Chapter 18
EVERLEIGH
? Nineteen years old. One year later. ?
The warehouse smells like blood, gasoline, and cigarette smoke.
The scent of it clings to the back of my throat as I stand in front of the man tied to the chair beneath the hanging light. His face is swollen almost beyond recognition now. Blood falls slowly from his nose and mouth, dripping onto the concrete beneath him.
He spits another mouthful onto the floor near my heels.
“You’re a fucking psycho,” he slurs through broken teeth.
I stare at him blankly for a second before crouching down in front of him.
“No,” I correct calmly. “My father is the psycho.” I tilt my head slightly. “I’m just his shadow.”
The guy lets out a weak laugh that immediately turns into a cough.
Behind me, one of the men standing near the loading dock shifts uncomfortably.
People stopped looking at me like I was some spoiled mob princess a long fucking time ago.
Especially after my father started including me in more jobs.
The first time I walked into the River Street location, half the men in this warehouse looked at me with pity in their eyes.
That lasted all of two weeks.
Now they barely look me in the face.
I stand back up slowly and walk toward the metal table sitting off to the side. Different tools are spread across the surface underneath the yellow glow of the warehouse lights.
Knives. Zip ties. Pliers. A hammer.
I pick the hammer up casually and turn back toward him.
The guy immediately starts shaking his head. “No, no-”
“You know,” I interrupt quietly while walking back toward him, “I used to think torture was messy.” I shrug one shoulder. “Turns out people usually tell you exactly what you want before things even get that far.”
His breathing picks up instantly.
Sweat beads along his forehead despite how cold the warehouse actually is tonight.
I stop directly in front of him again.
“Which Russian crew has been moving through Brooklyn?”
He clenches his jaw stubbornly.
I let out a quiet sigh before a slow, dangerous smile spreads across my lips.
Then swing the hammer directly into his kneecap.
The crack echoes violently through the warehouse, his scream following immediately after it.
A few of the guys near the back look away.
Viktor doesn’t.
He’s leaning against one of the support beams with his arms crossed over his chest, watching me carefully.
Probably trying to figure out when exactly I turned into this.
Truthfully?
I think it started long before Scott did what he did to me.
But Dante?
He’s the one who hollowed me out.
The guy in the chair is sobbing now, trying to curl in on himself despite the restraints keeping him tied down.
I crouch back in front of him again, resting my forearms lazily against my slack-covered knees.
“See how much easier this could’ve been?” I ask softly.
“You fucking bitch,” he chokes out.
I smile slightly.
“There it is. That’s usually the part where men underestimate me.” My eyes drag slowly across his ruined face. “Then they end up here.”
I grab his jaw suddenly, forcing his head upward hard enough that he groans.
“Now answer the question.”
“T-the Sidorov crew.”
My fingers loosen slightly around his jaw.
That’s the same crew that’s been screwing with our operations for the past year. The same ones who hit River Street during the transfer.
Ever since Dante came stumbling into the penthouse bleeding through his shirt..
My stomach tightens annoyingly at the thought.
I release the hostage’s face abruptly and stand back up.
“See?” I motion toward him while looking at Viktor now. “That wasn’t hard.”
The guy wheezes in pain behind me.
Viktor finally pushes off the beam, walking closer.
Keeping his voice low, he mutters. “You shattered his fucking leg, Everleigh.”
“And?” I question.
His eyes narrow slightly. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Funny, Mom used to say the same thing to our Father.”
Her name leaves a bitter taste in my mouth now too.
Viktor watches me set the hammer back onto the table. “Father wanted information. I got him information.”
He grips my arm lightly. “You could’ve gotten it without turning the guy into mashed potatoes.”
I glance back at the hostage. “Maybe.”
I peel the black gloves off my hands slowly and toss them onto the table beside the tools. Blood stains the fingertips of them dark red.
A year ago, blood made me nauseous.
Now it barely does anything to me.
When the person you would’ve burned the world down for tells you that you mean nothing to them, it kills whatever morality you had left crawling around inside of you.
I move toward the office overlooking the warehouse floor while Viktor follows behind me.
The heavy door creaks loudly when I shove it open.
I walk straight toward the desk and grab the cigarette carton sitting near the edge. I slide one between my lips before lighting it.
The inhale burns beautifully down my throat.
Viktor shuts the office door behind us. “You’ve been pissed off for an entire year. I think it’s time to fucking cool it.”
“I am cool,” I answer flatly.
Viktor walks towards me with heavy steps. “No, you’re fucking not.”
I lean against the edge of the desk, cigarette balanced between my fingers while I look over at him. “You done psychoanalyzing me?”
