Chapter 2
Alexei
In the heart of the city lies a lone building. Untouched and left to succumb to deterioration over the years. Mould grows over the walls, the floors cracked and uneven, whilst the ceilings sag, swollen with trapped water.
The city council has been pushing for demolition but nothing has happened in years, and nothing will happen.
Because this city belongs to us.
I step across the threshold, my boots trampling a pile of stones with a soft crunch. Yuri curses from my side when a drop of dirty water lands on his perfectly styled head. I watch him brush his gelled hair back aggressively, mildly amused by his distress.
Some of my men stay outside, keeping watch and I take a left, leading the way. The wind wisps past us as we walk towards a tall column, obscuring the bare staircase leading to the basement. Unlike the rest of the decrepit building, the underground space has been kept in much better condition.
The stairs lead to an empty room, with nothing but an old decaying desk by the wall. I walk up to the cement wall and push at a specific point, causing the cement block to shift. The walls groan as the doors slide to the side, revealing a dark corridor.
Groans of pain echo from the distance as we walk ahead. Yuri tries to keep up, his gloved hand perched by the gun strapped to his side. I almost roll my eyes at the unnecessary antics.
He's the most useless bodyguard one could have.
I quicken my pace just to agitate him and sure enough he's huffing and puffing by the time we reach our intended cell.
"Boss." He bends over gasping as he quickly unlocks the door for me. How father deemed this imbecile worthy enough to protect me, I'll never know.
I brush past him, eager to meet our captive.
Boris, one of my favourite boeviki (enforcers/men) is already hard at work.
He's got a pair of pliers in one hand and a sharp knife in the other but our prisoner remains silent.
There are a few others - some of my men in lower ranks - surrounding him but the group turns abruptly at the sound of the door opening.
When they see me, their faces light up in recognition and they immediately part ways, giving me a clear view of the older man strapped to the chair.
The bastard has the audacity to look smug despite the nails missing from his fingers and the blood dripping from his lips.
The sight of his arrogant Italian face has my pulse spiking, a rush of irritation flicking through me.
"Ahh, more soldiers? All this fuss just for me?" He gushes gesturing to Yuri and I. "I'm honoured." He then spits on the floor, only adding to the mess of fluids gathered at his feet and I shake my head.
This idiot has the audacity to make a mess out of my dungeon cell? My pristinely kept prison, with it's freshly painted white walls and polished floors. I even had vents placed in every cell so that my prisoners don't die from the lack of air circulation.
But obviously this idiot doesn't deserve my consideration.
I walk up to him and stare down at his bruised face. He has to crane his neck to look up at me but the worm doesn't shy away from maintaining eye contact. His gaze is challenging, he's not bothered by the pain or the torture, clearly none of that has fazed him.
I snap my fingers and someone hurries to bring a chair over. I place it in front of the old man and sit down facing him.
"You must be Vadik's son," he spits again, some of it landing at my feet but I make no effort to move. "Russian scum who stole our territory."
I pay no mind to his words. This man is nothing, no one. He's just a soldier, someone who does the Italian mafia's dirty bidding. The man I want is still out of reach, but he's never felt closer than he does right now.
"Territory that you were caught in last night." I say casually and my men are so silent that my voice carries across the vast expanse of the room. "Territory in which your boss committed a crime."
The man gives me no reaction, only a slight tremor in his hands where his nail beds are raw and bleeding.
"You know what that means, right?" I lean forward with my elbows resting on my knees.
He ignores me, which is hardly surprising so I answer my own question.
"Any crime committed in another's territory would warrant the same in equal parts," I recite one of the by laws our crime organisations agreed to abide by in order to live "peacefully" in the same country.
The Cosa Nostra, the Bratva, the Mexicans, Chinese Triad, the list goes on - everyone here follows the by laws or they wouldn't be able to operate. Not without war.
Sometimes we work together, most times we avoid each other but we never over step territories. But apparently one of the Cosa Nostra was dumb enough to do so and I'm banking on one name.
Someone I've been wanting to kill for years.
"You know what that means?" I ask the man strapped to the metal chair that's been fused to the floor.
He simply ignores me, like a stubborn kid and Boris steps up, holding up his favourite plier. I lift a hand to stop him, the interrogation is mine now. Also this man has clearly been abusing coke and alcohol to the extent where pain doesn't affect him all that much.
"It means," I say it loud and clearly, like I'm speaking to a petulant child. "- that you killed one of ours in our territory, so now we have clearance to kill one of yours. And I have someone in mind."
"You have no proof." His gaze flits to the floor, staring at no where in particular.
I grab his chin, my fingers digging into skin and bone, making him wince. "Who killed our supplier? It was your boss, wasn't it? Give me the name."
He laughs suddenly but my grip tightens, shutting him up. I force him to look at me, his dark brown eyes meeting mine, pupils dilating when he meets my emotionless gaze.
"What were you scum doing there?"
"I wasn't even there..." He trails off, clamping his mouth shut.
I sigh, releasing him and he slumps forward, groaning.
I then take out my gun and stand up. "Mr Alva Moretti, father of two sons. One dead, drowned when he was two. The other in day care." I look at my watch, noting the time. "Should be leaving the NY Montessori as we speak, correct?"
