Chapter 19 #2
But humiliation doesn't breed silence in a man like Igor; it breeds desperation.
Instead of backing down, he scoffs, his chest heaving as a dangerous, volatile energy takes over.
He reaches across the mahogany wood, grabbing a crystal decanter of untouched vodka.
He doesn't bother with a glass. He tips the bottle back, gulping the burning liquor down his throat, the liquid spilling down his chin.
When he slams the bottle back onto the table, his eyes are bloodshot, entirely drunk, and reckless.
"You think you're clever, girl?" Igor sneers, his slurred voice echoing off the high ceilings as he continues to prod Camilla.
"You think because you share the Pakhan's bed, you share his teeth?
You are a Caruso whore. Your father gave you away because you were worthless to him, and you'll be just as worthless to us when Maksim gets tired of opening your legs. "
The insult hangs in the air, putrid and unforgivable.
Daniil and Matvey freeze, their expressions turning stone-cold. Camilla doesn't flinch, but the air in the room instantly drops below freezing.
I don't hesitate. I move with the terrifying, lethal speed that made me Pakhan.
My left hand shoots across the space separating us, gripping Igor’s wrist and slamming his palm flat down against the mahogany table. Before he can even register the trap, my right hand drives the heavy, silver steak fork directly through the center of his hand.
The silver metal tears through skin, muscle, and bone, embedding itself deep into the solid wood beneath.
A sickening crunch echoes through the room, followed immediately by Igor’s blood-curdling shriek of agony.
"Ahhhh! Fucking hell! Maksim!" Igor screams, his body convulsing as he tries to pull away, but the fork holds him perfectly pinned to the table. Dark, thick blood begins to pool rapidly around the silver prongs, staining the white linen napkins.
I don't let go of his wrist. I lean forward, my face inches from his sweating, pale face, devoid of any human emotion. The entire room watches in absolute, paralyzed silence, reminded in a single, quiet fraction of a second just how violent and feared the Pakhan truly is.
"You will speak of my wife with respect," I whisper, my voice deadly soft against his frantic breathing. "Or the next thing I pin to this table will be your tongue. Do you understand me, Igor?"
Igor whimpers, his entire body trembling as the dark blood continues to leak onto the polished wood. The bravado is completely gone, replaced by the pathetic terror of a man who realized he pushed a monster too far.
"I... I need a hospital," he gasps out, his face slick with sweat. "Maksim, please... the hospital..."
I don't budge. I keep his wrist pinned, leaning just a fraction closer so he can feel the absolute lack of mercy radiating off me. I repeat my question, my voice a flat, deadly monotone. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes!" he chokes out, his chest heaving. "Yes, I understand!"
I nod slowly, letting the cold satisfaction settle in. I raise my left hand and gently, almost mockingly, pat his damp cheek.
"Good," I say softly. Then, my eyes flick to the woman sitting beside me, untouched and unbothered by the violence. "Now, apologize to my wife."
Igor freezes, a final, stubborn flicker of resistance crossing his pale face. He looks away from me, his jaw tightening as he tries to swallow his pride. He doesn't want to. To apologize to a woman—to a Caruso—in front of the other elders would ruin what little reputation he has left.
I don't waste time arguing. I simply wrap my fingers around the handle of the fork and give it a sharp, deliberate twist.
The metal grates against the bone. Igor lets out a shrill, deafening scream that rattles the crystal glasses on the table. Tears of pure agony leak from his eyes as his heels kick frantically against the floorboards.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he shrieks, looking directly at Camilla now, his voice cracking with desperation. "Forgive me! I am sorry!"
I stare at him for a beat longer, ensuring the lesson is burned into his brain. "Good," I murmur.
With one swift, brutal motion, I pull the fork out of his hand.
Igor groans, collapsing sideways against his chair, clutching his bloody palm to his chest. I lift my hand, signaling the guards standing by the door.
Two of my men step forward immediately, lifting Igor by his arms and dragging his staggering, bleeding form out of the grand dining room.
The heavy double doors shut behind them, leaving a profound, suffocating silence in their wake.
Yuri, Daniil, and Matvey sit perfectly still.
Not a single one of them speaks. None of them defend him.
They just look at the bloodstain on the white linen, and then back at me, their eyes filled with a renewed, unshakable fear.
I pick up my linen napkin, casually wiping a stray drop of blood from the cuff of my shirt, completely unfazed.
"Let's continue eating," I announce, gesturing to the plates before us.
Dinner resumes silently.
The rhythmic, quiet scraping of silver against porcelain fills the room, but my mind is already miles away from this table.
I can’t wait to get Camilla out of here, my eyes tracking the elegant slope of her neck and the sharp set of her jaw.
I am simply biding my time, waiting until this fucking dinner is finally over so I can lock her away in our quarters and remind her exactly whose queen she is.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors click and swing open again.
Every head at the table turns toward the entrance. The moment the figure steps into the light, my blood curdles, a raw, primal hostility freezing the air in my lungs.
Viktor saunters into the room as if he owns the place, a mocking, leisurely smile plastered across his face.
Instantly, the tension in the room snaps.
My personal guards move like lightning, their heavy boots thudding against the floor as they draw their weapons, a dozen red laser sights painting the center of Viktor's chest. They are on high alert, waiting for my command to paint the walls with his blood.
He is standing deep inside my territory, completely exposed.
If I give the order, he dies in seconds.
But the bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.
If I kill him right here, at a formal council dinner, it will violate the ancient laws of sanctuary and set off a devastating, full-scale war with his syndicate—and every allied family will turn against me for breaking protocol.
He is the commander of a rival Bratva, and as he holds his hands out to his sides, it is glaringly obvious that he is entirely unarmed. If word gets out that the new Pakhan slaughtered an unarmed Bratva commander at a peaceful dinner, the political fallout will be more trouble than Viktor is worth.
I will kill him eventually. I fucking swear it on my life, I will rip the breath from his throat, but right now, I have to be patient. I have to play the chess match.
"Lower your weapons," I bark at my men, my voice low and dangerous, vibrating with suppressed fury.
The guards hesitate for a fraction of a second before bringing their guns down, though their fingers remain tight on the triggers. I lock my eyes onto Viktor, my posture rigid as I lean back in my chair.
"What are you doing here, Viktor?" I demand, the words cutting through the room like shards of ice.
Viktor places a hand over his heart, his smile widening into something deeply unsettling as his gaze shifts from me, lingering just a moment too long, to the sharp, beautiful sight of my wife.
"Relax, Pakhan," Viktor purrs, taking another step forward, entirely unbothered by the lethal atmosphere.
"I am not here for blood. A monumental union has occurred between the Sokolovs and the Carusos, and as a neighbor, it would be bad manners not to attend.
I am simply here to congratulate Camilla and you. "
He dips his hands smoothly into his coat pockets, and the motion instantly triggers my men.
The metallic click of weapons being raised echoes through the room as guns point right back at his head.
Viktor only chuckles, slowly bringing his hands back out to show a small, velvet jewelry box, holding it up to prove it’s not a weapon.