Chapter 19
PAVEL
I heard his screams before I saw him.
Damien and Mikhail worked fast.
I knew what I'd see the second I opened the door to the hangar.
My cousins never disappointed. They were almost as fierce and ruthless as I was.
Almost.
I walked into the large, nearly empty space to see a man dangling from a chain like a slaughtered pig, trembling and pathetic. I watched him swing upside down, unmoved by his cries for mercy.
Richard Russo, Alina's deadbeat father.
There were many things I was willing to give this man.
Mercy was not one of them.
He didn't deserve mercy.
Especially given how easy it was for my men to track him down. Finding him at a blackjack table in Atlantic City, racking up more debt even as his only daughter put herself in danger bearing the burden of his old debts .
As I stepped further into the warehouse to check on the progress Damien and Mikhail had made, the stench of sweat stung my nose. A far cry from the delicate florals that graced Alina’s skin.
She was the reason I was here.
It didn’t have any deep meaning.
This bastard hurt a vulnerable woman.
That was as deep as I needed to go to unalive him.
And why not?
No one was going to miss him, least of all his daughter.
At least that was what I was telling myself.
The fact that I’d never gone this far to track down someone who hurt one of my past lovers didn’t matter.
That there was something special and innocent about Alina that made me want to be the man who sheltered and protected her…well, that was something to consider another time.
As was the fact that I wanted nothing more than to be with her now, forcing her to eat more, to drink and regain her strength before I punished that sweet pussy again.
Instead, I got to watch this pathetic excuse for a man—filthy, trembling, and utterly powerless.
Yet, he was the one who caused Alina so much pain and suffering.
I despised men who abused those they were supposed to protect.
This wasn't a man at all, but a snake, a coward, and really not worthy of the air he breathed.
Damien and Mikhail moved to stand beside me, their gazes sharp with disgust as they shoved the chain, making Richard swing like a human pendulum.
His screams echoed off the metal walls, making my ears ache.
We were miles from civilization, surrounded by cornfields and the private airport that was only ever staffed when a flight was expected. He could scream all he wanted, and I might have let him get it out, but I was eager to get back to the hotel.
Grabbing him by his greasy, thinning hair, I forced the swinging to stop with a violent jerk.
"Please, please," he babbled. "I'll get you whatever you want. Just let me go."
"That sounds reasonable," I said, looking back at Damien and Mikhail. "What I want to know is simple. Just one little question, and we'll let you go."
"Anything," he panted, his face turning red as he struggled to breathe.
"What kind of garbage human being forces his own daughter to pay off his gambling debts?"
"What?" Richard asked, confusion sliding over his red, sweaty face.
"One that deserves to die," Damien replied coldly.
"Slowly," Mikhail added.
The fear hit him then, real and immediate.
Richard stammered, trying to form words, but terror strangled his speech.
Or maybe it was the way he was hanging, the blood all rushing to his head.
Then his panic manifested in the worst way—his body betrayed him, and a dark stain spread across his pants, seeping into his belt and down to his shirt .
Damien took a step back with a sneer, glancing down at his expensive Italian leather shoes. "You better not get any piss or blood on my shoes, fucker."
I remained focused, not letting his disgusting display of weakness distract me.
Drawing a knife from my motorcycle boot, I tested its weight.
Unlike Damien, I came dressed for the occasion. My tailored suits were safe in my closet; instead, I was dressed in black cargo pants and combat-ready attire. If the look the hotel staff gave me was any indication, I looked like a man ready to deal in death.
That was exactly what I was.
With a simple command, I had my men lower the wretch to the ground. His body landed with a wet thud and my men all grimaced as they hoisted him to his feet and dragged him toward a rickety card table set up in the dimly lit hangar for questioning.
I would've preferred to leave him hanging, but there was a good chance the weak fuck would have passed out on me. This needed to be over quickly, and waiting for him to wake up wasn't something I was willing to do.
They slammed his head down onto the table as he gasped for breath. His face turned from red to a mottled shade of purple, a single string of saliva dripping down from his mouth onto the green felt.
I could've shown him mercy—given him a moment to catch his breath. But mercy was something he'd never shown his daughter.
