Chapter 8
The entryway light flicks on overhead, temporarily blinding Alexi. But he was expecting it and had prepared for it.
“Hello, Bob,” he says to the man who just entered the apartment.
The man startles, not expecting to see Alexi sitting at the dining room table. “Who are you? How did you get in here?” Nervously, he eyes the gun Alexi has pointed at him.
The man takes a step back, as if planning to flee.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Alexi tuts. “You know that’s not how this works.” He gestures with the pistol, indicating for the man to join him at the dining table. “Come have a seat, Bob.”
“My name’s not Bob. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
“Nah. Nice try, though… Bob.”
“Seriously, my name’s not Bob,” he whines.
Alexi’s voice drops to a sinister growl. “Bob, do you really think I give a flying fuck what your name is? Your existence is as inconsequential to me as your name. Now, I’m not going to ask again… come have a seat. You and I need to have a conversation.”
The man sets his briefcase on the floor next to the front door, then holds his hands up. Slowly, cautiously, he walks through the small apartment living room and takes a seat at the dining table with Alexi.
“I’m thirsty, Bob,” Alexi says. “As your guest, the polite thing would be for you to offer me a drink.”
“But… you’re not my guest. You broke into my apartment.” The man lifts his chin in a subtle show of defiance.
Alexi sets the gun down on the table between them and leans back in his chair, looking totally relaxed.
“Look, Bob,” he says. “Either you can treat me as a welcome guest in your home, in which case we’ll have a drink and a pleasant conversation, then I’ll be on my way.
Or you can decide that I’m unwelcome here, in which case I’ll end up torturing you for hours until you finally give me the information I came for, and I ultimately kill you. It’s your decision.”
The man stares at him for a long moment as if trying to weigh Alexi’s seriousness.
“Who are you?” the man finally asks.
Alexi chuckles, the noise a sinister echo around the otherwise silent apartment. “I think you already know the answer to that… Bob.”
The man licks his lips—a nervous tic. “You’re… You’re Alexi Novikov.”
“Well done.” Alexi claps his hands like he’s congratulating the man on a major accomplishment.
“And…” The man stutters, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “You know my name really isn’t Bob, right?”
Alexi shakes his head like he’s severely disappointed in the man.
In reality, Alexi is struggling to hide his grin. There is something that really fucks with a man’s mind when you knowingly call him by the wrong name.
Names have power, as not-Bob just demonstrated when he nervously whispered Alexi’s own name.
By calling him Bob instead of his real name, Alexi is sending him a signal, each and every time, that Alexi has power over him.
That his name, his very existence, and his sense of who he is are unimportant compared to Alexi.
After decades of experience, Alexi knows that sometimes a little subtle brain-fuckery is more effective than the most extreme torture methods.
“Let me get you that drink, Mr. Novikov,” not-Bob stammers. He pushes his chair back and darts into the kitchen to get a glass. “Ah… What would you like? I have water, beer—”
“Vodka,” Alexi says in a cold tone.
“I don’t…” The man turns as white as a sheet. “I don’t have any vodka, sir.”
“Tut, tut.” Alexi clicks his tongue and admonishes him again, as if he should have known to expect his visit and should have been prepared with Alexi’s favorite drink.
The man hangs his head like a chastised puppy.
“I assume you have wine,” Alexi drawls.
“Oh, yes, sir.” The man instantly brightens, happy to serve his new master.
Because that’s what Alexi is to him now. His master. With only a few minutes and zero physical harm, Alexi knows he’s converted this man’s allegiance. Specifically because he didn’t torture him, but instead gave him the choice, Alexi knows this man will now do anything he asks.
Not-Bob has probably been trained to withstand torture and had likely been expecting to be killed. But in giving him the gift of his own life, in letting him choose, the man now sees Alexi as the benevolent master. His previous employers are now the enemy—the ones likely to torture and kill him.
Not-Bob pulls a bottle of wine down from a shelf. “I have a nice bottle of Bordeaux. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion, sir.”
“I think our time together is pretty special. Don’t you, Bob?”
Not-Bob nods enthusiastically, his jowls shaking slightly.
“Wonderful! Let’s both have a glass.”
Not-Bob frantically pulls two glasses out of a cabinet. With shaking hands, he uncorks the wine. He’s about to pour the wine into one of the glasses when Alexi interrupts him.
