Chapter Twelve
Gregor Polov
F ive days later, the Deer Island Sewage Treatment Plant, Deer Island, Boston Harbor...
The night spread like ink across Boston Harbor as the SUV rental approached Deer Island. Heavy clouds blocked the moon, creating a perfect cover for their mission. The massive sewage treatment plant loomed ahead, its egg-shaped digesters casting strange shadows against the dark sky.
A plant security guard, Marcus Wheeler, waited at the gate. His hands shook as he fumbled with the keys. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold as he glanced at Gregor through Skull’s open window.
“Everything’s ready, sir. Your men are waiting for you with your guest in Digester Building Three.”
Gregor stepped out of the SUV. He smirked as the guard took a step back when Skull unfolded from the vehicle, his presence commanding immediate attention. Neither of them acknowledged the guard’s presence beyond a nod and a sideward glance. Power demanded respect, and they had earned their positions through decades of ruthless decisions. No advisor or underboss dared to question Polov’s judgment. The last one who tried disappeared without a trace. The Polovskaya Bratva was his kingdom, and he ruled it alone.
Ivor Smirnoff’s usual stone-faced expression had cracked. His jaw was tight with his brows drawn together in clear concern. The assassin had served Gregor for too many years to count without showing a hint of emotion. Tonight was different, but Gregor refused to be concerned about it.
They walked through the maze of concrete and steel. The digesters towered above them like giant eggs, their curved walls stretching sixty feet into darkness. Steam hissed from vents, carrying the sharp smell of chemicals and waste. The walkways echoed with their footsteps. It was the perfect place to dispose of problems. Gregor’s lips curled into a cold smile.
“Spit it out, Skull, before your hairline splits,” Gregor growled as they weaved between the structures. His hand instinctively tightened on his walking stick, his trademark, with the knob made of pure gold in the shape of the head of Satan.
“You’re overstepping the boundaries that the Dark One carved, Boss... and in his own backyard. He’s not going to take that lightly.”
Gregor spun around, his face inches from Skull’s. “Stop calling the bastard Dark One.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Blood runs in his veins, same as ours. Now that we know who he is, there is no fucking reason to show him fear. He can bleed, Skull, and I intend to watch him follow the same path as his family... without a finger pointing at me.”
“What about your vnuchka ? How are you going to keep her out of the crossfire?”
Gregor wasn’t ignorant of the genuine concern in Skull’s voice. The assassin had watched Tatiana grow up, trained her even, but sentiment was a weakness. He straightened his shoulders as his chin lifted in defiance.
“Tatiana can take care of herself.” He smirked darkly. “She might have walked around with rose-tinted glasses, but her feelings for her beloved husband changed the moment she found out he had used her.”
“She still lives under his roof, Boss. Do you honestly think she is safe... from his wrath when he finds out what we’re doing here?”
“If he finds out, Skull. Who’s going to tell? Nevil Surrey isn’t going to be able to talk once we’re done here tonight. Besides, my instinct about people has never failed me.” Gregor’s eyes narrowed in a dare for Skull to contradict him. “Jarek Farrel won’t hurt my vnuchka . In fact, I believe she’s safer under his roof during this upcoming war than anywhere else.”
Gregor’s temples throbbed at the mention of Farrel’s name again. His grip tightened on the walking stick until his knuckles hurt. Every time Skull brought up the Irish bastard’s reputation, rage burned through his veins.
“So, you’re going to ignore his warning? You do know he will retaliate, and no matter what your instincts say, mine is waving a red flag. Make no mistake, Boss, that Irish bastard won’t think twice to turn his desire for vengeance into a full-blown bloodbath.”
Elizabeth’s tear-stained face flashed in Gregor’s mind. His wife barely spoke anymore. She was lost without their granddaughter’s visits. Their home felt empty, haunted by Tatiana’s absence. Farrel had stolen more than money and allies. He had dared to tear apart what remained of their family.
“Why do you think we’re here, Skull?” His voice turned to steel, his face a mask of controlled fury. He jabbed the walking stick against the metal grating. “Tatiana left because of him blabbering about my business that her grandmother and I have kept from her to keep her safe. To this day, she hasn’t reached out to us, and for that, Farrel has to pay.” His eyes glittered with cold determination. “Alienating our allies, crumbling my financial stability, and destroying my reputation is nothing compared to turning my beloved granddaughter against us. If that means death and destruction, then so be it.”
Gregor caught the flicker of doubt in Skull’s usually expressionless face. The assassin’s concern was starting to grate on his nerves. In all the years of service, Skull had never questioned his decisions with such persistence.
“The Dark—” Skull began, then stopped at Gregor’s warning look. “Farrel has eyes everywhere, Boss... especially here in Boston. Word will get back to him about tonight.”