I gripped his wrist in my fist and slammed his trembling hand onto the table, the knife hovering just above his fingers.
"How many years have you been destroying your daughter's life with this gambling bullshit?" My tone was almost casual. I didn't betray the rage that was coursing through me. I wanted him to be surprised at what was coming.
Richard looked like he needed some more excitement in his life.
Slowly, deliberately, I put the tip of the blade between his pinky and ring finger.
A clear warning. His eyes widened as he fought to pull back.
"It wasn't my fault. I never meant to involve her. I owed too much money," he cried as he tried in vain to jerk his hand back.
I didn't have the time or inclination to listen to his lies. Instead, I turned to Damien, who had a file in his hand, looking over Alina's finances.
I didn't need him to tell me what they said.
I already knew. Every line item, every betrayal. I had them memorized.
"How many years has she been paying off your debts?" I demanded.
"A few months," he choked out, and I removed the blade. Richard sighed, taking a moment of relief as he thought his lie worked.
I knew better.
Alina dropped out of college three years ago.
Still, my brothers and cousins didn't need to know how much I knew .
I looked at Damien, who shook his head.
The confirmation was all I needed.
I placed the tip of the knife in between Richard’s ring and pinky fingers again.
He tried to scream out, to tell me to stop. I didn't hesitate. The knife came down with one satisfying cut. Precise and clean through the bone. I severed the man's pinky finger, leaving it on the table in front of him.
A scream ripped through the warehouse, blood spurting onto the worn green tabletop.
He tried to sit up. Two of my men stepped forward, guns pulled.
I waved them off as I placed a hand between Richard's shoulder blades, forcing him back down, making sure his severed finger was right in front of his face as I leaned in.
I wanted the fucker to smell his own blood, to know the stench of his own rotting flesh.
Richard shook and screamed again. I waited, unbothered by the blood, or the ringing in my ears. It would stop when he died. My momentary discomfort was nothing compared to Alina's.
Finally, Richard took a breath, and I tried again.
"I'm only going to ask you one more time. If you lie to me again, I'll take more than just a finger. How many years?"
Richard sobbed, snot running down his face. "Three years! Three years! That's it. It was only for three years. I was going to…"
I stood up and took a step back, saying nothing as his words trailed off and he stared at his finger laying on the table. His face flushing an unnatural green.
Then his gaze shifted back to his hand, where the finger should have been. He screamed and cried, carrying on like a toddler who fell off his bike and thought the world was ending.
The pathetic display disgusted me.
Comparatively speaking, his daughter had lost far more than a pinky in the last twenty-four hours, and she didn't carry on like this.
My brave girl was far stronger than her father.
Damien tilted his head, feigning confusion. "Math was never my strong suit, but I think that means two additional fingers."
I nodded. "You'd be correct."
It should have been far, far more. But I needed more information before I could kill him, and he deserved the pain.
Alina's father stopped, looked up, his cheeks tearstained and his brows furrowed as he tried to understand what Damien meant.
Perfect. The confusion would make this hurt more.
I took the opportunity and lashed out with the knife.
The blade struck again, slicing off another finger. His ring finger. Then again, for his middle finger.
He screamed while I wiped the blood from the blade onto his shoulder. No reason to dirty my clothes if I didn't have to.
Richard howled in agony, his entire body convulsing from the pain. But we were far from done.
"Shut up," I ordered over the man's wails. Immediately, his cries silenced, but his body still shook. "We are only just getting started, so you might want to save your strength. "
There was a lot of information I needed from Richard, and I had to act fast if I wanted to claim it before he lost too much blood and fainted or, worse, just up and died from a heart attack or a stroke or some shit.
Not that it would've been a significant loss.
Slamming the knife on the table in front of his face, I focused on the task at hand.
"Who do you owe money to?" The question hung in the air like a blade.
He shook his head, refusing to answer. Maybe Richard had more balls than I thought. That meant it was time to make them shrivel.
"Grab his hands," I ordered.
Mikhail raised an eyebrow as my men grabbed Richard's hands and held them to the table. Richard tried balling the one fist he could still make, but my men straightened out those fingers pretty easily.