Forever Sinners - Anastasija N. (classic literature list .TXT) 📗

watched him furiously scribbling down something on the papers. He was mumbling scarcely audible words to himself that she had a hard time understanding and had obviously forgotten about his pipe as well. Then, her father faltered in his movements and stared down at a paper with a deep frown set in his wrinkly face before sighing and putting his gold-plated pen aside. He raised his head, and a surprised smile appeared on his face when he saw her staring at him expectantly.

“It's good to have you back with us, Liliana,” he said in his scratchy voice. “The manor wasn’t the same without you.”

Liliana smiled mildly. Her father always sounded like he had a cold. Even though he was already sixty-five years old, he looked a lot older with wrinkles pulling his face down and grayed hair sticking into every direction possible in mere tufts. His tall, gaunt figure appeared fragile and breakable even to her. He had dark under-eye circles, but his eyes … his eyes, though, a metallic gray, sparked with power, strictness, and pride.

“I missed you, too, dad.”

He didn’t respond to her words, instead he took a puff of his pipe, seemingly unaware that she watched that action with irritation. “You’re probably wondering why I ordered you to my office, aren’t you, daughter?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, her brow furrowed in confusion. She kept herself from fidgeting nervously in her seat, something she’d always done as a child. Whenever she’d done something wrong, her father had always ordered her to come to his office and sit down in front of his desk. Then, he’d asked her whether she knew why exactly she was sitting in that armchair. “I mean, I would like to take a shower and change into something more comfortable as soon as possible. Those shoes have murdered my feet.”

His lips twitched in the hints of a smile. “Well, I fear I can’t do anything about your feet except suggest you to have a good rest. But I would like to talk to you about the masquerade ball which will take place in a few days.”

Liliana raised her eyebrows, tilting her head slightly to the side. “We’re throwing a masquerade ball?”

“We are,” her father nodded and took yet another puff of his pipe. “I have to admit that this decision came rather … spontaneously. But since my business relations extended even further, it's just natural to meet them all within my walls. After all, a wolf is most vulnerable when taken out of his usual environment.”

“Spoken like a true business man,” Liliana joked with a smile as she stood up, slowly walking toward the large windows behind the desk, her finger tapping thoughtfully against her lips. “Who's going to attend?”

“All my connections, of course. Other business men from all around the world. They will probably come with their wives and their children.”

Liliana pursed her lips. “Sounds like a lot of fun. And a lot of work.”

Outside the windows, the garden of the manor was lush with beautiful, exotic flowers, and huge trees which provided spots of shadow in the summer’s heat. The fountains formed like griffins and angels were sprinkling clear water. Liliana could see farther beyond that, recognizing the wooden pavilion where she liked to sit with a good book and a cool drink in the summer. She even saw the beginnings of the small labyrinth where she’d always hid from Igor, her former best friend, when they’d been children.

Upon turning her back on the windows, she found that her father was watching her with a wistful smile.

Ivan Romanov was an impressive man, no matter how frail he might appear on the outside. He was the founder of a powerful oil company rewarding him with an empire of billions and the status of an Oligarch. A company he’d brought to life from ashes, with almost nothing at the beginning.

As much as he didn’t like to talk about his past, Liliana did know her father hadn’t had the best childhood. His parents, her grandparents, had been abusive. But she also knew her father had built his company on dirty deeds and violence. He ran an entire crime syndicate, the biggest one of Russia at that. The Pakhan, that was how many liked to call him, the top boss. He’d never tried to hide it from her, and Liliana couldn’t be grateful enough for it. It allowed her to prepare and see the things for how they truly were. She knew the business men that would attend the ball were men who had dedicated themselves to a life of crime, just like her father.

“Well, at least I’ll get the chance to dress and doll up,” she said with a cheeky smile, forcing a coughing laugh out of her father. Placing her hands on her hips, she pointed at the pipe between his lips. “And this thing should be made illegal for you, dad!”

Ivan mumbled something scarcely audible to himself, and when Liliana placed a kiss on his cheek, he awkwardly patted her hand, avoiding her gaze. If there was something which caused her father embarrassment, it was this – gestures of affection. But that was okay. Liliana needed little coddling, and what she had needed, she’d always gotten from Sonja, their housemaid.

“Am I dismissed, sir?”

“Off you go, girl,” he said with a shake of his head, amusement clearly sparkling in his eyes.

Smiling, Liliana walked toward the door and left the room with one last look at her father who’d gone back to sitting hunched over his papers, his pen between his bony fingers again. Then, the door fell closed with a soft click behind her.

.

 

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alexanderplatz, berlin; germany – 9:12pm { august 3rd, 2015 }

That night, on August 3rd, people crowded the pubs and bars in Berlin. Cars were honking down the streets while young people wandered along the pavement of the city, drinking and laughing, shattering beer bottles, and cheering. As it was, two of Germany’s best known soccer teams played against each other that night, and the country was a huge fan of soccer, that couldn’t be denied. It was no wonder the public bars were full to bursting as all of them were broadcasting the game.