Steam erupted from a nearby vent, temporarily obscuring Skull’s face. Gregor used the moment to compose himself, pushing down the rage that threatened to crack his carefully maintained control. He was the Pakhan of the Polovskaya Bratva. He didn’t explain his decisions, not even to his most trusted protector.
“Let him hear.” Gregor adjusted his tie, a habit that had ended countless discussions over the years. The familiar motion centered him and restored his focus. “Now, shall we make sure our guest is comfortable? I believe he has some interesting information about the Irish operations that he’s dying to share.”
He moved forward, hearing Skull fall into position behind him. The assassin’s hand hovered near his weapon—always prepared, always watching. That was why Gregor kept him close. But tonight, Skull’s caution felt like doubt, and doubt was something Gregor didn’t appreciate.
The security guard scurried ahead, keys rattling as he fumbled with the door to Digester Building Three. Behind them, Boston Harbor’s waters promised a convenient solution to tonight’s covert interrogation. Gregor smiled. If—or when, as Skull believes—the Irish bastard found out about his venture into his domain, he would realize that no one, not even the precious Dark One married to his granddaughter, was untouchable.
The door creaked open to reveal the interior of the massive concrete dome. Sodium vapor lights cast a sickly yellow glow across the metal catwalks and railings. The space hummed with the constant drone of machinery, punctuated by the rhythmic drip of condensation from the curved ceiling high above.
Gregor’s footsteps echoed as he crossed the metal grating. Two of his men stood guard over a chair where Nevil Surrey sat bound, his expensive suit now wrinkled and stained. The Irish businessman had made quite a name for himself since arriving in Boston a decade ago. His private airline company served as a perfect front for the Somerville Irish Mafia’s operations, and his connection to Jarek Farrel was no secret in certain circles.
Surrey’s head snapped up at their approach. Fear flashed across his face before his features settled into a mask of defiance. Blood trickled from a cut above his eye, but his posture remained straight, proud.
Gregor circled the chair slowly, letting his walking stick tap against the metal grating with each step. The sound echoed off the dome’s walls, a steady rhythm that matched the dripping condensation.
“Mr. Surrey. I trust my men have made you comfortable?”
“Fuck you, Polov.” Surrey spat the words, his Irish accent thick with anger. “What do you want?”
“Such hostility.” A laugh rumbled in Gregor’s chest. He stopped in front of Surrey, leaning on his walking stick. “And here I thought the Irish were known for their hospitality.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “But since you’re asking so politely... I want to know where your boss conducts his business. The real business, not the pretty facade he shows the world.”
“You’re insane if you think I’ll tell you anything.” Surrey’s gaze darted to Skull, who stood silently in the shadows, then back to Gregor. “You obviously know who my ally is. You know what he’ll do.”
“Ah, yes, the feared Dark One.” Gregor's voice dripped with mockery. “My son-in-law has quite the reputation, doesn't he?” He gripped Surrey’s jaw, forcing the man to meet his eyes. “But reputations can be broken, Mr. Surrey. Just like bones.”
Behind him, he heard Skull shift slightly.
“Boss.” Something in his voice caused Polov to hesitate. He glanced at him over his shoulder. “This situation is off. He doesn’t look Irish.”
Polov’s eyes flashed dangerously. “We got the intel on his location from an inside source. He is Farrel’s lackey, so stop wasting my fucking time.” His assassin’s unease was becoming tiresome, but it didn’t matter. They were already committed to this course. Farrel had taken everything from him, and tonight, Gregor would begin taking it all back. “Besides... not all Irish have red hair or speak with an accent.”
He released Surrey’s jaw and straightened, adjusting his cuffs.
“Now, shall we discuss the location of the Somerville operations? Or should I give you a tour of this fascinating facility’s waste disposal system?”
Gregor studied the gold Satan’s head on his walking stick, turning it to catch the sickly light.
“Your loyalty is admirable, Mr. Surrey. Misplaced but admirable.” He shifted his grip, feeling the familiar weight. “Last chance to reconsider your position.”
Surrey laughed, blood staining his teeth. “Go to hell, old man. I’ve seen what happens to snitches in this business. Besides,”—his lips twisted in a sneer—“I owe the Dark One my life. Whatever you do to me won’t compare to betraying him.”
The mention of Jarek’s name shattered Gregor’s composure. The walking stick whistled through the air, connecting with Surrey’s ribs. The crack echoed off the dome’s walls.
“The Dark One? He’s a man like you, Mr. Surrey. Jarek Farrel, the Irish bastard!” Gregor spat, striking again. “The man you fear so much married my granddaughter under false pretenses and used her to infiltrate my organization.” Another blow. “And you think I care about your debt to him?”
