Chapter 31
DARIUS
Istood outside Peregrine Montgomery's luxury apartment, my knuckles already itching for contact.
Anna was right.
Getting to the rat bastard took more effort than usual. But impossible? Never.
Within minutes of getting his name, I had everything—his address, the security guard's schedule, the doormen's shift rotation.
Andrei, desperate to redeem himself after his recent failures, had the building's security protocols cracked in seconds.
He even calculated the bribe amount needed to make two guards disappear.
Arlington sat close enough to DC that palms didn't come cheap. But the investment paid dividends—these guards were mine now. Better yet, this high-rise housed half the political elite in the capital. Senators. Congressmen. Fixers. A goldmine of leverage for future use.
My blood thrummed with anticipation.
It had been too long since I'd felt bone crack under my fist, since I'd watched comprehension dawn in a man's eyes the moment before the light left them.
Financial ruin had its place—watching a cocky businessman crumble in my conference room satisfied a certain hunger.
But nothing compared to this. The wet sound of flesh splitting. The weight of a body going slack.
Especially when that body belonged to a woman-beating piece of shit who knew exactly why death had come for him.
I wasn't planning to kill him. Not yet. But he'd wish I had.
My phone rang as I reached for the door.
I barely answered before Gregor's voice cracked through the line like a whip. "Where the fuck are you?"
"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to, Nephew?"
"Answer the fucking question."
"I'm handling business," I answered, rolling my eyes.
"And what business could be more important than the Senate vote? Isn't that vote the reason you're skulking around DC in the first place, making my life hell?"
Fuck.
The word hit like ice water. How the fuck did I forget about the Senate vote? That vote was everything. The entire foundation of my blackmail scheme. The reason I'd taken Anna at all.
Billions of dollars in dark defense funding hung in the balance, and where was I?
Standing outside some trust fund shithead's door because he'd dared to bruise what was mine.
"I found out why she isn't voting our way." Artem's voice came through, tinny with speaker phone distortion.
"What did you find out?"
"The bitch has been negotiating with the Irish. They're offering more money than we are and making moves on our territory. Word on the street is we're distracted. Divided."
"No shit," I said, rolling my eyes. "I know you've been distracted. That's why I'm fucking here."
"Yeah, well, your dramatic little blackmail plot doesn't really seem to be working now, does it? The senator is still in talks with the Irish," Gregor scoffed.
"Fuck," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I knew taking Anna was going to be a gamble."
"I thought taking the girl was going too far," Gregor said. "But based on what I saw at the Kennedy Center, it wasn't far enough. I don't think we have the senator's loyalty secured."
"I agree," I admitted. "Taking Anna was a miscalculation on my part. It wasn't far enough."
Even after witnessing it myself, I couldn't comprehend how threatening Anna's life hadn't been enough to control her mother's ambition.
I stared at the door in front of me. Two paths. Two choices.
Leave now and secure the vote—remind Senator Collins that her daughter wasn't my only weapon.
Or step through this door and make Anna's ex-boyfriend pay for every mark he'd left on her skin.
I could make the vote if I left immediately. Even then, traffic could ruin everything. But my presence would carry weight. Would drive the message home with finality.
But Anna's ex was right here. Right now. He'd put his hands on her, and that debt remained unpaid. Every second he walked free was another second she remained in danger.
I was a man of logic. Of cold calculation.
Weighing the pros and cons of any decision was second nature.
And business came first.
Always.
It was why I'd never stepped aside for Gregor and Artem, even when they'd wanted control. The empire demanded sacrifice, something they couldn't give anymore, not with their wives and children softening their edges.
It was why I'd been exiled to London, away from family, to handle the public face of our operations.
I was cold, calculating, and I took pride in that. It was who I was at my core.
This decision should have been easy. A no-brainer.
It was the easiest choice I'd ever made.
"Handle the senator yourself," I said into the phone. "I have some shit to deal with."
I silenced my phone before taking a step back and driving my heel through the door.
Wood splintered. The frame gave way with a satisfying crack.
Inside, I found Peregrine in bed with another woman. A blonde with cartoonish proportions—massive fake tits, a face pumped full of Botox, pinprick pupils, and a fresh bruise blooming on her cheek.
I drew my gun and leveled it at Peregrine's face in one smooth motion.
"You should get your clothes and leave," I said to the woman.
She scrambled up, stumbling naked from the bed.
A small baggie of white powder tumbled from the sheets.
She ignored it but snatched the cash from the nightstand then fled, clutching her clothes to her chest. The broken door slammed in her wake.
