16. Ilya
Ilya
I watch as Rose exits the room, my eyes tracing her movement until she’s gone.
Even if this was more a statement than an act of passion, that doesn’t mean that I want her any less than before.
I can feel the tension in the air—thick enough to cut with a knife—as I turn back to my men.
Because they know that I must have been driven to the point of no return to have done something like this.
I plant my hands on the table again and flick my gaze around the room, searching for something that might give away what one of them is hiding.
They can duck and dive all they want, but I know them all well—I trust them with my life, as a matter of fact.
But one of them has turned against me, I am sure of it, to have found a way to sneak that note into Rose’s room.
But I intend to flush out the bastard one way or another while I still can.
I reach into my pocket and slam the note on the table, the impact making a couple of them jump as it cuts through the silence.
"This note," I announce, voice venomous, "was left under Rose’s pillow earlier today."
I see a few of them craning forward, trying to get a better look at it.
"A note threatening her life," I continue. "And I want to know which one of you fuckers let that happen."
I hear a collective intake of breath around the table.
A few of them tense, clearly fearful that they’re going to be on the receiving end of whatever brutality I dole out.
Blaming one of them is a big swing, but there’s no way they could have had nothing to do with it.
At the end of the day, this place is locked down, controlled to the smallest detail.
Petar couldn’t have just slipped his way in, left the note, and slipped out again.
Someone had to have been covering for him, and I intend to find out who.
"The sooner one of you starts talking," I warn them, "the sooner this is over. So, tell me. Who was on doors yesterday?”
"I was on the front door with Maxim," Anatoly pipes up, finally breaking the silence that has filled the air for so long. "He can vouch for me. And so can the CCTV."
I glance to Sergei, who nods slightly, letting me know that Anatoly’s telling the truth. Sergei keeps track of every little thing around here, and I know he’ll be able to confirm or deny any of the stories they try to spin to me.
"And who was on the back door?" I ask.
"Me," Sergei replies, straightening up. "And I didn’t see anyone coming or going. Let alone Petar."
I nod, narrowing my eyes. "Had to be him," I mutter as I flick my gaze around the table again. "But which one of you was stupid enough to fall for whatever bullshit he tried to convince you of?"
"Kieran was on the kitchen door," Sergei replies, looking over to another one of my men, who is fidgeting in his seat at the far side of the table, trying to avoid my gaze. His head snaps up at the sound of his own name, his face paling.
"I – I didn’t do anything," Kieran protests. "I was just covering for Oliver while he was—"
"So you weren’t meant to be on last night?" I ask, leaning forward, narrowing my eyes. I sense something shifting within him, the weight of the accusation impossible to ignore.
He shakes his head at me, clearly terrified by the accusation. "That’s not what I meant," he replies. "I was just—I was just trying to help out—"
"Or you made sure that you would have a way to let that fucker in without any of us knowing about it," Sergei growls, seeing straight through the bullshit.
"What, did he offer you money?" I ask Kieran. "Power? Because all of it’s bullshit. He’s going to be in prison in a matter of weeks, and every red cent he has to his name will go with him."
"I’ve never even met Petar," Kieran protests desperately. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know anything about a note, or that man, or—"
"Everyone else can be vouched for," I reply, gesturing over at the others. "You’re the only person who could have left a crack in the armor. And you made sure it was wide enough for that snake to come slithering through."
Rage courses through me, so intense I have to clench my fists to keep from charging at him right then and there.
I don’t deal with that side of the business anymore, not if I can avoid it; violence is doled out at my command, not by my fists.
But right now, I want to smash his fucking face into the table.
Make him, make anyone, pay for the threat against Rose’s life.
If he thinks it’s going to be that easy to get away with, then I have a whole heap of other shit coming his way.
"I didn’t do anything," Kieran sputters one last time.
I lift my chin to Sergei, and he rises to his feet at once.
"Show him how we deal with traitors," I snap.
Kieran reels back into his seat, but Sergei is already approaching him, the rest of the room silently watching as they wait for the inevitable.
No one dares to speak up in Kieran’s favor; if they draw my attention, they know they might find themselves on the wrong end of an attack they cannot survive.
I have no intention of seeing this man dead—I want him to live to tell the tale of what happens to the fuckers who dare cause me trouble, who dare to threaten the woman who is carrying my child.
Sergei grasps the back of Kieran’s head, slamming it down into the table in a single motion.
Blood sprays across the wood grain, and Sergei drags him to his feet, kicking his chair away so he has no choice but to face him.
Hand in his hair, he holds him in place while he lands a blow against his jaw, driving another into his guts.
Kieran doubles over in agony, lifting his hands to deflect the worst of the attack, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it.
Nothing can hold Sergei back now that he knows he has a target ready to be taken out.
I stand there and watch. Silent. Unmoving.
Even if I’m not meting out that punishment with my own two hands, I will not look away.
A leader never does. A leader doesn’t give orders he can’t stand to watch.
I’m no coward, never have been, and even as Kieran’s blood spatters the pristine white wall behind him, I don’t look away for an instant.
By the time Sergei is done, Kieran is breathing hard, a crumpled heap on the floor. Sergei drags a hand over his mouth, smearing it with blood where his knuckles have been left reddened by the assault.
"Everyone, out," I announce. "We’re done here. Sergei, get rid of him."
And with that, I turn on my heel and make for the door.
At the back of my mind, something nags at me—what if it was not really Kieran?
What if he was not the one to blame for the slip that allowed that note?
He seemed pretty intent on denying it, though that could have been because he knew what would happen next.
I brush the thought aside, remembering how much I trust Sergei’s instincts. And right now, all that matters is showing anyone who dares stand against me just what will happen if they try to fuck me over.
Because next time, whoever dares threaten Rose will pay with their fucking life.