“You’re delusional, Polov. He infiltrated your organization long before he ever met Tatiana.” Surrey curled forward as much as his restraints allowed, wheezing through broken ribs. Still, his eyes held defiance. “At least he protects his own, which is more than can be said of you.” Scorned dripped from his words, triggering a speckle of regret deep within Gregor. “When’s the last time you saw Tatiana, Polov? Does she even answer your calls?”
Rage clouded his vision. The walking stick became a blur of motion, each impact drawing new sounds of pain. Blood spattered across the metal grating. Behind him, Skull’s boots scraped against the floor.
“Boss.” Skull’s quiet voice cut through the haze of violence. “He can’t talk if he’s dead.”
Gregor’s arm froze mid-swing. He was breathing heavily. He wasn’t used to this kind of exertion since Skull tended to interrogations. He straightened and grunted as he noticed his usually immaculate suit was speckled with red. His eyes glimmered as he watched Surrey hang limply in the chair—conscious but barely.
“Perhaps,” Skull continued, stepping forward, “we should show him what happens to bodies in the digesters. The chemicals strip flesh from bone in minutes. Might help him understand his position better.”
Surrey’s head lifted slightly at that, a flicker of real fear breaking through his defiant mask.
Gregor forced his breathing to steady, adjusting his grip on the blood-smeared walking stick.
“An excellent suggestion.” He grabbed Surrey’s hair, yanking his head back. “What do you say, Mr. Surrey? Ready for a chemistry lesson?”
Surrey wheezed out a laugh, spraying blood droplets. “Why would I tell you anything?” His voice was weak but determined. “We both know I’m not leaving this place alive. Might as well die with my honor intact.”
Gregor’s jaw tightened. He nodded to Skull. “Show our guest the facilities.”
Two men grabbed Surrey’s arms, dragging him toward the digester tank. The businessman’s feet scraped against the metal grating, leaving dark smears.
“The chemicals in there will dissolve everything but your teeth,” Gregor called after him. “Last chance to make this easier on yourself.”
Surrey’s only response was to spit blood on the floor.
Gregor watched the futile struggle, irritation building. Time was wasting, and he had nothing to show for it. Then, a thought struck him, bringing a cold smile to his face.
“Leave him,” he commanded. The men paused, still gripping Surrey’s arms. “I just remembered. Your lovely wife Catherine is alone in that charming house in Winchester, isn’t she? The one with the rose garden?” He adjusted his cuffs, noting how Surrey’s face drained of what little color remained. “Perhaps she’ll be more cooperative.”
“You’ll be wasting your time.” Surrey spat the words at him. “She knows nothing.”
“Oh, I think she knows enough.” Gregor turned away, waving dismissively. “Skull, dispose of this waste of time. I have a social call to make.”
Surrey’s screams echoed off the dome. “Polov! Stop! This is a mistake! I’m not... NO! Listen to me. I’m not—”
The words cut off in a splash, followed by a muffled scream that quickly died away. Gregor pulled out his handkerchief, carefully wiping blood from the golden Satan’s head of his walking stick. The whole evening had been an exercise in futility. He should have gone straight for the wife. Even hardened men broke easier when their families were threatened.
He frowned, checking his watch. This delay meant spending another day in Boston. Suddenly, Skull’s earlier concerns about Farrel’s reach in the city didn’t seem quite so paranoid. The sooner they finish this business, the better.
“Boss,” Skull’s voice sounded unusually tense. “We may have a problem.”
Gregor turned slowly, already reading trouble in Skull’s rigid posture. The assassin stood at parade rest, but his right hand kept twitching toward his weapon—a tell Gregor hadn’t seen since their early days together.
“Surrey wasn’t supposed to be in Boston tonight,” Skull said in a low voice. “Our intel originally had him in New York until tomorrow evening. He was pulled back suddenly this afternoon on a direct order from Farrel.”
The implications hung in the air like the chemical steam rising from the digesters. Gregor’s fingers tightened around his walking stick.
“And you’re just sharing this information now?” His voice was deadly quiet.
“It was only just confirmed. One of our guys at Logan just sent word. Surrey’s original flight plan was changed at the last minute. He landed less than an hour before we captured him.” Skull’s eyes darted to the shadows beyond the catwalks. “Boss, this feels like—”
“A trap,” Gregor finished. His mind raced through the possibilities. If Surrey had been deliberately placed in their path... “Check his phone. Now.”
Skull moved to the edge of the digester tank where Surrey’s personal effects had been piled. He retrieved a sleek smartphone, its screen cracked from the earlier struggle.
