intended to just play along. He still had the advantage and always
would. He expected the circus display, but it was probably a little
over the top.

He knew why.

He was an outsider, and to
Peter, it was necessary to make sure he knew who was potentially
employing him. Peter never hired anyone that wasn’t from his home
country. This was a first for him.

When he initially arrived,
Ryan was led into the office on the main floor of the large mansion
flanked by two of Peter’s men. Peter spared him a brief glance,
taking his attention from a file he was reading, and without saying
a word, waved a hand toward a large, empty, red velveteen chair in
front of the desk, indicating for him to sit. It was placed there
alone, purposefully. The rest of the men in the room were
standing.

There were tall, enormous
windows behind Peter allowing access to the bright light of the
Miami sun. There were no lights on in the room causing Ryan’s
vision to try and adjust. For now, everything was in shadow. The
desk was highly polished so it reflected the sunlight toward Ryan,
obscuring his vision further. He was sure it was all done
deliberately, an intimidation tactic, just like the two big goons
standing close behind him.

Ryan sat down and stretched
out his long legs waiting patiently while his eyes began to adjust
to the darker room. The chair he occupied was a large wing-back
piece, most likely a European import, comparable to the desk. It
had thick wood carved legs with intricate designs and gold leaf
accents. The whole room was filled with those types of pieces. Not
Ryan’s style. It seemed a little on the gaudy side.

A few minutes later his
eyes started to accommodate. Now, he could clearly see the file
folder that Peter was studying. It was fattened with information.
He immediately recognized some of the photos the man spread out on
his desk; photos of people, places and significant events. It
was
his
background. This was a file on
him
. He should have been surprised,
but he wasn’t, even though he had to admit that it looked
remarkable in paper form. He honestly didn’t realize he’d had
that
much
experience. He withheld a smile.

Peter kept flipping through
page after page scrutinizing everything carefully; photos, reports,
and confidential files. He’d yet to even speak to him. He knew the
man went over his file with a magnifying glass already or he
wouldn’t be sitting in the same room as him.

This was part of the
show.

Even though Peter hadn’t
spared him more than a glance, he was obviously waiting for some
sort of reaction at the information he had on him.

Truthfully, Ryan was bored.
He resisted the urge to look at his watch because he needed to
portray someone who was always in control. This job was important
to him. It seemed like a damn eternity, but he was certain it was
closer to ten minutes.

Every now and then there
was an interruption of quiet by the shuffling of papers in front of
him, and shifting of feet from the two men behind him. Peter
cleared his throat once then flipped another page. Ryan near rolled
his eyes.

At least the passing
silence allowed his eyes to fully adjust to the light in the room
and he could see that Peter aged fairly well for a man in his
sixties. Of course he’d seen plenty of photographs, but they always
seemed to miss something. You couldn’t read a person very well by a
photograph.

He still had a full head of
hair, yet it was starting to thin on the crown. He had a thick grey
mustache, neatly trimmed. He had a tan but it was from a tanning
bed, not the sun. It was too even, too dark for this time of year.
His age was showing around his mouth and eyes. There were deep
wrinkles. His shoulders were still quite broad, and Ryan suspected
he was still very capable of killing a man with his bare hands if
he had to. Speaking of which, his hands were carefully manicured.
It still didn’t hide the heavy scarring on his knuckles. He could
only imagine what his victims looked like after meeting those
fists. Peter had large hands. They probably had the same effect as
a sledgehammer when hitting facial bones. He’d told people it was
from working in the salt mines in Russia, but he knew
better.

Peter finally glanced up at
him to see if he was getting a reaction. He knew he was able to get
his hands on information that he didn’t think possible. He wanted
to make sure the man knew it too. Instead, the younger man met his
eyes with unequaled confidence. Although he should have been
annoyed that his show of power wasn’t working, he actually found
himself impressed. He needed a man like this. A man that had no
fear.

Ryan purposely kept his
expression unreadable as a result of five years of training and ten
years of service. He sat in the chair as if it was the most
comfortable one he’d ever been in his entire life. His posture was
completely relaxed.

