10. Konstantin
10
KONSTANTIN
Sima is waiting for me outside of the Zebra Club by the time I arrive. The neighborhood around the establishment is quiet now that morning has come. And to my mounting fury, there’s not a goddamn person to be seen.
Without bothering to kill the engine, I step out of the Lamborghini and slam the door shut.
“My pakhan,” Sima greets me with a quick bow and hands me a submachine gun along with a belt of grenades.
“Where the fuck is he?” I demand as I chamber a round. “Did he even pick up the fucking call?”
“No,” Sima replies grimly. “But not long after I called him, I got this.”
He holds up his phone, and my heart practically stops when I see it.
It’s a screenshot from a security-camera of my sister, hands bound in a tiny room. She’s still wearing the dress that she was wearing two weeks ago. Her hands and ankles are bound with silver tape. Her eyes, normally full of clever humor, are wide with terror. They’re puffy from crying and there are knots in her thick hair. On her upper arms, I spot the tell-tale green of old bruises.
Alisa! My grip around the submachine gun tightens as rage overtakes me.
“I’m going to peel the skin off every single fucking Ferrata man I get my hands on,” I growl.
“Then you’re in luck, because I think that’s them right now.” Sima tilts his head towards the direction behind me, I turn and see several cars pulling up in the distance, and each one filled with men of the Ferrata Mafia.
A feral smile spreads on my face as I pull the pin from a grenade.
Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.
The shootout was short, violent, and quick. Exactly like how Sima and I operate. By the time it’s over, most of the Ferrata hitmen sent out to kill us are dead.
All except one unfortunate bastard.
And in the basement of a butcher shop, where the owner was more than happy to accept a fat stack of Euros in exchange for looking the other way, I have my victim hanging up on meat hooks for the past hour.
Sima and I have spent that hour taking turns breaking every bit of his body that we can.
Once upon a time, he might’ve been a proud made-man of the Ferrata Mafia who’s used to speaking with his fists. Now he’s shirtless and pathetic, head hung low, with bruises dappling from his chest to his abdomen, and blood running down his legs.
“I’ll ask you again.” Flexing my fingers, I shift the pocketknife to my opposite hand. “Who gave the order to kidnap my sister?”
To the man’s credit, he doesn’t say a word. Instead, from the single eye he still has left—I’d already removed his other one—he gives me a baleful glare of defiance.
“I suggest you answer me.” Tracing the tip of the knife under his left ear, I whisper. “You’re starting to run out of things for me to break. And when that happens, I’m going to start taking things.”
He swings his head to the side, looking at my knife not with fear, but indifference. I know this bastard would be tough. All of these Italians are. Unlike them, I’ve never once underestimated my enemies.
But this is starting to get absurd.
I’m tempted to pull out my gun, but I know he is waiting for the sweet embrace of death.
Not like the fool who was stupid enough to knock into Emily back at the Zebra Club.
A savage thrum rushes through me at the unexpected thought of her.
Kitty Cat.
And just like that, I feel an uncomfortable tightness in my pants.
I shake my head. Why the fuck am I thinking about her right now? But now that I am, I can’t get her out of my head. Those sapphire eyes. Her dark chestnut hair.
Her wet pussy grinding against my thigh.
Fuck!
My mood grows blacker and I approach my victim and push the knife between his legs until they’re resting against his balls. Slowly, I let the tip dig forward, and he raises his head.
“Was it Augusto?” I press the cutting edge along the seam of his balls. “Was it his son? Or was it both?”
The man goes still as stone and holds his breath, waiting for my next move.
“Last chance, mudak .”
Across the room, Sima watches me with fascination. He plays with his metal lighter, flipping it open and shut as if to keep time. The flame glows bright before snuffing out each time.
“Have it your way, then.” I start sawing through the thin skin. Blood gushes and with a single practiced stroke, I remove one of his testicles and hold it up in front of him.
He can’t control himself any longer. This time, he screams.
“Sounds like it’s both.” I toss the useless piece of flesh aside, and grab the man by his meaty jowls. “Was killing me part of his plan too?”
He continues to groan in pain, and I wrench his head back, forcing him to look at me.
He’s wheezing, his pupil dilating to the point of invisibility. Finally, I see a speck of fear in his eyes.
I curl my lip and dig the knife against his remaining testicle. A tear leaks out of his single remaining eye and mixes with the blood running over his bruises.
“Fuck you!” he gasps.
“Refusing to talk isn’t going to do you any good.” I let go of his hair. “Why keep doing this to yourself?”
The man rolls his neck, gazing at me with some of his earlier defiance. He licks his chin, smearing crimson all over his teeth and lips. Then he dares to grin.
“Because talking won’t save me, you Russian fuck.” He spits out another mouthful of blood. “You can skip the theatrics and just get this over with.”
“Well, we seem to be at an impasse.” Gliding my thumb over my knife’s handle, I sigh. “Because I have no intention of getting this over with until you talk. And if you do, I’ll let you die half a man.”
