Chapter 5
The brief, cool smile that lifted my lips disappeared as fast as it had come.
I was glad for the shadows of the warehouse that hid that momentary lapse.
Yes, I finally had Ilya Romanov where I wanted.
Yes, he was in the worst shape I had ever seen him in.
But he was not dead... yet. I had no reason to celebrate.
I strode across the room slowly, walking closer to where he hung, strung from chains, his body twisted in unimaginable ways, the one eye I had allowed to remain open focused on me.
“Who this nigga piss off?” Targen muttered. “This just how I dreamed of fucking you up.”
His words amused me. Targen was a big man, but so was I. He wanted retribution. I could not wait for him to try.
“Whenever you are ready, brat,” I promised him. He had been asking for a fight since his return. I could feel it building. “Good job, Grigor,” I told my top enforcer, noting his bloodied clothes and bruised knuckles.
Grigor was a good man. Loyal. Focused. Smart. And he took an unholy pleasure in hurting others. That was something I could understand, respect even. There were those I wanted to hurt.
Badly.
He nodded. “Of course, sir.”
I stopped a foot away from the spectacle that was Ilya Romanov. He was once my sworn enemy. Now, he was just another foolish soul on his way to ashes. For a minute, I just soaked in the sight of him. Finally, I spoke.
“You do not look so good, old friend,” I greeted.
The one eye blinked. He stared. And then his lips dared to curve. Rage spilled through me at his insolence. I reached behind me for the SR-1 Vektor I always kept close, ready to end his worthless, disrespectful life.
“Sir!” Artyom, my right hand, called.
I stopped immediately, my mouth tightening as I realized this piece of shit had made me do something I never did, especially not in front of my men.
Lose control.
My control was legendary. Cool, respected, always in place.
No one ever shook it. Except… except for—I pushed the thought away faster than I could complete it.
That was a lifetime ago, a lifetime that this bastard had helped destroy.
He would suffer a little more for that before I let him escape eternally.
“You wonder how I am still smiling, in my current circumstances. When you feel like you have won. When my end is almost certain,” he said, the words coming out slowly.
Probably a testament to broken ribs or his damaged throat. I felt a grim satisfaction.
“Your end is not almost certain. It is certain,” I corrected coolly. “At that point, I will have won this particular battle. But the war goes on.”
Again, his half smile. Again, my flash of rage, but kept in check this time.
“You will never win against me, Maxim,” he taunted.
I looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow at his sad little announcement.
“Okay,” I said, refusing to entertain a delusional, half-dead coward.
Turning, I opened my mouth to tell Artyom and Targen that we were ready to leave. And then Ilya spoke again.
“Do you ever think about Seraph?”
For a second, I froze. Artyom noted, shook his head once discreetly, warning me not to go down this path, to continue walking away from the man who would not last much longer than the night.
“Of course, you think about her,” Ilya continued. “She was once all you could think—”
I turned back. “Why would I waste my time thinking about a whore? Especially one that lowered herself to sleep with you.”
My voice was cold, but my emotions were anything but.
Seraph. I had not allowed myself to think that bitch’s name in almost nine years.
She was nothing. Less than nothing. A fucking Judas.
A wannabe Delilah. But her betrayal of me did not go as she imagined.
She was the one who ended up disgraced and destroyed.
In a moment of weakness, I spared her life, but that was all.
And then she disappeared. Ilya’s chuckle pulled me out of my thoughts.
“Whore… that was the best part, I think.”
I smirked again. “Fucking her? Yes, the pussy was excellent. Too bad it was so used.”
“Nah. Not fucking her. Making you think that I did.”
I was used to eyes being on me. I was the pakhan of the Sidorov Bratva.
People watched me every day. Sometimes, they were curious.
Sometimes, their lives depended on it. But nothing felt like this moment, when the men closest to me were suddenly stiff, eyes laser-trained on me.
And then, I saw something flicker in Artyom’s eyes.
He never believed what we had discovered about her. He had been too well-trained to say it, would never go against me. But he was one reason she was still breathing. And now, this…
“Maxim,” he said softly.
He rarely said my name. Always deferentially referred to me as “Sir.” But now… I looked at him. Again, the slight shake of his head. But I could not help myself. I moved closer to Ilya, my steps echoing in the coolness of the warehouse. Ilya’s smile widened, grotesque in his battered face.