With his experience, he’d
be comfortable in Beirut in the middle of a missile attack.
Something he’d actually been through a few times.

He held the older man’s
steady gaze, then lifted his brows ever so slightly.

There was a barely
discernable smile as Peter scanned down his body for a moment, then
resumed his scrutiny of the paperwork.

Ryan almost mimicked it—the
smile. Peter was impressed. Not with just the file, but his
physique. Yes, he had on an expensive suit, but his form was
unmistakable under it.

Ryan’s poise was also
impeccable—expression-wise and physically. His elbows were on the
armrests with his fingers interlocking. He was eased back in the
chair with his head slightly cocked to the side and his long legs
were stretched out in front of him crossed at the ankles. It was
purposeful, the open posturing. It was confident and relaxed.
Nothing in his body language indicated that he was impatient and
wanted to get on with it, or that he was the least bit intimidated.
He was trained to display extreme tolerance. Also, not much scared
him anymore. Even the icy blue coolness of the older man’s eyes,
that could send shivers up a normal man’s spine, did nothing to
him.

Peter shifted in his seat
and flipped a few more pages and Ryan already knew he didn’t like
him, but he needed the job. It wasn’t the money, for he had plenty
of it. There were other reasons. As for Peter Nickolov, the man
reviewing his file, he would be professional around him, and unless
he was psychic, wouldn’t know his true feelings.

He took advantage of the
silence to further study him while he turned another page. This was
information that he was somehow able to obtain from a normally
unobtainable source hence the exhibition of reviewing it in front
of him. Yet, Ryan didn’t act surprised, because he expected it. In
fact, he was instrumental in making sure he could get his hands on
it. However, he only released it in certain circles and didn’t make
it easy. It just gave him an indication of how much influence Peter
had. Something he had to find out. Ryan didn’t like
surprises.

Peter was in his
mid-sixties, a hard man who didn’t like mistakes and those who knew
him, knew better than to cross him. He was vicious, a murderer, and
yes, Ryan was doing his best to get a job with him. He was doing
that by keeping his mouth shut, looking patient and
composed.

Peter definitely liked a
show. He wore an expensive William Fioravanti dove grey suit, light
blue shirt and grey tie. Ryan preferred Kiton, or Oxxford, which is
what he was wearing today. It was a dark grey pinstriped suit with
a white shirt and black tie. While he liked Fioravanti also, owning
a few himself, but he found the tailor made Oxxfords more
comfortable. The Fioravanti was more expensive. Peter liked to look
good.

If that didn’t do it for
the older man, the amount of platinum and gold he wore would have.
He could probably direct traffic with it. Peter’s watch was a
platinum diamond encrusted Rolex, which he knew cost upwards of
around seventy-five thousand. His thick fingers also seemed to be
partial to heavy gold rings. This man certainly liked to make a
lasting impression with his wealth.

Ryan knew all about him.
He was a Miami council member, well respected in political fields.
He was also one of the largest drug dealers on the east coast. That
was
one
of his
businesses. He was also into child labor and
prostitution.

He originated from Eastern
Europe, but no one was quite sure where. It was estimated that it
might possibly Chechnya. He came over at the tender age of fourteen
as a refugee, got his American citizenship and married the daughter
of a prominent lawyer. They had two daughters six years apart
though he knew for a fact the man wanted a son most preferably to
take over the family business. Unfortunately his wife died before
she gave him one. Some say it was a heart attack, but he knew
better. It was a heroin overdose. The only thing he didn’t know
about was if it was intentional or accidental. Rumor had it that
Peter had caught his wife cheating. Sitting there looking at him
while he flipped through page after page, made him realize that it
was probably true. His demeanor breathed psychopath with a twist of
narcissism. It was hard to love a heartless man and it was obvious
that he’d had a hard life until he immigrated. There were reports
that he was already familiar with killing people before he came to
the States. Ryan didn’t doubt it. His eyes were cold, soulless.
Unfortunately, he’d seen plenty of people that held that same look.
It wasn’t common at all, but in his line of work, it was. These
were people that left a lot of death in their wake. People he
didn’t mind killing.