Alva's face turns pale, his body going rigid. Finally, we're getting somewhere.
"And your wife. Beautiful woman that Mrs Moretti, daughter of the late Vito Gambino." I rub the barrel of the gun against my temple, scratching my head. "I don't know what's with you guys and intermarriage. Don't you think it's all so old fashioned and blasé?"
"My wife and kids don't know anything. Either way, you won't be able to touch them. They're highly protected...." Again he stops himself from saying the name. The name I've been itching to paint on a tombstone.
"By whom?"
He purses his lips, remaining silent.
I chuckle to myself, enjoying this thoroughly. It's always nice when they don't fold so fast.
"Maybe they are protected." I take out a few pictures from my coat pocket and show them to him. My smile deepens when his eyes widen in horror.
There are pictures of his wife leaving church, one of her and her son strolling around Central Park, another one of them cutting a cake in a small pizzeria. Such a clear view of their foreheads from across the street, such easy targets for a sniper.
But the last picture is what has him really shaking.
A young woman in a strapless dress buying pastries at a bakery, her long blonde hair pulled into a ponytail to reveal a heart shaped, smiling face.
"How the fuck?" He gasps in disbelief.
I load my gun slowly, sliding the cartridges into the magazine, each one clicking softly into place, followed by the solid clack of the slide locking forward. This earns a jolt from him.
It's all so predictable, I almost want to laugh.
His hands and legs are strapped tightly to the metal chair. He can't stop me from pressing the barrel of the gun into his groin. I press down hard, making him flinch, the sweat on his forehead pooling over his brow.
He reeks of sweat, blood and urine. If I wasn't so used to the smell of torture, I would gag.
"Tell me, how are you going to fuck your pretty little mistress once I've gotten rid of this?" As if to prove a point, I press harder making him cry out loud.
"Please, no...not her. Pleaseee." He's choking on his spit, his fear and my disgust for him grows exponentially. I didn't get a reaction like this for his sons, nor his wife but for the mistress....
These kind of men make me sick.
I press the barrel deeper and he cries out in pain, tears rolling down his face. He shakes against the chair, his body whipping from side to side as he tries to free himself but it is to no avail. The reinforced steel holds him in place, holds him in his misery.
Which I would gladly end.
"Now tell me, what were your people doing in our territory? Tell me and I'll give your precious Marcelle a painless death."
"Noo." He struggles to free himself, amidst all the tears and gurgled choking. Damn, who would have though the mistress would be the breaking point? She must be pretty damn good in bed.
"We struck a deal," he finally says, body slumping in defeat. "A business deal the boss has been gunning for since the Bratva took over."
"What business deal?" I press and he shakes his head.
"I don't know. They don't share that kind of information with us errand boys."
I grip his oily hair, pulling his head back. The look in his eyes has me thinking he might be telling the truth.
"Who killed one of ours?"
"I was-wasn't there," he cries incoherently. "I swear..I swear! I was in Jersey at the time!"
I pull the trigger and the gun shot is drowned out by his screams. His face has turned blue and he stares up at me in shock, all the previous smugness gone. Blood pools on the chair and drips to the floor as his body convulses.
I take a step back, not wanting to get my shoes dirtier than they already were.
"I'll tell Marcelle you said 'hi'." I say and his eyes bulge out of his head as he struggles against his seat.
"My boss will kill you for this. All of you!" He screams in desperation, thrashing in his seat. I don't know how he's able to move in all that pain. His eyes narrow my way. "You'll pay for this. He'll find you."
I lean forward and wink at him. "Trust me. I'm counting on it." And then I put a bullet in his head, ending his agony.
The man was hardly a saint. Cheater, murderer, fraudster. I should have let him bleed out but quick killings were a habit I'd grown up with.
Besides he wasn't going to say more. I had no use for him now.
Yuri's phone rings and he quickly answers. I glance at him, noticing his shoulders tense up.
"Boss, he wants to meet you. Now."
I sigh, not in the mood to deal with my father. Not when I let the only potential witness slip through my fingers last night.
"Clean this up." I gesture to the mess and then leave the room with Yuri in tow.
"Do you have to shadow me all the damn time?" I frown at him. He's the type of nuisance that hovers around when you don't need them but when you finally do, he's no where to be found.
He shrugs. "I can't disobey your father's orders."
"Last I checked, I was the boss," I mutter, wiping my hands down. My white shirt, underneath the coat jacket is now stained, but I won't have time to change. Guess I'll have to attend the meeting like this.
Why did I wear white again?
"Sorry boss." Yuri says, but continues to follow me anyway.
I grit my teeth and sit in the back seat of the bullet proof black SUV. Yuri shuts the door and runs to the front and I try to ignore him but every time I look at him, my irritation grows.
If he hadn't called me, I wouldn't have been distracted. I wouldn't have let that tiny girl knee me in the goddamn balls and escape from my clutches so easily.
My cheeks redden in embarrassment as I recollect last night. It's the first time I, Alexei Romanov was played a fool - caught off guard, kneed in the balls and got my lip bitten.
All because of a five foot nothing girl.