8. Vasiliy
Siderov.
I’m careful not to show a single flicker of surprise when our captor name-drops the infamous Chicago syndicate.
I may specialize in pulling information out of people, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have methods of stowing said intelligence away for a rainy day.
The last time I heard that particular name was nearly two years ago during a visit to Belarus.
One of Uncle’s business partners had a project in his basement that was refusing to crack open.
He spilled for me in less than three days, blubbering something about Siderov arms deals drying out the local market.
I fed our ally the details and sauntered right back to the private jet, never giving the syndicate another thought until today.
I look over to the unassuming woman beside me, heavy with reassessment. A bad feeling roves over my flesh with the same discomfort that accompanied every other foolish mistake of my own making. The woman looks so confused. So cold and small and delicate. Is that a play too?
The man tries to gaze past me to Octavia again, but I step into his path, the action causing a slight sneer to tug his upper lip.
I may not know what’s going on, but one thing is crystal clear. This guy has an unhealthy obsession with the woman behind me, and I’m not letting him get within spitting distance of her.
If I’m being double-crossed, I’ll deal with her myself.
“I know who you are, too, Vasiliy Morozov,” the guy says with a cheeky grin.
“Really,” I grind out. “Because I couldn’t pick you apart from a sack of shit.”
Anger flickers through his features. He’s quick to react. Good. I can work with that.
“I heard your uncle sold you to the Solokov Bratva like a worthless street soldier. I would love to know what possessed Mikhail Solokov to take such a bad deal.”
“Wouldn’t we all.”
One thing’s clear: this guy’s been watching organized crime operations for a while now. He’s no insider. No one involved with the Bratva in any sense would go around spouting their information so freely. He’s proud of what he’s managed to learn as an outsider. Careless.
And something else is growing astoundingly clear, too, solidifying with each glance he steals past my broad chest.
I’m not the one he’s interested in.
The thought only unsettles me more. I know how this goes when I’m the one they’re after. I’m good at playing that game. But I have no clue what happens next in this one.
I flick a piece of dirt from my arm. “It’s a bit chilly in here. Would you mind finding your point?”
Another flash of anger lights his eyes, there and buried in less than a second.
I want his attention back. Every time this shitstain looks past my chest to the woman hiding behind me, something unsettling wriggles around in my gut.
“Careful how you speak to me, boy. You are nearly useless in this situation, and what little value you have is quickly depreciating.”
Why would they think this girl has something to do with Siderov?
But that’s not quite what he said, was it? He said she was a Siderov.
I rack my brain, trying to recall the Siderov family dynamics.
As far as I remember, the Siderov line only contains males, none of whom are direct heirs to the line of power.
They’ve also never had any business or territories in New York.
Did these men have enough time and resources to transport us out of state while we were down?
“All I needed was one single confirmation of her identity. I was waiting for her to contact her father, but she never did. I suppose you’re the explanation for that.”
“Am I?” I ask, pleased that my cellmate isn’t responding to this asshole anymore. He clearly wants her attention, and whether she’s hiding something or not, it’s best not to play right into his hand.
Why do you care, Vasiliy?
“She’s not communicating with him directly,” he says, steps echoing as he walks the length of the bars. “She’s doing so through you.”
My head tilts.
The only thing more dangerous than a good interrogator is a misinformed one, and this guy has no interest in disproving his theory.
“You are a talented dancer, sweet Octavia,” he purrs, having had enough with talking to me. Not good. “I have been attending your performances for many years. You only become more graceful with age.”
I’m not sure if he’s intentionally goading the little fireball behind me, or if he’s truly blind.
I’ve only known her for a handful of hours, and I already know she doesn’t have a sweet bone in her body.
She practically radiates rage with every movement.
She even tried to kill me not thirty minutes earlier.
I can’t think of the useless strap of leather without a smile threatening my lips.
She tried to kill me.
“It pays the bills,” Octavia responds behind me.
Despite the circumstances, I have to fight a chuckle at the snide response.
“Yes, and I imagine your father helps fund that decrepit apartment of yours as well.”
“You’re mistaken. I pay for that shithole with my own blood and sweat. Don’t give me daddy issues I haven’t earned.”
I study the man’s gaze as he processes her words. Irritation rolls over his eyes like a crashing wave. His head turns a fraction to the right.
My muscles flex.
He’s going to react.
“Alright. I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
That’s the last thing he says before storming over to the far side of the room and smacking his knuckles against the door. The harsh sound bounces against the walls.
“She knows nothing. Her father and I agreed to keep her in the dark,” I try again, taking a careful step back. If he wants evidence, I’ll give him evidence.
The door flies open before he can respond, five more men flooding into the room.
I search each of their large forms as they move through the door, marking their weaknesses.
The one on the left favors his right fist, already adorned with steel rings designed to do the breaking.
Overcompensating for something, perhaps.
The two in the middle have sneers already twisting their lips. Cocky.
I’m an excellent fighter, but they already managed to overtake me once. Then again, I suppose that had more to do with the barrel pressed into a certain woman’s cheek. The whole thing leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
“What? Too intimidated by my reputation?” I wrap my fingers around the chipped metal, leaning up against the bars. “Think your methods won’t stand up?”
“I have no issue starting with you, Morozov,” the leader snaps. “After all, I’m much more excited to see you torn to pieces than your lovely counterpart.”
Relief settles my thumping chest.
Briefly, anyway.
Because then he goes and runs his mouth again.
“But don’t think I won’t do what I must to get my answers, Annika.” He clicks his tongue. “I have every intention of keeping you in relatively good shape for the sale, but that only applies to your purity. Everything else is fair game.”
A sharp gasp echoes through the space. I risk a glance.
Her concerned gaze hits me like a fucking bulldozer. If she’s an excellent liar, she’s an even better manipulator, because when I look at the fear twisting her pretty face, something in me begs to do anything it takes to make it go away. This is so obviously a trap.
Unfortunately, all rationality leaves me as I take a step closer to the little liar. Heavy footsteps approach the bars.
“Don’t react,” I squat down to whisper in her ear. “And don’t say a word.”
“What? No. No!” She gasps, crawling to her feet and fastening her hand to the stained fabric of my button-down. “You are not leaving me in here! Vasiliy!”
I stare down at her small hand clenched around the fabric, suspicion warring with genuine regret.
“Such dramatics,” our captor quips from outside the cell wall, but I can’t get myself to look away from the bright green gaze that pleads up to me in silent anguish.
For some reason, peeling her hand free is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
The cage door groans. With a deep sigh, I loosen her fingers. Pull each free from the fabric.
Their approach is quick.
One kicks out my legs as the others move in, securing my arms on either side. I allow them. Then I’m being dragged through the metal door towards the lone chair sitting in the center of the room.
I know the chair well.
I used one just like it a few days ago when I interrogated Solokov’s guy, not to mention I’ve been taken many times by much more formidable enemies. But this time, it’s harder than usual to fall into that quiet space in my mind.
This time, there isn’t a single thing I won’t disclose or lie about to keep Octavia out of the metal seat.
If she is manipulating me, then I will dole out her punishment myself.