Marcus Blackwood stood in front of the Volkov estate for what might’ve been the third time this week. Fourth, if he counted the time, he barely made it halfway to the gate before turning back.
He had stood in front of this gate countless times before, all for business, but now he had come to beg for his life and that of his daughters.
The guard at the watch post was the first to notice his presence. This one differed from the last, Marcus noted to himself. While the other guard who’d been here, the last time he mustered up the courage to stand in front of the gate, was tall, this one was short and scruffy. A real rough around the edges sort of guy.
“State your name and business.”
Marcus cleared his throat. “Blackwood. Marcus Blackwood. I… uh, I’m here to see the boss”
The guard narrowed his eyes as if the name left a bitter taste on his tongue, and he was sure it had. In this line of work, nothing was as important as a name. A name commanded respect. It caused uproar and goosebumps in the hearts of men who knew better. But his name had now dwindled in flavor and was now as bland as chicken boiled in hot water without salt.
All because of a single mistake.
The guard spoke into his radio, his voice low but distinct.
Marcus wiped his damp palms against his slacks, a nervous habit he’d picked up long ago as a boy. He glanced at the towering iron gates, etched with ornate patterns that reflected the wealth and power of the man who lived behind them. It was a fortress, one whose strength reflected the danger that laid within.
The danger that after days of running away, he was now finally ready to face.
The guard slowly dragged his gaze back to Marcus, a smile that sent chills down his back plastered on his face.
“The boss has been expecting you.”
Of course he was. Marcus clenched his jaw. It was why he was still alive.
If Sergei wanted to kill him, it would take one flick of his wrist and Marcus would be with his wife by now.
But the fact that he was still alive proved to him that something far more sinister was afoot. It was probably why he took his daughter to begin with and why he nearly jumped out of his skin when the gates groaned open.
The Volkov estate was a grand place and probably the better place out of the three mafia families. Tall arched windows stared down at him like judging eyes watching his every movement, just waiting for him to trip and fall down on the driveway. The walk to the front door felt longer than usual and he would later acknowledge that fact to a distant being who was trying to stop him from approaching the door.
The same woman led him to the office, just as she always did when he came to the estate on business. He’d grown fond of the smile she’d put on for him whenever she saw him, despite himself, but now said smile was long gone, replaced by the look of pity she tossed at him like an afterthought when he stepped into the living area.
She led him through the hallway to the grand study, her steps short yet brisk, and he struggled to match her pace.
When they arrived in front of the door, she stepped aside, gave a small bow, and left without so much as a single word.
Marcus stretched his attention back to the door. The mighty oak that stood between him and the monster lurking just a few inches away stared back at him, unmoving and unflinching, unlike his resolve.
Exhaling, he slowly reached for the handle, his grip tight as he pushed open the door. The study was as usual. Thick books lined each shelf by the wall, some in English, others in Russian, while some he was sure Sergei had never once touched .
The Title ‘A man’s last words’ caught his eyes, and he gulped.
That was what his dear wife would’ve referred to as a sign. A sign that he had just nailed his coffin shut with his own two hands.
The room smelled of leather and smoke from the burning cigar in his ashtray. The heavy curtains let in only a sliver of light, casting long shadows across the room. Marcus’s gaze darted to the desk where Sergei Volkov sat, fingers interlaced, watching him with the calm intensity of a predator.
In a sense, Marcus guessed he was. The lion of the Bratva was what they called him, after all. A nickname he’d earned not by frailty but by sheer power.
A slow grin split his face as Marcus drew closer and he leaned back against his seat, slowly thumping his fingers against the oak desk.
“You’re late.” He said and Marcus didn’t know whether to find his words to be scary or a simple comment.
Today had made it a week since his daughter had been taken from him. Receiving a threatening call from a man like Sergei claiming to have their daughter would have broken most parents. Made them beg even. But Marcus was neither a crumbler nor a beggar. He’d always prided himself on, well… being a proud man. One who neither begged nor cowered beneath a figure of authority, even one as powerful as,.. Volkov.
But that was before he had his daughter.
Before, he was a father.
The pride he once held dear now sat on his favorite leather chair at home.
“To be honest.” Volkov spoke again, causing Marcus to lift his chin, “I expected you to come far much earlier, but I guess I might’ve overestimated your fatherly instincts, hmm”
Marcus wanted to scream. As if he knew what that word even meant. Fatherly instinct? He’d gone mad with worry over his daughter’s kidnapping. Spent nights wondering if he’d overestimated the organ in Sergei Volkov’s chest of having more than the ability to pump blood.
He knew he should’ve sprung into action to save his daughter once he received that phone call, but something had stopped him.
Fear.
Blood curdling fear had crippled him, turned him from the once prideful man he was to a coward who came to the battleground thirteen times and turned back each time without bothering to shoot an arrow.
He was a coward, yes, but before that, he was a father. Which was why he was here.
“Is she alive?” Those three words had haunted his mind for the last seven days.
Sergei smiled, “For now.”
His shoulder slumped, relief flooded his chest.
His daughter was alive.
She was breathing.
“That’s much more than I can say for my men, Marcus.”
And just like that, the relief was sucked away.