Chapter 15
Kazimir
Black Dolphin Prison—Sol-Iletsk, Orenburg Oblast, Russia
Thirty-seven months later
Time.
That’s all I had. Time and brutality. Other than ninety minutes a day when prisoners were allowed out of their cages for the guards to check for contraband, we were forced to stand inside our hell of a universe, no sitting allowed.
I threw several air punches, hissing when pain shot up the length of my arm to my shoulder.
It had taken months before I’d been able to use my arm again, finally able to rebuild strength in my muscles.
The agony ghosted through me occasionally, mostly from the dampness.
Being tortured until I’d almost died had managed to etch a strong memory in my bones.
The wounds had never fully healed, leading to several scars, which didn’t bother me. In a world where men registered strength by the success of surviving brutality, I’d become a legend.
The fuckers had wanted to break me, learning quickly no man on this earth had the right or the ability. They’d paid for their senseless decisions by experiencing a level of pain no one was capable of surviving. That’s when I’d become a legend behind the hallowed, moldy walls.
I dropped to the floor, shifting into my daily pushups.
At least I was no longer challenged by the savage guards when exercising. They knew better than to pick a fight with me. And why had I been shoved into a maximum-security prison deep in the trenches of Russia?
I’d had some accountant-type asshole with wire-rimmed glasses provide me with a list of reasons I’d been brought to the worst prison system in all of Russia, but I hadn’t been inclined to pay much attention.
This was the kind of place where attorneys made no difference. While I’d been given a false name upon entrance, I knew enough about the facility to know to keep my mouth shut.
My earned reputation had done the talking since then.
Given the beard that I’d had when dumped into the hellhole, I wasn’t recognizable to the rest of the inmates. While I’d carefully calculated a reputation as being a demented killer so no one would fuck with me, so far no one had challenged who I was and where I’d come from.
That led me to believe the punishment could be reversed.
I’d had nothing but time to try to determine who’d betrayed me and it had little to do with Demarco Marichetti.
The harsh treatment of prisoners had been a legend outside the compound, the location near the Kazakhstan border, and the barren, often snowy location prevented escape.
There’d been a couple of prisoners who’d tried during my time spent, one dying in the snow, or so I’d overheard through the great grapevine.
And the other?
Well, let’s just say the methods of torture were ones I would use once my hunt was completed.
For now, I bided my time, keeping my body fit and my mind sane. Many inmates lost their minds. While there were some visitors, very few relatives dared make the trip. Doing so was dangerous, bandits living in the surrounding woods.
Yeah, I knew a hell of a lot about the prison and surrounding area since my grandfather had been incarcerated here for ten years.
He’d been a legend, a vory v zakone, roughly translated to ‘thieves in law.’ While an old system from long before I was born, the mark was given to those men who coveted the highest respect of bosses in the Soviet Union.
Those anointed acted as keepers of strict, traditional code, something my father had loosely followed. While every time a prisoner was brought to the facility or taken between buildings he was blindfolded so as not to learn the layout, I knew every nook and cranny.
It had been a requirement as a young soldier and now I was glad I had.
Even with strict surveillance, guards had determined I was someone of importance.
From day one, I’d heard a few whispers of men who’d been desperate to learn my identity determined I was a younger generation vory and why?
Because I had a small eight-point star on my shoulder.
The ink had been my own doing, not an honor bestowed and I’d been beaten severely by my father for being so disrespectful. Now, I was glad to have the faded cheap-ass ink. It had probably saved my life.
Or someone else’s. I laughed as I pushed up from the cold cement floor, no longer counting the number of pushups. I simply exercised until my muscles screamed for relief then continued on for another hour.
While the goddamn days were long, the nights bothered me the most. The rage had faded because it had been necessary so I could stay alive.
What hadn’t faded from my mind were the memories. Some vicious. Some filled with rage. But most about her. The woman that had become an obsession. Every time I dropped to the floor or peered up at the small excuse for a window, I was reminded of her.
Rafaela.
My beautiful, sweet, innocent Rafaela.