“We’re getting nowhere with this, Kostya.” Sima says in Russian.
“I’m not giving him an easy exit.” I snap.
Sima clicks his lighter open, the flame dancing in his earth-brown eyes, and sighs. The burn scars on his fingers stand out on his pale skin. “There’s no reason to keep torturing him.”
“Yes, there is.”
My victim’s single eye bulges from his skull as I approach. His resistance feeds the part of me that’s lashing out, searching for a way to reassert control.
“Why go back on this deal?” Wedging the tip of my knife against his remaining testicle, I give it a hard tug and feel the soft organ detach.
The man screams again until his voice cracks. And through his broken vocal cords, two words emerge.
“Marriage!” He chokes out. “Inheritance!”
I smile savagely back at Sima. “See, Sima? They all break eventually.”
I turn my attention back to my victim, but his head droops down and he’s limp. “Wake up.” I dig my knife through his shoulder. Blood leaks steadily from the fresh wound, but there’s no reaction.
Sima places his hand gingerly on my shoulder. “He’s dead, Kostya.”
Angling the dead man’s head back, I gaze into his blank expression—mouth drawn agape and single eye unblinking.
“ Yob tvoyu mats! ” Motherfucker!
“What do you think he meant by that?” Sima asks.
Marriage. Inheritance.
The gears are turning in my head, and it doesn’t take long before I figure out exactly what those two words mean.
“They’re going to force her to marry Domenico,” I whisper. “That’s why they called us here to Italy for this meeting. They never intended to agree to a peace deal. They wanted me here so they can kill me. And once I’m dead …”
“Alisa Yurevna becomes the sole heir.” Sima nods. “This is so stupidly simple that it’s almost brilliant. But Alla Antonovna won’t just release the inheritance, will she?”
The mere mention of my grandmother sends a look of disgust on my face. “Under normal circumstances, no,” I reply. “But if Alisa is the sole heir, she won’t have much of a choice.”
Roaring in frustration, I plunge the knife into the corpse’s face again and again until it becomes a red ruin.
Panting, I turn back to Sima. “Torch Zebra Club and send the demand to Augusto that he returns Alisa to me safely. In the meantime, rally every brigadier here in Italy with orders to kill every Ferrata man they see.”
Sima wrinkles his brow. “What about your grandmother?”
“I’ll figure out something about Alla. But I want the kill orders out now. ”
Augusto will take me seriously with this. He has to.
I run water in the large sink nearby. Blood swirls down the drain as I scrub my hands clean, making sure to get beneath my nails.
“And get the jet ready.”
“Where are we going that we can’t fly commercial?” he asks tensely.
“New York.” I glare at him. “If there’s even a sliver of a chance that Alisa is there …”
“No way in hell they’ll keep her there.” He squints at me like I’ve lost my mind. “And at any rate, New York is off-limits for you.”
“There are no limits,” I growl, whirling on him. “Not anymore!”
“The Americans won’t be happy about this,” Sima stands firm. “Especially not Emilio Lanzzare. He may have his own feuds with Augusto, but he’s not going to allow you to bring your war to his doorstep.”
“I don’t give a fuck what Emilio Lanzzare thinks.”
Sima stares at me, thoughts turning in his head as he thinks through the consequences. But I know he’ll come around to agreeing with me. He cares about my sister as much as I do. He understands the pain I’m in.
Taking a deep breath, Sima stands over the corpse and sighs. “It’ll take about three hours for the jet to get ready, and another ten until we land. What are you going to do in the meantime?”
I check my hands again to make sure that there’s no blood left. “I’ll meet you at the airport.”
Without another word, I walk away and leave Sima to his task. Anger rages like a hurricane my mind, and when I emerge into the sunlight, the brightness of almost blinds me.
In my blindness, a singular vision appears in my head.
Dark chestnut hair. Sapphire-blue eyes. Full red lips and freckled skin.
My cock strains against my pants again as dark vicious thoughts swirl around my mind.
The drive back to the house goes by in a blur, and my cock is rock hard by the time I open the door. But the moment I walk in, I know that something isn’t right. The house is silent and still .
Too silent.
I storm my way up the stairs towards the bedroom and when I arrive, I find two empty wineglasses on the patio. The bed is untouched.
But most importantly, Emily is nowhere to be seen.
The only thing that tells me she was ever here is the imprint of her lipstick on the rim of one of the glasses.
I’m too late.
Slowly, I walk over and pick up the glass and clench my fist around it.
A crack appears in the glass from the pressure, but I don’t release my grip. And when it shatters, embedding my palm with shards, I relish the pain it brings.
Put her out of your mind. I tell myself. There are more important things to worry about.
I’ll go as far as I can, be as cruel as I must, in order to get what I want.
I’ll make them rue the day they crossed the Siderov Bratva.
And after, I’ll find Emily, and teach her the consequences for daring to run away from me.