When she was gone, I took one slow step forward. Peregrine's face crumpled.
"Look, I don't care about that frigid bitch, you can have her," he whimpered, snot already running from his nose. "Just don't hurt me."
I nodded as if considering his pathetic offer. I wasn't just going to kill him. Where was the fun in that? I took another slow step forward and holstered my gun.
Messages worked better when they could be seen. Heard. Felt.
Peregrine read my gesture as victory. The fucking idiot. He staggered to his feet, puffing out his scrawny chest, high out of his mind on whatever he'd been snorting.
"You can't just come in here like that. Do you know who my father is? I paid the bitch. I don't know what kind of bait and switch bullshit this is, but it won't fly."
Unbelievable. He thought I was the hooker's pimp.
"This isn't about the blonde," I said. "It's about Anna."
He stared blankly for a beat, then recognition sparked. "You were at the shop yesterday."
The little tweaker actually stepped toward me. Put his bruised knuckles—from Anna or the blonde, I didn't know—in my face. "Look, I don't know what that bitch told you, but I have an agreement with Anna's mother."
I snatched his finger in one hand, my other hand closing around his throat, and slammed him against the wall hard enough to rattle the cheap artwork. "You do not say her name."
To his credit, he fought back. Good. I wanted this to last.
He threw a wild left hook. I slipped it easily and his momentum carried him stumbling sideways. Before he could recover, I drove an uppercut into his kidney. The impact folded him.
He gasped, coughing, trying to stand. I waited. Letting him find his feet. Letting him think he had a chance.
He charged, all rage and no technique. I snapped a jab straight into his nose. Cartilage crunched like eggshells. Blood sprayed.
He screamed.
A fist pounded the wall from the neighboring apartment.
Time was running short. Apartments meant nosy neighbors. Witnesses.
I unleashed a combination—ribs, jaw, temple—each punch landing with surgical precision. His screams dissolved into whimpers, then silence. His face became a canvas of split skin and pooling blood.
Still breathing. For now.
When he was barely conscious, I went to the hamper beside his bed and extracted a gym sock. The fabric was stiff, crusty. I held it between two fingers, disgust curling my lip.
This wasn't a man. Just a spoiled boy who'd never grown up, living off daddy's money and getting off on hurting women.
I shoved the sock into his mouth. He sputtered, tried to fight. I grabbed his throat and dragged him to the glass coffee table, forcing him down. His hand splayed flat against the surface.
I pulled the hunting knife from my pocket—polished steel, worn leather handle, handed down through generations of Ivanov men. The blade gleamed, razor-sharp.
"Is this the hand that touched her?" I asked. He tried to jerk away.
My grip became iron. I pressed the blade to his throat. "I'll ask one last time. Is this the hand you used to touch my girl?"
Tears carved tracks through the blood on his face. Snot mixed with crimson. He nodded.
That was all I needed.
I lifted the knife and brought it down in one clean stroke.
The blade cleaved through skin, muscle, bone. Peregrine's hand separated from his wrist with a wet thump.
He screamed into the sock, the sound muffled but raw.
My phone buzzed. I ignored it while I threaded the silencer onto my pistol's barrel.
Peregrine writhed on the floor, clutching his spurting stump to his chest.
Cutting off his hand was excessive. I knew that. But Anna had suffered because of him, so he would suffer. Fair trade.
I crouched beside him, forcing his coked-out eyes to meet mine. "I am going to let you live this time. But if you ever come near my girl again, or if I hear that you have raised your hand to another woman, I will come back. Do you understand?"
He nodded, his face a grotesque mask of tears, blood, and mucus.
"Good boy." I patted his cheek and stood to leave.
Then I saw it—the revolver in his shaking left hand. The sock still gagged him. Hatred burned in his eyes, bright and feral.
I sighed and shook my head. "Peregrine, Peregrine. I was going to let you live. But now..."
He tried to yell through the sock. The gun trembled violently in his grip.
I moved like a viper, ripping the revolver away before his finger found the trigger. If he had the balls to try this now, he'd try again later. And I couldn't allow that.
At least this way, Anna would never have to fear him again.
I grabbed a pillow from the bed and pressed it to his face. He thrashed, kicked, fought like I was suffocating him. Maybe he thought I was.
He wasn't worth the effort. Wasn't worth the price of a bullet.
But her safety was worth everything.
I pressed the suppressor to the pillow and squeezed the trigger. One shot. The thrashing stopped instantly. Red-tinted feathers drifted through the air like snow.
I unscrewed the silencer and holstered my weapon, then checked my phone.
Gregor: The senator voted no.