Chapter Six
In which there is nothing better than quality family time.
Nikandr…
Two hours earlier…
"Now, see? This is quality family time. We build memories, it brings us all together."
Roman puts his arm over my shoulders, and I tolerate it for two seconds before I shrug it off again.
"Nothing brings a family together like arson," I agree.
The safe house is between two much taller buildings. One is essentially abandoned, and the other is the kind of residence where the neighbors won't argue about the building next door going up in flames.
Roman and I have finished wiring the C4 in our sections of the house and after taking out the two guards, we helped ourselves to a stolen ammunition stockpile we'd found in the updated cement basement.
If a basement in New York has freshly poured concrete and reinforced walls, the owner is not using it for storing Christmas ornaments.
"Oh, look!" Roman holds up a huge heavy case. "Armor piercing ammunition, I love this stuff."
The last one in the building is Alexsey, finishing up his special detonation-based touches. He's fussy about it, like a designer might straighten a pillow, my cousin likes his C4 blocks wired just so.
A big, shiny Lincoln Continental pulls up and a man steps out, hitching up his pants.
It's one of Ricci's mid-level Capos, he should be useful for a quick conversation in a more quiet (a.k.a.
soundproofed) location. I shoot his bodyguard in the back of the head and the Capo yelps as his face is splashed with blood.
Bozhe moy, this guy is soft.
Vasilisa handcuffs the man, slapping duct tape over his mouth and shoves him into the cargo compartment in my car.
The interior of the cargo hold is extremely tight so it is a bit of a challenge to wedge his ass in there, but she makes it work by hog-tying him, and then knocking him out with the butt of her gun.
"We'll take him to Gordi's for a chat," I say.
She nods, and turns back to the trucks to make sure the stolen weapons are packed away.
"I'm surprised there wasn't more manpower here," I look at Roman. "That was some pretty valuable cargo to be stored here with just two guards."
"Ricci is getting sloppy," Alexsey says as he joins us.
He still has a spool of wire hanging over his shoulder.
Handing it to Ivan, Roman's Second, he stretches his arms wide.
"It's always a pain to wire that last one on the lower level," he says.
"There's always rats. Always, the fucking rats but you really need it to make the building fold in on itself. "
"It's a work of art, cousin," I slap his shoulder. "I'm impressed."
"Are you sure this is more satisfying than sleeping with Maybelle?" Roman says with a grin.
"Let's establish some boundaries between us," I say. "From now on, whenever you're thinking of offering me up for Bratva stud services, don't. Do not go there again. I am not your gigolo."
They look at each other, mildly surprised. "Are you seeing someone?" Alexsey asks.
"Impossible," Roman says confidently. "Nikandr is not capable of a long-term relationship."
I raise my brow. "I beg your pardon? You will recall the betting pool we had on you, Roman. That you'd never get married until you were sixty and your parents forced you into it?"
"Yeah, and look at me now," he says happily. "In love with all things Violet, and just surprised about it as you are."
Alexsey shrugs. "He's right, man. When you find The One… or The One is thrown into your arms or given to you as a gift-"
"Yeah, that move from Krasniqi, that was really in bad taste, poor Liria," Roman commiserated. "But when that moment comes, you will happily give up your single status."
"Since there is no woman who can tolerate you after the realization that all you'll ever offer them is a good time and a polite 'thank you,' we didn't think you were giving up on random sex with hot women." Alexsey says, shaking his head sadly, making me want to punch him in the throat.
"We did not expect that from you," Roman nods.
"Well, then I'm happy I could disappoint you," I say dryly. "In any case, I'm taking this asshole back to Gordi's."
"Wait!" Alexsey says. "Aren't you going to stay and watch us light it up?"
"You know I love watching a well-deserved target detonated back down to its component parts," I agree. "However, right now, I need information more than personal satisfaction. I'll just have to enjoy it from afar."
As it happens, there is no time to fully appreciate the art and craftsmanship that went into demolishing Ricci's building. Really, the city of New York should put us on the payroll for getting rid of unsightly structures.
We're about half a mile away and I check my watch, waiting for the timed detonation. As we turn another corner, I see her, Caroline.
She's above us, racing gracefully across the metal roof of the outdoor farmer's market that runs through most of this block. Is she running from an abduction attempt, or is someone chasing her, wanting to hurt her?
Stopping for a moment, breathing heavily, she looks behind her.
She's in running shoes and workout gear.
Is this woman self-destructive enough to be taking a goddamn run in the middle of the night in New York City?
What the fuck? If that's the case, why is she running on the roof instead of the sidewalk? She must be in danger.
"Stop the car." I lean forward, watching her progress. She's moving fast.
"Sir?" My driver asks.
"Stay here." I'm out of the car and racing silently down the sidewalk, Caroline’s footsteps thudding over my head on the metal roof. The canvas awning bounces, sags, and she executes a roll off of it and lands lightly on her feet.
