I pluck a paper from the floor and read.
Cramped into just a single page, are detailed receipts of every single illegal activity and transaction my father has partaken in. Well, maybe not everything, but there’s definitely a lot. From human trafficking to cocaine exports, to selling off werewolves that’d gone rouge from his own pack into illegal hard labor.
I don’t know why he keeps record of them. When I’d first stumbled upon them in the basement’s safe at thirteen years old, I’d figured; maybe he simply kept them for record-sake.
Now, I think it’s his equivalent of a serial killer collecting a very specific thing from his victims as a sort of trophy.
I twist back to face Dmitri, his hands still around me. “It’s done.” I say, holding back a wicked, wicked smile. “It will be a miracle