Or was she so innocent?
She’d been worried about me killing her father? I would have thought she wouldn’t have minded. Had she betrayed me after all, running to the guards? Disbelief remained, but the time spent alone had created an almost feverlike anger in my head.
The memories were dangerous and led to an active need for violence. Why? Because when I’d come to after being dumped in the trunk of a car, the bastards in front had been laughing about how she’d turned me in. And they’d talked about how much they wanted to fuck her.
Hearing she’d betrayed me hadn’t settled in my mind. Their comments had awakened the beast within.
By the time one of the assholes had opened the trunk, I’d freed myself of the shackles they’d used. One kick allowed me time to crawl out and before he’d made it off the pavement, I’d crushed his windpipe with my boot, grabbing his weapon.
The second piece of shit hadn’t known what had hit him, the bullet driven through the middle of his forehead.
Sadly, I hadn’t realized two other vehicles had been following closely behind. The next pistol whipping had done me in and here I was.
There were dozens of thoughts in my mind, scenarios that played out every night.
Including one where she’d betrayed me, but why?
It was more likely someone had seen me leaving the house, which provided an entirely different set of emotions, but every scenario invoked rage.
After seeing the bruise on her face, I could only imagine what her father would have done to her.
Plus, if he’d cared about Marco’s indiscretions, why had the man remained alive?
No, her father would sell his soul and his mother to the highest bidder. Now I regretted keeping him alive.
Given the opportunity, I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
I’d had over three years to think about the different circumstances and potential solutions.
As well as envisioning her beautiful face.
In the time allotted, I’d come to accept that the effort taken to keep me incarcerated was significant.
Which meant either one of two logical scenarios.
One, doing so was personal, the betrayer someone within the family regime or at minimum, trusted associates built from the early days.
Someone who knew what would torment my mind given I was immune to pain.
That led back to the possibility Rafaela was nothing but a hired actress.
As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t push the thought aside.
Number two was also likely, an enemy who’d used my father’s death as the perfect opportunity, which could mean Don Pollizi or his direct enemy. He had several himself. Or the Russians, which would make the most sense.
Every time I went through the same goddamn bullshit, doing so picked apart what little decency had been left inside of me. Now I was nothing but a cold-blooded killer, the devil himself.
I rose to my feet, enjoying the burn in my muscles.
As I began to walk off the exercise, images of her face popped into my mind.
I leaned against the thick wall, laughing softly to myself.
At least I didn’t have the same emotions as I had thirty-seven months and twelve days before.
With laughter still on my lips, I shook my head.
Maybe that’s why I felt the vibration that I doubted anyone else on the cell block had.
I glanced toward the lens of the camera, wondering if my instinct was right. Another vibration and I nonchalantly moved away from the wall.
The first explosion rocked the building I was in, the vibrations indicating a series of bombs and not just one. With guards surrounding the property, drones had to have been used.
But doing so from the air would have sounded off an alarm.
That meant they’d come in on supply trucks.
Maybe I was wrong, but if I was a betting man, I’d slide my entire allotment of chips to the center of the table.
Another explosion happened seconds later. Finally, the electricity was cut, alarms going off everywhere.
Utter chaos ensued, guards running through the halls while prisoners were beating on the bars of their cells.
Gunfire popped all around, a few screams heard over the ridiculous whistles and catcalls of every other prisoner on the cell block.
More explosions.
More gunfire.
Then suddenly a click and my cell door slammed open. With a smile on my face, I walked out, realizing mine was the only open door.
The festivities were in my honor.
It didn’t take me long to find a fallen guard, stripping him of his weapons. As I moved through the corridors, I constantly scanned the area in front of me, cognizant of any movement.
I dropped and rolled when another guard came into sight, firing off a half dozen shots in a row from the automatic rifle just because I was in the fucking mood.
Prisoners were yelling at me, some begging me to help them.
All of which I ignored.
More guards were running away, all in full tactical gear. I slid against the wall, crawling along until I was able to make a turn. With a single dart of my head, I noticed the gaping hole in the side of the building.