“Locked,” he sneered, then paused. His face, usually unreadable, showed a flicker of alarm. “There’s a message on the screen.” He held up the phone so Gregor could see the text notification:
“Hope you enjoyed the show, old man. Pity one of your own covert benefactors had to pay the price. Surrey is safe in New York. You just killed Theo Oliver.”
“Theo Oliver? Fuck! He’s the primary owner of Atlanta Fin Bank. I’ve never personally met him since he maintains anonymity, but he’s our biggest money laundering partner!” The walking stick creaked under Gregor’s grip. The bastard had known. Had cleverly orchestrated the whole thing. “He must’ve found out we’ve been asking around and used Surrey as bait,” Gregor growled. Like an amateur, Gregor had walked right into it.
“ Yebat’ !” Ivor smashed a fist against the wall as he recalled the man’s protest as they forced him into the tank. “I knew something was off, and he tried to tell us before we dumped him in the tank. Why the fuck did Oliver pretend to be Surrey?”
“Farrel probably has his family.”
“And now we killed one of our own allies.” Skull looked around. “Jesus! If word gets out about this, Boss, we’re fucking screwed.” His eyes darted around. “Get everyone out. Now!” He was already moving toward the exit, dragging Polov along.
“This has made me more determined. If Farrel went to such lengths to keep Surrey safe, it means he knows everything about him. Find everything we have on Surrey and his wife,” Gregor sneered. “Since Farrel knew about tonight, he used Oliver as—”
An explosion rocked the building, sending them staggering against the railings. Alarms began blaring throughout the facility. Through the chaos, Gregor could hear the distinctive sound of helicopter rotors approaching.
“Or Oliver was never the target,” he finished grimly as gunfire erupted outside the dome.
“How do we get out of here?” Gregor snapped at the guard who was keeping up with them.
“There are four exits—” Wheeler said as he squinted while trying to recall the blueprint of the facility.
“The main entrance is hot, so the north emergency exit will be their second point of entry,” Skull cut him off with characteristic directness. “My guess is that they’ll flood the underground corridors within two minutes.” Skull was already moving, guiding Gregor with a firm hand. He ignored the guard still following them. “But they don’t know about the storage office.”
The guard stared at the assassin. “The sealed room? That’s a dead end.”
“Stop interrupting me. You know shit. I had a construction team out here two months ago.” A ghost of a smile crossed Skull’s face as he looked at Gregor. “I don’t leave loose ends, Boss. I knew, at some point, we’d be coming to Boston, so I’ve been preparing for this since the Dark One married Tatiana. Why do you think I suggested we do the interrogation here?”
Another explosion rocked the dome. The sodium lights flickered and died, leaving them in the eerie glow of emergency lighting. Above, Gregor’s men engaged the incoming attackers, buying precious seconds.
“The access panel under the floor,” Skull continued, navigating them through the darkness with practiced ease, “leads to a maintenance shaft they sealed up in the eighties. It drops thirty feet to the old tunnels and comes up inside a warehouse I bought through one of our shell companies. I have a car waiting there.”
Gregor felt a deep appreciation for his longtime assassin. While he had been consumed with rage at Farrel’s betrayal, Skull had been quietly fortifying their position and preparing for every contingency. This was why he had kept the man close all these years. Not just for his skill with weapons but for the cold, methodical intelligence that saw threats before they materialized.
They reached Tank Three as breaching charges detonated above. Skull quickly located the shaft’s cover, hidden beneath a layer of convincing artificial grime.
“Your concerns earlier,” Gregor said as Skull worked. “You were testing my readiness.”
“I needed to know if your anger would cloud your judgment.” The cover creaked open. “I had to be sure you’d follow my lead when it mattered.”
“Fifteen years, and you still manage to surprise me.” Gregor laughed quietly, despite their situation. “I fucking better give you a raise for this and a well-deserved bonus.”
“Let’s survive first and negotiate later.” Skull helped him into the shaft. He stopped Wheeler in his tracks as he moved to follow Gregor down. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“But I helped you! I put my life on the line to—”
“To what?” Gregor’s eyes narrowed as he looked up from where he was holding onto the ladder. Igor’s face was colder than a typhoon’s wind. “By fucking us over? Getting paid twice? No one else but you knew about us being here tonight. So, in case you’re ignorant of what happens to a snitch...”
The echo of the gunshot sounded dull against the gunfire from further away. Wheeler reeled back with a bullet wound between the eyes.
Skull smirked as he caught Gregor’s gaze. “And Boss? Next time, I suggest caution...”
“I’ll fucking listen,” Gregor declared as they descended into the darkness. Above them, his men’s last stand echoed through the dome. Every death would be repaid, but right now, survival meant trusting the man who had spent months planning for this exact moment.
“Time to disappear,” Gregor said as they entered the tunnel. “Let’s show the Dark One why the old ways survived so long.”