Chapter 41
PETYR
Lev’s name flashes on my phone, and I swipe to answer. “What?”
“We’ve got them,” Lev says, his voice brisk. “The ones who hit the truck. Just brought them in. They’re at the south warehouse.”
I straighten in my chair, pen dropping from my hand. “Alive?”
“For now.”
That’s all I need. “I’ll be there in twenty.” I hang up before he can say more.
The ride across the city is long enough to stew in my own thoughts. I stare out at the blur of headlights, the rumble of the engine loud against the silence inside me.
I should feel satisfied. We finally have the bastards who stole from me.
But satisfaction isn’t what comes. It’s rage, coiled tight, because they dared cross me in the first place.
Because my men were careless enough to let it happen.
Because Mikhael will no doubt have something to say about all of it.
When I step into the warehouse, Lev and Ivan are waiting, and of course Mikhael is leaning against a steel beam with that look on his face. Like he’s already written the ending of this story, and I’m too blind to see it.
“They were hiding in an old garage outside the city,” Lev explains. “Didn’t put up much of a fight.”
“Idiots,” Ivan grunts. “We dragged them in quick. No one saw.”
“Quick, right,” Mikhael snarks. “If you call weeks of running around like headless chickens ‘quick’, then sure, by all means.”
“Cut it out, Mikh,” I growl. “I’m not in the mood.”
He seems to want to snark more, but he thinks better of it. Instead, he pivots smoothly, “Anatoli will still hear about it. Word travels. He’ll make you out to be sloppy for letting it get this far.”
My jaw tightens. “He’ll hear what I want him to hear.”
Mikhael smirks with little conviction, but I ignore it, turning to the two men tied to chairs at the center of the room. One is already bleeding from Lev’s initial work, lip split, eyes swelling. The other one looks too young to already have his life end here.
But that’s not my problem.
They both picked their side in this war. It’s not my fault they picked wrong.
I take off my jacket. Hang it neatly on a hook. Roll up my sleeves. Walk slow, deliberate, letting them see me, letting the fear sink in.
“So,” I say quietly. “Whose idea was it?”
They stay silent. I crouch in front of the one with the bleeding lip. “Was it Anatoli’s order? Or were you feeling brave?”
He spits blood at my boots.
I smile without humor. “Wrong answer.”
I pick up the crowbar from the workbench, feel its weight in my hand, and bring it down across his shin. The crack is sharp, his scream sharper.
I don’t flinch. The sound doesn’t sicken me anymore. After the first hundred times, you start losing track of what a dying human sounds like. All this man’s pain does is remind me of what it is to be in control.
“Next,” I sigh, moving to the other one. He’s trembling already. “You. Tell me who gave the order.”
This one doesn’t seem like a lionheart. It’s why I left him for last. Why I let him watch.
“Anatoli!” he blurts predictably, shaking his head so hard I think it’ll come off. “It was Anatoli, he said—he said—”
“Thank you. That’ll be all.” I drop the crowbar with a clang. The truth is out. I don’t need more. “Time for your reward.”
I draw my gun. No hesitation. One shot, then another, then another. The two men slump forward, heads hanging loose. The echoes fade, leaving only the ringing silence of death behind.
“Clean this up,” I order. “And send their heads to Anatoli. Let him see how I respond when someone puts their hands on what’s mine.”
No one argues. Not even Mikhael. For once, he’s silent.
But silence isn’t victory. Because deep in my gut, I know Anatoli won’t scare so easy. He’s seen his fair share of violence. He won’t spook because I sent him two low-ranking goons in a gift box.
Right on cue, Ivan clears his throat. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Petyr.”
“Your objection is noted.”
“At least get some allies,” he presses. “The Sidorovs still need you. They can’t stand alone. If they fold, Anatoli’s reach doubles overnight. We need a strong alliance as much as they do.”
He’s right, though I don’t want to hear it. Despite the disaster that was supposed to be my wedding, I don’t regret not marrying Boris’s brat daughter. If anything, I thank fate for handing me Sima instead.
But war with the Danilos is inevitable now. What then? Will she forgive me for what I’m about to do to her family? Will she stay when she sees that I’ll cut down anyone foolish enough to stand against me, blood ties or not?
And should I care about any of it?
I want to say no. But deep down, I already know the answer to that. I know it’s not up to me to decide.
Because I already do.
I have too much to protect. Too much I can’t afford to lose.
I think of Kira. Her brittle laughter, her empty eyes as Dimitri wastes away in that hospital bed. What happens to Sima if I fall like my brother? Mikhael would take the pakhan’s crown in a heartbeat, and God help her if he ever realizes who she really is.
The thought curdles in my gut. No. I can’t let that happen. She needs protection. I need victory. And to win this war, I’ll need allies, whether I like it or not.
I turn to Ivan, my voice firm. “Set up a meeting with Boris. It’s time we remind everyone whose city this is.”