Chapter 2

Andrei Dobrevich leaned back in his ergonomic, leather chair; the back of the chair shifting like an alien being to keep his spine in alignment. He stared at the eight by ten photo he held in his right hand, his cell phone poised and ready in his left. One call, and he could end it.
He threw the cell phone against the cherry wood panelling in his office, shattering it like it was glass. She cost me millions, he thought. Millions. Years to train.

There could be no replacement.

He stood up and walked around his massive, dark Victorian desk, sparse of any pictures or desktop paraphernalia. Andrei would have none of that. An in-box, an ink-well, and paper. All he needed. And in the middle, a manilla folder with those photos.

He stood in front of the mirror behind his bar, and poured himself a small glass of Tuica, what he called SOOKA for his American clients. It was a small token that reminded him of home, his father's plum orchard, the way the dogs ran through the thin trunks of the trees, barking. Fighting.

It didn't work - he was still drawn back to the photo: her blood-smeared face, the swells of bruises and the long claw marks. Her body lay in an unnatural, twisted position as the final pounce of her opponent broke her in half. It was horrible, and yet, beautiful how their two powerful bodies had clashed like Titans against Gods. The crowd roaring their approval and yet not loud enough to drown out the grunts, the howls of pain from the combatants below.

Andrei felt a tear well up as he downed the rest of the Tuica. Such a horrible way for such a beautiful woman to die.

The voice of his father drifted back into his head: "Nyet, Andrei. No crying. You have a stable. Plenty more money to be made. And they will pay. They always pay."

"They always pay," he said out loud.

A knock on his door. "Come," Andrei said, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The door opened. It was his assistant, Charles Dunwoody. A young lad, just out of college, and driven by his inherited lust for money to support Andrei in everything he did. A good lad. A trusted lad. Because the Dunwoodys owed Andrei quite a bit of money.

"Sir," Charles said. "We've found a new one. In Maryland. Found naked in a convenience store."

"Verified?" Andrei asked, intrigued. Could this be fate? A sign to carry on?

"Not yet, sir. Our men are taking him into custody now. We'll run the tests, of course, but all signs are good. He talked of waking up next to a mutilated doe."

Andrei smiled. Perfect. A self-starter. "Let's go pay him a visit," he said as he clapped Charles on the back. Andrei's mood had improved dramatically, and it wasn't just the Tuica.