Chapter 22 - Dmitri
Chapter 22 – Dmitri
I step into the white room, the stark brightness almost blinding after the dim hallway. Mikhail is there, tied to a metal chair in the center of the room. His head lifts, and his cold, calculating eyes lock onto mine. A laugh bubbles up from his throat, a sound that grates against my nerves.
"Dmitri," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "You don't look ready to do this at all. You should let me go, and I'll forgive you."
I walk over to a chair placed directly in front of him and sit down slowly, letting the silence stretch out between us. His arrogance makes my skin crawl, but I keep my expression neutral.
"I'm not here to exchange words with you, Mikhail," I say evenly. "No one is coming for you. Sergei has run away, and all your men are either dead or on my side now."
"Liar!" Mikhail shouts, straining against his bonds. "You're just trying to isolate me!"
A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips as I lean back in the chair. "Think what you want," I reply, then call out, "Bring him in."
The door opens, and one of Mikhail's right-hand men steps inside. The man's face is a mask of indifference as he approaches us.
"Pick up the pliers," I instruct him.
The man obeys without hesitation. Mikhail's eyes widen in disbelief as he realizes what's about to happen.
"You bastard! I'll kill you!" Mikhail screams at his former ally.
The man remains silent, his grip firm on the pliers as he moves toward Mikhail's hand. I watch without flinching as he positions the tool around Mikhail's thumb.
"No!" Mikhail yells again, but it's too late.
With a swift motion, the man cuts off Mikhail's thumb. Blood spurts out, staining the pristine white floor. Mikhail's scream is primal, filled with agony and rage. His eyes are wild with pain as he looks at me, but I don't waver.
I stand and take the severed thumb from the man's hand. The flesh is still warm, slick with blood. I wrap it in a piece of cloth and tuck it into my pocket for now. Mikhail's breath comes in ragged gasps, his eyes fixed on me with a mixture of hatred and fear.
I walk over to a small table in the corner and pick up a stack of papers.
"These," I say, holding up the stack, "are the deeds to your life. Your businesses, your bank accounts, your houses." I drop the stack onto his lap. "Basically everything you own down to your underwear, and I am about to become your heir."
Mikhail's eyes flicker with a mix of disbelief and dawning horror. He struggles to sit up straighter, but the pain and blood loss make him weak.
"You think I'll sign those?" he spits out through gritted teeth.
I pull out the thumb and unwrap it slowly, letting him see it again. His face pales further at the sight.
"You don't have to do anything," I reply calmly. "I'll do it for you."
I press the severed thumb against the ink pad on the table, then use it to stamp each paper one by one.
"You see," I say as I work through the stack, "a man who has something to lose will fight till his last breath for what he has." I lift my gaze to meet his. "But you? You've already lost everything."
Mikhail's eyes blaze with defiance even as he winces in pain. "You're no different from me," he growls. "You think you're better because you have some misguided sense of justice? You're just another thug."
I finish with the last paper and place them all neatly back on the table. Leaning close to him, I lower my voice so only he can hear.
"No," I whisper. "I'm a man with a family to protect. That makes all the difference."
I take a step back, savoring the moment as Mikhail's chest heaves with exertion and anger. The room feels colder somehow, like all warmth has been drained from it. I turn to the door and call out, "Bring it in."
The door opens, and two men walk in, carrying a large cage. They set it down in the center of the room and step back. Mikhail's eyes widen with fear as he takes in the sight of the cage.
"What is this?" he demands, his voice shaking. "What the fuck are you planning now?"
I walk over to the cage and unlock it with deliberate slowness. "I have a friend who's very hungry," I say calmly. "And I think you'll make an excellent meal."
Mikhail's face pales further as he watches me open the cage door. "You're a sicker bastard than I am," he spits out, his voice laced with desperation.
I laugh, a cold sound that echoes off the sterile walls. "You think you know me, Mikhail? You have no idea."
I reach into the cage and gently stroke the head of my snake, Jonny Boy. He's a massive creature now, his scales glistening in the harsh light of the room. I remember when I first got him as a baby snake—so small, so fragile. But I've fed him well over the years, and he's grown strong and loyal.
"Jonny Boy here," I say, turning to face Mikhail, "he doesn't bite his master because I feed him well. He's learned to trust me."
Mikhail's eyes are wide with terror as he watches Jonny Boy slither out of the cage and onto the floor. The snake moves with a slow, torturous pace toward Mikhail, its tongue flicking out to smell the air.
"No," Mikhail whispers, his voice breaking. "Please, no."
I step back and watch as Jonny Boy inches closer to his prey. Mikhail's screams fill the room—desperate, primal sounds that cut through the air like knives.
"Eat your fill," I say softly to Jonny Boy. "You've earned it."
Mikhail's pleas turn into incoherent babbling as he tries to scoot away from the approaching snake. But there's nowhere for him to go—no escape from what's coming.
I turn and walk toward the door, carrying the stack of papers under my arm. Mikhail's screams are muffled as I close the door behind me.
I nod to the men standing guard outside. "Let Jonny Boy enjoy himself," I instruct them. "Call Alexei to pick him up in two hours."
They nod in understanding as I walk away from the room. The sound of Mikhail's screams fades into nothingness behind me, replaced by a heavy silence that seems to follow me wherever I go.
I'm coming for you, Sergei. You can run, but you can't hide from me.