I don't want her scream to alert whoever's chasing her, so I put my hand over her mouth and haul her into the darkness of the empty market stalls.
Her skin is hot from running and I can feel the pulse racing in her throat.
She's tight against me, shocked only for a second before she starts thrashing and kicking.
I narrowly avoid a broken nose when her head slams back.
"Mmmmmfh!"
Her teeth sink into my hand and I sigh. That bite's going to need surgical glue to pull the ragged edges back together.
Wrapping my arm tighter around her waist, I enjoy the feel of her writhing against me for a moment. Does she move like this when she's in bed?
"It's me! It's Nikandr."
She freezes stiff and I let her go. "If someone is chasing you, they're talented because I can't see or hear anyone."
Just then, at 2 am sharp, Ricci's safe house goes up in a massive ball of flame. We can see it from here, a half a mile away in perfect detail.
It's beautiful.
So is the feel of my hand on Caroline's neck.
She's staring up at me defiantly, looking like a woman ready to wreak some serious havoc.
Her nipples, though. They're hard, ready to poke right through her clothes and I want nothing more than to help them, sucking them through the stretchy fabric of her sports bra.
The Maserati pulls up and I reluctantly let go of her neck.
She's going to put up a fight, she can't help herself, so I lift her and swing her into the back seat before she can try to struggle loose.
I don't want to drop her back at the Lyric.
I want to take her to my place and strip her out of that running gear and make her sweatier, fucking her senseless, playing with her tight, angry body-
I have to stop getting an erection every time I see Caroline. This is fucking ridiculous.
She eyes me as we pull up to the hotel. It's possible she hates me even more than she did before, sliding out of the backseat without the slightest semblance of a 'thank you.'
***
"So, a wholesome parkour night run with a dash of trespassing?" Vasilia asks lightly. "Who knew she was such an adventurous girl?”
"The risk hardly seems worth the reward," I say, punching the divider between the backseat and the cargo hold to shut this noisy fucker up.
"Ah, well," Vasilia says, "sometimes, the risk is the reward."
The memory of Caroline's long legs racing gracefully across that roof refuses to leave my mind for the rest of the drive. We pull up to Gordi's Sandwich Shop and unload our unfortunate guest.
Gordi actually does run a sandwich shop, with an excellent butcher's counter selling expensive cuts of meat.
Downstairs, though, is more than triple the size of the shop.
Sharing space with his meat freezers and extra inventory are three torture rooms, soundproofed so well that you could be having a Philly steak and onion right above the room and you'd never hear a thing.
"Tie him down." I remove my weapons, the gun from the shoulder holster, the one in the back of my tach pants. My stiletto. My new titanium blade that can slice through metal like butter. A grenade. Because you just never know.
Getting the captive situated is always an elaborate bit of drama, because we Morozovs enjoy putting on a show.
It's the psychological buildup, anticipation and the terror that breaks the captive faster than the actual pain.
The steel chair is bolted into the floor, right over the drain like every horror movie ever made.
We often "neglect" to wash down the blood spray off the walls or the pools of gore still lingering on the floor.
There are heavy iron hooks hanging from the ceiling, and the long steel surgical table, lined with a neat array of shining instruments of torture.
We have a tool chest down here with a selection of drills that any construction worker would covet.
Nothing moves along a confession faster than my DeWalt 20V Max on high speed.
Snapping a picture of the man's face, I send it to one of my favorite go-to dark web specialists.
"Are you sending that to Kolya?" Vasilia asks.
"He'll have this asshole's identity back to me within five minutes," I say.
Her expression sours. "I don't know about him. He can watch footage on the dark web that would make even me vomit… while gnawing his way through a pepperoni pizza."
"True, but I know he's awake and ready to work because he has the constitution of a vampire," I laugh, shaking my head. "He never leaves his house during the day or even at night, unless it's under severe duress."
"Oh, look!" Vasilisa happily holds up a heavy plastic bottle. "We got a new shipment of sulfuric acid!"
The Capo lets out the slightest whimper.
My phone chimes cheerfully and it's a text from Kolya. "Say hello to Nico Ricci. Forty-five, a lower Capo in the Ricci Mafia. Kind of a fuckup but he keeps his position because he's the Don's nephew. Likelihood of knowing some valuable intel? About sixty percent."
"Good enough for me," says Vasilisa, leaning over to read the text. We turn and look at Nico, who shrinks in his chair.
"The line is always the same." I squat down, looking Nico in the face.
"You are going to tell me everything I want to know.
" I start up the drill, it's got a razor-sharp spade bit.
"Did you know you can butterfly a man wide open with this?
Strips of skin slide off the body, just like peeling an orange.
" I rev the drill, bringing it closer to his eye as he whimpers and thrashes.
Vasilisa checks the time and pulls a protein bar from the shelf. She looks supremely bored.
It only takes a pass or two over his chest and back, and Nico's happy to tell me everything.