12. Titus
TITUS
Cyril’s face is still a bit bruised from the beating he took from Sofia the first time they met. The night Sofia was caught, I had our medic, Doc, set his nose for a second time. That night, Doc suggested that Cyril pick on someone his own size. He was less than amused by that quip.
But ever since, his face has gone through several shades of bruising, purple to red to grayscale shades of black. The circles under his eyes have gone from black to deep shades of brown. And his nose still looks a bit crooked to me.
He and his brother were never exactly known for their attractive faces anyway, so I doubt he cares.
Cyril is a man who’s accustomed to being the first one to a fight and the last man standing after.
He’s gone through a lot of bumps and bruises in his time.
All things considered, this is nothing new.
His brother, on the other hand, is more the type to care about his appearance.
When they were younger and on the same level, Cyrus always preferred to find other solutions to problems before he resorted to violence.
He’s still that way and treats the boeviks under him with that same kind of authority.
At this moment, they both stand before me in my office, cleaned up in appearance, wearing nearly identical black shirts and slacks, Cyrus with a herringbone gold chain around his neck.
I like the formality, especially given the news he’s just giving me.
It’s sobering… and he’s waiting for an answer from me.
“Do you know for sure?” I ask him.
He shrugs slightly. “I’m ninety percent sure, sir.”
His brother says, “There’s no doubt in my mind, sir.”
I tilt my head at them. It’s not often that I get this kind of information from an enforcer and a brigadier. The fact that they’ve stumbled on it and not Ignat is odd. I rub my chin thoughtfully. “Where did you pick up this piece of information again?”
Cyril gives me an annoyed look. He’s bothered that I’m asking questions and not ordering him to bust heads immediately.
“I overheard it at Lev’s club,” he says.
“Couple of his girls were talking about a bust happening at the motel she happened to be at. They said that Aristov walked out to a big black van in the middle of the night.”
I frown a little at the description. It sounds like something out of a movie.
“Sir,” Cyrus says, “We wouldn’t come to you if we weren’t sure it was true. If the FBI has him, then that can really only mean one thing.”
“Can it?” I ask. “Marius’s son, of all people, knows our code better than anyone else should. For you two to accuse him of being a snitch—”
“Marius Aristov is dead, sir,” he says, his tone deepening. “Adam Aristov is a marked man—”
“Don’t interrupt me,” I tell him cooly. He stops talking, his lips pressed together. “You need to realize that what you’re talking about is a different animal than just being Marius’s son. He may not be one of us, but for all intents and purposes, he’s our kind and we are all bound to a code.”
“This isn’t any different from taking a shot at you, sir,” Cyril says tensely. I see him flinch slightly as he realizes the mistake he’s made in blurting that out.
I cross my arms. “Care to elaborate on that, Cyril?”
He takes a second, his eyes moving up toward the ceiling as he tries to work out what he’s trying to tell me.
“I don’t mean any disrespect, sir,” he says.
“But he tried to kill you. Both of the Aristov children tried to kill you. He also failed and he lost his sister. Going to the Feds seems… I don’t know. Logical.”
“Does it? So, you’re saying that anyone in his position would readily snitch to save his own skin.”
Cyril shrugs and his brother says, “He’s probably desperate, sir.” He pauses, glancing at Cyril, then, “If he thinks he’s alone, I think he might be compelled to rat.”
I narrow my eyes a little. Ignat’s warning to me about my men talking about my situation with Sofia is bleeding through. Their inner thoughts are showing. “Thinks he’s alone?”
He blinks with slight confusion. “What?”
“You said he ‘thinks’ he’s alone. Get to the real point.”
Cyrus adjusts his stance, slightly lifting his heels and dropping them as if being sure of his footing. “The last anyone saw of his sister was at the warehouse,” he said. “She’s not there now. Not since you came and got her.”
“So?”
“So, the common thought is that you had her killed.” He stops, the rest of his thought hanging in the air between us.
“I see. What’s the uncommon thought?”
He doesn’t want to say it out loud and I don’t blame him. Being too flippant with a Pakhan could end with a bullet between the eyes.
“The uncommon thought is that you let her go… sir.”
“Why on earth would anyone think I’d do that?
After going through all this trouble to wipe out the Penzas, I’m just going to let his daughter go?
” I tilt my head toward him, challenging him.
“Do you think because I never directly told you to put a bullet in their heads that I’m getting soft?
Is that really the narrative you want to play out? ”
He swallows hard. “Sir, I—”
“Death is easy, gentlemen. Offering somebody release from life is a mercy. Do you think I’m looking to offer mercy to them?”
I stand up and walk around my desk, facing them both as they stand shoulder to shoulder in front of me, daring them silently. Neither man moves. Cyril looks down at his shoes and Cyrus tries to look past me, his body as stiff as a board.
“There are much worse things in this life than death,” I tell them. “You two, out of everyone, should know that.”
“Sir, we’re not trying to be disrespectful,” Cyrus says a little softer. “It’s just that… people are talking.”