“You shattered a guy’s knee without blinking.”
“I left one untouched.” I retort.
“Everleigh.”
I roll my eyes and take another drag.
The nicotine settles into my chest warmly, smoothing the irritation.
Viktor moves closer, lowering his voice slightly even though nobody can hear us through the thick office walls anyway.
“This shit with Dante has gone on long enough.”
There it is.
I let out a humorless laugh instantly. “I was wondering how long it’d take before somebody brought him up.”
“You act like I’m stupid.”
“No. I act like it’s none of your fucking business.” I grit out.
“It became my business when you started acting exactly like our father.”
I stare at him blankly. “That’s dramatic.”
“No,” he mutters. “Watching my nineteen-year-old sister torture people every week because she’s pissed at one guy is dramatic.”
A bitter laugh leaves me before I can stop it. “That’s funny coming from somebody who’s buried three bodies this month alone.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because this life already got its claws into me a long time ago. You were supposed to stay away from this shit. I never wanted this for you.”
The room goes quiet for a second after that.
I hate when Viktor gets emotional.
The last time he did was at our mother’s funeral.
It’s uncomfortable.
I glance back out toward the warehouse floor, smoke curling upward from the cigarette between my fingers.
“You know what everybody keeps getting wrong?” I ask quietly.
Viktor crosses his arms over his chest again. “What?”
“This isn’t about Dante.”
His brows raise slightly like he doesn’t believe me for a second.
I continue before he can argue.
“This is about reality.” I flick ash into the crystal tray sitting on the desk. “People keep acting like what he did suddenly changed me.”
“It did.” He mutters.
“No.” I shake my head slowly. “It just made me stop pretending I was something I wasn’t.”
Viktor studies me carefully now.
“When somebody you care about deeply says that you mean nothing to them?” I laugh quietly to myself. “That kind of kills off whatever soft parts you had left.”
Viktor’s jaw tightens slightly. “You know damn well that isn’t what he meant. He was just trying to get Marco off his back.”
I finally look over at him fully.
“And how do you know that?”
Viktor stares at me for a second like he’s debating whether or not he should answer honestly.
That already tells me enough.
I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head slightly. “So, you’ve been talking to him about me?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Really? Because it kind of sounds like it.”
He drags a hand over his face, irritation flickering across his expression now. “I was trying to help.”
I scoff quietly. “That’s embarrassing.”
I turn away from him again before he can see the annoyance on my face deepen.
Or maybe it’s hurt.
I don’t know anymore.
The cigarette burns lower between my fingers as I stare out over the warehouse floor beneath us.
One of the men starts dragging the hostage’s chair toward the back room, leaving a smear of blood behind across the concrete.
Viktor’s voice lowers slightly. “You think Dante spent a year keeping his distance from you because he didn’t care?”
“He literally told Marco I meant nothing to him.” I retort.
“To get Marco, our perpetually fucked-up brother, off both your asses.”
“Same difference.”
“It’s really not.” He murmurs. “Everleigh-”
“No.” I turn toward him fully now. “I’m serious, Vik. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?”
He stays quiet.
I continue before he can interrupt me again. “I spent months wondering if I was imagining things between us.” My jaw tightens slightly. “Then the second somebody questioned it, he shut it down like I was some random fucking girl.”
He exhales heavily through his nose. “Because our father would’ve put a bullet through his head if he answered differently.”
“That’s not true. Dante is father’s most trusted enforcer, I highly doubt he would’ve stooped so low.”
Viktor’s expression hardens instantly. “You know him, Everleigh.” His eyes lock onto mine. “Our father would do whatever the fuck is necessary if it meant protecting this family’s best interests.”
Viktor watches me carefully for another second before speaking again. “You know he almost killed Scott that night, right?”
I blink once slowly. “What?”
“He beat him so badly that Father had to step in and clean up the situation himself.” Viktor leans back against the desk beside me. “Dante lost his fucking mind.”
Something uncomfortable twists low in my stomach again, and for a second, the irritation slips from my expression entirely.
Viktor notices too because his voice softens slightly after that.
“You wanna know what I think?”
“Not particularly.” I respond.
“I think you’re angry because he mattered enough to hurt you in the first place.”
I laugh bitterly under my breath. “Congratulations. You figured out how feelings work.”
“I think,” he continues over me, “that you’ve spent the last year trying to become someone nobody can hurt again.”
I crush the cigarette out into the tray behind me before turning fully toward him. “I don’t have to try anymore. No one will hurt me again.”
Viktor’s expression darkens slightly.
“Keep telling yourself that,” he says quietly.