There was one person, though, who didn’t pay attention to the game that night. He was sitting at a table in the corner of a crowded, stinky pub, not far away from the Alexanderplatz. The people, mostly men with their respective girlfriends or wives, buzzed around him in a mix of cheap beer, howling laughter, and old German hit songs. The flat-panel television above their heads was turned on to full volume, the commentator’s voice drowning the music out whenever something particularly exciting happened.

With all those things happening, the people, of course, didn’t have the time to pay great attention to the man sitting in the corner with his gaze lowered to the glass standing before him. The hood of his black sweater hid his face from direct sight. No one had the time to pay attention to the way his fingers fidgeted along the waistline of his jeans, no one had the time to see the gleaming black metal hidden beneath.

Because that night, his gun was the only thing that kept Apollo Turner sane.

Swaying his glass and thinking about everything and nothing, he reacted too late when the golden-brownish liquid sloshed against the edge of the glass and ran over his fingers and knuckles. He cursed loudly, knowing it would go down in the commentator’s voice and the laughter of drunken men. He wiped his hand on his jeans before chugging the whiskey and slamming the glass back on the scarred top of the table. A glance at the watch around his wrist told him that it was time, and when the big hand jerked forward, he saw a movement from the corner of his eyes.

Apollo lifted his head, hard eyes peeking up from under the hood of his sweater. A man had sat down in front of him, wrapped up in a scarf and a tattered leather jacket that smelled of old sweat and cigarettes. Matted, grayish curls stuck to his forehead, and when he grinned, he revealed a row of yellowed, crooked teeth.

“About damn time,” Apollo muttered darkly, one more time running his hand across the shape of the gun underneath his jeans’ waistline. “You got everything I need?”

Before the man in front of him had the chance to answer, a waitress walked by, balancing a tablet and smiling at them with glossy eyes and red lipstick smudged across her mouth. “You want some more, boys?”

Apollo gave a jerky shake of his head, leaning away from her. He had to keep his posture under control when he saw the way man grinned at the waitress in appreciation, sliding his hand along the skin of her bare legs. She giggled coyly at his touch and filled his glass before heading to another table. Apollo had to bit his tongue, knowing that saying the wrong thing could end his entire plan and doom him for eternity.

Joseph Weidenheim had what he needed, that was the only thing Apollo had to concentrate on for now.

“So? I’ve asked you a question.”

Weidenheim let out a croaking laugh. “Patience is a golden thing to have, boy. Something you need to work on.”

His German accent poured out of every spoken syllable.

Apollo gritted his teeth when the man pulled out a pack of cigarettes but waited patiently until he had it on fire and fetched something from the inner pocket of his jacket. It was a heavy envelope, slightly yellowish and crumpled, and smelling like the one who’d carried it around with him.

When Weidenheim threw it onto the table between them, Apollo raised his eyebrows but made no efforts to reach for the heavy envelope. “How can I be sure that you put everything into that damn thing?”

“I swear on my whoring mother!” Weidenheim lifted his hands in defense. “I’m a dealer, not a bloody con artist. Come now, Turner, you’ve got to know that I’m a man of my word. When we made the deal, I promised to deliver any information I might have and might get.”

Apollo threw him a steely look before finally reaching for the envelope.

Making sure that no nosy asshole was watching them, he quickly let his gaze roam through the bar. The people were literally hanging off the TV, screaming whenever a goal was missed, and the smoke and alcohol had made the room misty and foul-smelling. Waitresses still walked around, but they mingled with the crowd and looked as though swept away by the atmosphere.

Apollo made quick work of opening the envelope. What fell out were tons of pictures along with two fake IDs, two airline tickets, and the layout of a building.

The pictures were showing a manor with ivy curling in the grooves of its walls. There were men in those pictures, all clad in black with weapons hidden somewhere in their coats. Apollo knew what their task was – guarding the manor from all angles and in all existent doorways.

Sweeping his eyes quickly through the photos, Apollo eventually stopped upon a familiar face. He couldn’t call it familiar at all, to be honest, but he’d seen that face on pictures he’d received from Weidenheim before, and by now he had probably memorized each facial feature. Long, dark hair and a face that was typical for makeup ads – smooth and flawless with a bone structure that was almost perfectly proportioned. The picture had been shot in a moment that caught her in the streets with a cell phone pressed to her ear and sunglasses placed on her face. She wasn’t even aware that someone had taken a picture of her in that moment.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Apollo’s head snapped up as he snarled at the question, gritting his teeth.

“Come now, hatred and vengeance aside, she’s a stunning creature. Surely you can appreciate that,” Weidenheim grinned and stared wistfully at the picture. Apollo didn’t