“Of course they are. The woman is being handled,” I say, “if you must know.” I study their faces carefully, letting them process that information. “Go and tell the ‘brothers’ that she serves me in a personal capacity now.”
“Personal…”
“Do I need to be blunt? Every night, I tie the daughter of my enemy to a bed and fuck her until she begs for mercy.”
A smile tickles at the corners of Cyril’s mouth. Cyrus remains stoic.
“Satisfied?”
“We’re sorry, sir,” says Cyrus. “We didn’t… well, we were never in the camp of the guys who were saying you freed her. Personally, I preferred to think that you took care of the woman instead.”
“I’ve taken care of her, all right,” I say to him. “Now, I expect you to take care of her brother.”
Cyril almost looks gleeful. “Have my orders changed, sir?”
“They have not. I still want him alive. More than ever now that he might be talking to the Feds.” I walk over to the drink caddy in the corner of my room. As I do, I look casually at my door to the office, cracked open slightly, and I catch a little movement.
Dammit. I told her to go to her room.
I make my drink, choosing vodka for this conversation.
“So, you heard that he was taken from a motel in the middle of the night. You can’t really confirm that he is, actually, speaking to the Feds at this moment.
Whether he is or he isn’t, I’d like the honor of dragging that out of him before he dies. ”
“Yes, sir,” they both say in unison. Then Cyrus says, “I can speak to Lev about finding out which of his girls witnessed what happened—”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” I say, looking over my shoulder at him. “I’m putting Ignat on asking around about him. All I want from you two is to be there when he calls. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” I turn to them and take a drink. The vodka is warm and welcome as it runs down my throat. “Now, get out and get to work.”
They bow their heads respectfully and turn to leave, then Cyril stops. “I do have one question, though. About the Aristov daughter.” I raise my eyebrows in answer. “When you’re done with her, what are you going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, using her up and then killing her is the play, right? Maybe you could see your way into letting someone else have a crack at her?”
I could smack him across his bald head for even suggesting such a thing. I don’t, though. Instead, I just tell him, “Don’t get distracted by your dick, Cyril. I’ve already got too many of you worried about where to stick that thing rather than doing your fucking jobs. Leave.”
He nods, then utters another yes, sir before leaving my office. I listen to them walk through the halls, waiting for the soft rumble of the front door opening and closing as I drink my vodka.
Once I’m sure they have gone, I say aloud, “I thought I told you to go to your room, Sofia.”
A few seconds go by, then the door opens and she walks in, looking at me with those big blue eyes. “Sorry.”
Maybe the alcohol is getting to me, but the urge to rip her clothes off her body isn’t as strong as it usually is when she doesn’t address me correctly. I drink and glare at her. She clasps her hands together and says, “Do you really think my brother’s snitched?”
“I don’t know,” I confess. “Won’t know until we find him.”
She nods. “Then what?”
“What do you mean?”
She pauses, taking a small breath before she speaks. “You told them that you didn’t want them to kill him outright. What’s going to happen to my brother once you find him?”
I finish my drink, downing it. “You already know the answer to that.”
She nods slowly. “You could make a different choice,” she says. “I mean… you decided not to kill me.”
“I decided to use you, Princess,” I correct, “instead of killing you. Would you rather that change?”
“No, of course not,” she says. “But—”
“Why do you think you are in a position to negotiate with me?”
She blinks, then her shoulders relax and she walks up to me. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she says softly. “I know you don’t like to be questioned.”
Hitting me with a ‘Daddy’ outside of our bedroom activities is strategic… and it’s working. The moment she speaks it, my dick wakes up, pressing itself against the zipper of my slacks.
She stops in front of me, just a few inches away and just close enough for me to pick up her sweet scent. “I just want to know if killing him really is an option when you could just torture him. Maybe lock him away like you did me?”
She doesn’t touch me. She knows better. But God help me, I want her to. “You two were raised in this life. You know, very well, what happens to rats.”
“But he might not be a rat,” she says.
“Yeah.”
She narrows her eyes slightly. “But you think he is… or maybe that doesn’t matter.”
“Sofia, if I discover that he’s been talking, I won’t have any choice. You have to understand what needs to happen.”
She nods slowly. “I know. I guess, then… be sure? Please don’t do anything to him unless you’re sure.”
“I’ll think about it,” I tell her. Her standing this close to me is making me horny… almost unreasonably so.
And it’s right here that I realize that I can’t touch her. Not tonight. Not feeling like this. As much as I want to, I know it’s a bad decision.
“Go on to your room. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She blinks at me, surprised, maybe a little dejected, but she doesn’t argue. She turns and walks away.
I make myself another drink. That was unexpected. And maybe it’s time that I reevaluate this arrangement. Or it could have just been a slight lapse. Beautiful, sweet-smelling princesses are like sirens sometimes if you let them catch you off guard.
Tomorrow, I’ll have a clearer head. I’ll go to her then.
With some sleep, I’m sure I’ll be back on track.