“Such a nice wine deserves to be decanted, no?”
He looks around him as if he were about to make a huge mistake. “Absolutely. You’re so right, sir.”
He scurries into the dining room and removes a glass decanter from the credenza. Alexi smiles to himself as he watches the man hurriedly pour the wine.
Not-Bob carries the decanter of wine and the two glasses to the table. Alexi gestures at the chair across from him, as if granting him permission to sit at his own table. He nods his head in gratitude and places the wine before Alexi. He pours Alexi a glass and hands it to him.
Taking his time, Alexi swirls the deep red liquid in his glass, then inhales the aromas. Blackcurrant and plum with subtle earthy notes of tobacco and cedar. He takes a small sip and lets the flavors roll over his tongue.
“Very nice, Bob,” he says. “You have excellent taste in wine.”
Not-Bob beams in appreciation of the praise.
Alexi gestures for him to help himself to the wine.
Gratitude shines in his eyes as he pours himself a glass.
“Now, let’s talk, shall we, Bob?”
“Absolutely, sir,” not-Bob says, fully accepting that his name now, in fact, is Bob. “What do you need to know, sir?”
Alexi smiles. He loves it when a plan comes together flawlessly.
—
Feeling a little travel weary, Alexi pulls his car into the driveway of his estate and parks.
It’s been a long few days with very little sleep.
But it was all worth it. He’s beginning to discover that when it comes to Ulayna, anything and everything is worth it.
He may be exhausted, but now they’re one step closer to finding the men who abused her and getting revenge.
In the end, Bob had been extremely helpful. He’d spilled his guts about the Program and had given Alexi all the information he needed to dismantle the depraved organization.
Bob had even admitted to helping the Program find girls with no familial ties who wouldn’t be missed if taken. Graciously, Alexi had told him he could atone for his sins by serving as a mole within the Program. Bob had readily agreed.
Alexi sighs to himself. He’ll probably have to kill the man eventually. A man who switches loyalties that easily can’t be trusted. But for now, he’ll serve a valuable purpose.
He climbs out of the car and walks across the driveway to the darkened house.
With no lights on inside, the place feels unwelcoming and foreboding.
He misses his apartment in the city. At least there, if he came home to a dark, empty space, he knew it was of his own making and not because he had no one to wait up for him.
He brushes the pang of loneliness aside. Since taking over the Bratva, he’s been surrounded by people nearly every hour of every day. But they’re all his subordinates, and the mantle of leadership is growing heavier by the day.
Thankfully, the training program he and his team developed is nearly over.
Only a few more days, then they’ll start the competitions to see which men will be placed on the two new teams. He hopes that one of the men will rise to the top and prove himself loyal enough to be promoted to his second-in-command.
Maybe Mikhail, the man Ruger has been training so ruthlessly.
None of his team members wants the position as his second-in-command because they can’t be on a team and be his underboss at the same time. He needs someone separate and above the teams. Someone he can trust implicitly. He just hasn’t figured out who that person might be yet.
He steps into the dark foyer and drops his bags at the bottom of the stairs.
His staff will deal with them tomorrow. Quietly, he walks up the sweeping staircase to the second story, where the bedrooms are.
He walks down the long hallway with room after empty room.
Only he and Ulayna sleep inside the mansion.
Everyone else is in the bunkhouse on the other side of the property.
Eventually, he’ll move his team inside to the more luxurious accommodations.
But not until he’s weeded out every last disloyal man in his ranks.
Until then, he needs his team to keep an eye on the men in the bunkhouse.
He pauses outside the door to Ulayna’s room. He should go straight to bed. He should walk past her door and finally get some sleep. But he can’t.
He hasn’t seen her in a week, and like a man possessed, he has to check on her.
Logically, he knows that either she or his team would have reported to him if anything was wrong, but he just needs to see her with his own eyes.
He needs the reassurance that she’s here, in his home, protected and safe.
He reaches for the door handle to peek inside.
The second his fingers touch the metal, electricity blasts through him.
Like lightning, instant pain races up his arm, so intense he almost blacks out. He falls to his knees, astonished and confused. His heart seems to stutter in his chest, and he struggles to catch his breath. What the fuck?
Before he can react, the bedroom door swings open.
“I finally got you, fucker!” He dimly hears Ulayna yell. His ears are ringing, and her voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater.