Chapter 9 #2
“It was one of Vladkovs guys!” Dimitri screams. “I don’t know his name! I swear, that’s all I know!”
Finally. I shrug the men off me, my chest heaving, looking down at my hands. They’re covered in blood — his blood, soaking my shirt, dripping onto the floor where he’s slumped over. My knuckles are bleeding, split open, raw.
The rage is still there, simmering just beneath the surface. Ready to explode again at the slightest provocation.
“Give me a name,” I demand through gritted teeth. My voice is seething with violence.
“I don’t know! He didn’t give me a name, and I hadn’t met him before! It was a simple key for a cash deal. I didn’t know what he was going to use it for, I was just told he needed wheels state side, that’s it!”
I crouch down beside him, grabbing a fistful of his beard and forcing him to look at me. “What did he look like?”
“Tall. Dark hair. Scar on his cheek. That’s all I remember, I swear!”
“Where did this transaction take place?”
“Brighton Beach. Outside Petrov’s bar.”
Brighton Beach. Russian territory. This is bigger than I thought.
“Why?” I demand. “Why did they take my son?”
“I don’t know. I just did what I was paid to do.”
He’s fading now, his body going into shock. I believe him. He’s too broken to lie right now.
I release him, standing. My hands are shaking—not from exertion but from the effort of regaining control.
Because I want to keep hitting him until he’s not breathing.
I want to make him suffer the way Emmanuel suffered, being taken from his home.
The way I suffered, not knowing if my son was alive or dead.
But he’s given me what I needed. A piece of the puzzle.
It makes a sick kind of sense. The Russians have been pushing into my territory for years, testing boundaries, causing problems. But kidnapping Emmanuel? That’s an act of war.
“Boss,” Omero says quietly. “What do you want us to do with him?”
I look down at Dimitri, broken and bleeding on the floor. “Clean him up. Dump him in their territory. Let them know we’re chasing down answers. And Dimitri? If I find out you lied to me, if I find out you know more than you’re telling, I’ll come back. And next time, I won’t be so merciful.”
Marco and Gio step around me, moving to collect Dimitri’s broken body up off the floor. I watch them drag him back to the chair, leaving a trail of blood across the concrete floor.
I leave the shed, stepping out into the afternoon sunlight. The contrast is jarring—bright and clean and normal while behind me is blood and violence and darkness.
Omero follows me out, closing the door behind him. “You think he was telling the truth?”
“About the guy being new in town? Yes. About not knowing why?” I shake my head. “I’m not sure, but we’ll find out.”
“Taking Emmanuel was the opening move. But to what?”
I don’t have an answer.
We walk back toward the main house, my knuckles throbbing, blood drying on my hands. I’ll need to clean up before Emmanuel sees me. Before—
Chloe.
The thought of her seeing me covered in blood has me rushing up the stairs even faster.
Last night, she fell asleep on my chest while we watched that movie. This morning at breakfast, she smiled at something Emmanuel signed, and the sight of it made my chest feel too tight. She’s kind, soft, and gentle.
And me, well —
I was just beating a man bloody for information while she was somewhere in my house. Safe. Protected. Completely unaware of the monster unleashed outside.
What would she think if she saw me right now? If she’d seen that? If she’d watched me break Dimitri’s nose, dislocate his shoulder, kick him while he was down?
Would she look at me with that same soft expression? Would she let me hold her hand under a blanket? Let me wipe the hair from her face with my bloody hands? Would she fall asleep against me, trusting me to keep her safe?
Or would she see the monster I really am?
A Don who will do whatever it takes to protect what’s his, consequences be damned.
Reaching my room, I lock the door behind me, retreating into the adjoining bathroom.
I look down at my hands as I wash them in the sink— bloodied, bruised, still shaking slightly from adrenaline comedown.
These are the hands that held Emmanuel last night.
The hands that touched Chloe’s face, that held hers under a blanket.
These are also the hands that nearly killed Dimitri.
Both are true. Both are me.
And I don’t know which version Chloe will choose to see when she inevitably learns the truth. I just know that when she does, everything will change.
And I’m not ready for that. Not yet.
Not when I’m just starting to understand how much I need her to keep looking at me the way she did last night— like I’m someone worth trusting instead of someone to fear.
But the Russians have eyes on her now.
Dimitri’s words echo in my mind, the ones he spat at me before I lost control. “You can’t protect anyone.”
He knew about Chloe. Which means they’re watching my house. Watching my family. Planning their next move. I need to find out why. Need to understand what they want before they strike again.
Because next time, I might not get Emmanuel back. Next time, they might take Chloe instead.
And that thought— the image of her frightened, hurt —makes my blood run cold in a way that even Emmanuel’s kidnapping didn’t.
When did she become someone I didn’t want to lose? When did she become mine to protect?
Again, I don’t have answers. Not even for myself. I just know that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Even if it means she eventually sees the monster and runs.
Even if it means losing her in the end. Better she hates me than ends up dead because I wasn’t ruthless enough. Better she’s safe than in my arms.
I repeat it like a mantra as I head inside to wash the blood from my hands and pretend, for a few more hours, that I’m just a father who builds forts instead of the monster who haunts the shed at the edge of the property.