“So, now I have your attention,” he mumbled.
“Only because I am curious as to why you think I would care about the slut after almost a decade. She betrayed me. She almost got my cousin killed. She got what she deserved,” I bit out.
“She got what she deserved,” he repeated before falling into a coughing fit.
I should have walked away.
I did not.
Then, there was the one eye. Back on me. Full of... victory?
“But did she really? I would have agreed with you once. I wanted her to hurt, to suffer like I did. I loved her since she was five and I was seven. And she decided to spread her legs for you,” he spat.
“I am sure you felt better after she did the same for you,” I responded.
Another raspy laugh. “Except she did not.”
I went completely still, unable to process what he was saying.
“So fucking naive, our Seraph. Anya and I always told her that. Not to be so trusting. Not to give her whole heart. And she still did. Especially with you. So loyal it was sickening. And you believed the first negative thing you heard about her. Such a shame,” he mocked me.
He was lying. I knew that. He was a pro at it, only disclosing the truth when it benefited him. Or when he could gloat. Like when he told me about Seraph. But my cousin Konstantin confirmed it. And then, so did she.
“She admitted the child she carried was yours.”
My voice was tight, the remembered anger and humiliation washing over me.
“Hmm. I wonder what you said to her first.”
I refused to think about that, about how I had scorned her, brought tears to the big, velvety brown eyes until they would no longer focus on me. Now, this mudak was saying that it all may have been unnecessary. That I may have cut out my heart and crushed it for nothing.
“Sir, we should go,” Artyom spoke up.
My friend was trying to save me, keep me from embarrassing myself by engaging this fool in front of my men any further. And yet, when it came to her, I could not help it. I had to hear, to know. So, I ignored Artyom and kept my eyes trained on Ilya.
“How do you explain the pictures? How do you explain that you and Smirnov knew Konstantin’s location? You are at death’s door, and you are still lying. You are pathetic, Ilya. It is a shame you must die with no honor,” I hissed.
“You question my honor. Perhaps I die without it, but I die with something that tastes much better. My vengeance. You should have asked Konstantin about the company he kept. He was happy to throw Seraph under the bus to save his own ass. And I was happy to give him the idea. Happy to make sure you would not have the woman whom you were obsessed with, but whom I loved.”
He coughed again, his ravaged body shaking. And then the coughs became a bitter laugh.
“Happy to make sure you would not know the heir you wanted so desperately. He is a perfect blend of the two of you, by the way. Golden brown skin, curly black hair. But his eyes, Maxim. His eyes are all you. Almost silver, but not cold yet. Maybe they will be if she ever explains how his father cursed him and abandoned him.”
My gaze bored into his, that one eye full of hatred...
And truth.
I felt my mouth—and something in my chest—twist. “Why should I believe you? Why tell me this now?”
His face was truly fucked up, but still, I could see the sincerity when he spoke his next words. “Because I love her, and she loves the boy. I watched her. He is her whole world,” he said simply.
Frowning, I stared at him. “You love her? Then why tell me about her?”
“Because if he's telling the truth, your shorty gon’ need your protection. This nigga knows if the wrong people find out about them, what happened to me could happen to your kid,” my brother said quietly.
I watched as he pointed at his scarred face.
An old bodyguard of our father’s turned traitor and led enemies to Targen's mom, remembering how Papa felt for her.
They knew instantly who her gray-eyed son belonged to.
They thought they would make an example of him.
Papa made sure they realized they thought wrong.
Fuck. If this was true, if all this time—
Ilya’s low laughter interrupted my thoughts.
“I do have one regret, after all,” he rasped. “That I will not live to see how much he hates you, how much she hates you, Pakhan Sidorov.”
His voice was mocking, and then he was laughing again, enjoying the thought of what he had taken from me, of what he had destroyed.
This time, I could not stop the fury. The gun was in my palm even as Targen’s voice sounded from what seemed like a distance, trying to stop me.
“Go to hell,” I condemned Ilya.
“Gladly.”
It was his last word before part of his head disappeared. I handed the gun to Ivan. He would destroy it immediately. Artyom was already barking the orders for a clean-up. And then his eyes were on me.
“Sir—"
“Find her,” I bit out.
“Maxim.”
“Find her!”
The words roared from me, echoing in the emptiness of the warehouse.
He nodded once.
“Yes, Pakhan.”