All is finally calm, or so it seems. Leonidas Federov has more or less established himself as a veritable leader of the bratva. But challenges come again, as they often do.
In his world, friends are temporary. When alliances shift, he has to navigat...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
three years after The Yakuza Bride
It was empty.
Oh, not so empty as bare, for the furniture still remained in the same places as it always had been. But now they were covered by white plastic sheets, topped with a fine layer of dust. There was a certain dreariness to the whole scenario that made her feel sick; a stomach turning sensation that was amplified by the stale air. Motes of dust flew about her feet as she took further steps in, surveying the dark apartment with apprehension. Not a soul. Not a sound. The bright corridor that she had entered from seemed so far away now, as if mocking her.
The heavy blinds had been drawn across the bay windows, save for a crack that allowed a sliver of light in. Yet it offered but scant comfort. She tried a switch for good measure, and was surprised when a light overhead flickered to life.
Gathering her courage to herself, she walked as far in as her legs would carry her, just enough for the master bedroom to come into view. The air was getting thicker, and her lungs constricted at the effort to gasp in as little of the air as possible. The scene was heart wrenchingly pitiful.
White sheets over the bed, white sheets over the bedside tables and the lamps, white sheets over her dresser, and white sheets over the table set with two chairs.
With a strangled choke, she turned on her heels and rushed away, tracking up more dust in her wake.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
