Chapter 26
SEMYON
The basement is cold and damp, lit only by a single flickering bulb. It's our form of a dungeon, but Rafail is too proper to change it. Our prisoner, bloodied and bruised, sits slumped in the chair, his wrists bound behind him. I hope he's close to breaking. I’ve had a long fucking day.
Sweat coats his forehead, but his half-lidded eyes stay open. Matvei has warmed him up for me.
My voice is low and lethal. I’m out of patience. " Talk ."
The man coughs, spitting blood onto the floor. "You think you know everything, don't you?" His twisted grin forms despite the pain. "You're fucked too, Kopolov.”
Yeah, that’s not up for debate. Appealing to my human side is a waste of time.
I take a slow step forward, my hands clenching into fists. I hardly expected him to just open his mouth and tell me everything.
"You may want to rethink your approach to survival," I warn him.
He doubles over, coughing, the sound wet and ragged. He has broken limbs and broken ribs. Blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth.
"Oh, I'm already dead. You know that. Don't fuck with me."
"But you have family," I say casually, pushing my hands into my pockets and walking closer. I’m not bluffing, and he fucking knows it.
His eyes harden. I glance at the notes Matvei gave me. A wife. Kids. I lean in closer. I didn’t become who I am by being merciful.
“A wife. Kids. Who are all defenseless right now, left all alone with no one to protect them.” I shake my head. “Isn’t that a shame?”
I punch him across the jaw. The crack of bone echoes in the silence. He smiles at me, his teeth smeared in blood.
"You thought you could control her, didn't you?" he rasps. "The poor little baker's daughter. But the joke’s on you, Kopolov. She's the one who used you."
I freeze, the blood in my veins turning to ice. He's going to say anything to manipulate me—I know this. And yet…
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Anya and her brother," he gasps, coughing again. Blood splatters on the floor. "They played you. You married her— yoked yourself to her family. And now you’ve handed control of your empire over, bound it to her loyalty, without even realizing it. You’re just like everyone else. A disgrace to the Bratva.”
A roar builds in my chest. I grab him by the collar, yank him from the chair, and slam him against the wall. His head snaps back, and I hear his breath hitch in fear. Good.
"They didn’t fucking use me."
He sneers and laughs—a low, evil, chilling sound.
"Oh, you're wondering now, aren't you? Wondering why she agreed so easily. Why you haven’t been able to find her brother. You think you're in control, but you've already lost it. Lucky you get to fuck pretty pink pussy on your way to hell.”
I slam my fist into his face again and again until his head lolls to the side, and he falls to his knees. I shove his chest and push him to the floor, kneeling on him. My breath comes in harsh, ragged gasps. Rage clouds my vision. I stare at his forearm—the mark of the Irish.
"What do you know about The Undertaker?" I growl, changing the subject. I don't fucking care what he tells me about my wife.
"Not telling you anything," he snarls. His sunken eyes burn with defiance. He looks like a man who’s already decided his fate.
I grab him by the shirt and slam him to the ground. His head hits the concrete. I punch him again and again. I have so many weapons at my disposal—knives, tools, implements of torture—but I want to punch someone. I want to use him as a punching bag. I want to vent my aggression, my anger, my fury. But every time I punch him, I just want more.
One thing Anya doesn’t know about me—or anybody in my family—is how fucking bloodthirsty we are. If she knew, she never would've agreed to this.
"Why don’t you ask your wife," he taunts. I punch him again, this time hard enough that his eyes shut.
Fuck. He’s passed out. Maybe dead. Both the same to me—I’m not going to get anything from him now.
I get to my feet and kick his ribs one more time. The satisfying crunch echoes before I pull the gun from my holster, cock it, and press it to his skull. His brains splatter everywhere. I shoot until his face is a bloody pulp, his body unrecognizable. Then I kneel next to him, take out a knife, and slice off the mark of the Irish from his flesh.
I stand, wiping my hands on my pants, and turn to the guard who watches me. Fear crosses his eyes.
"Wrap that up and send it to the fucking Irish."
I go to leave.
The next person who owes me answers is my wife.
But when I get back to the room, she’s not there. Her tray is untouched, as if she hasn’t even eaten a crumb.
Cold, familiar dread seeps into my veins.
Why don’t you ask your wife?
Has she betrayed me ?
My greatest fears. I pull out my phone, dialing Matvei. He answers right away.
“Have you seen Anya?”
“No,” he answers. “Why?”
“I can’t find her. Have all available men search the grounds. Now .”
“Dude, are you overreacting? Maybe you have a fever, and it’s getting to your head. Semyon, it’s been a long few days. Jesus, man, get some sleep.”
“I just told you my wife’s missing, and you tell me to get some sleep?” He’s lucky he isn’t standing in front of me now. I’d throat-punch him.
I call Zoya next.
"Where's Anya?"
"Anya? The last time I saw her, she was in bed. I told her Stefan went to bed and thought that she’d get some rest herself. I left her resting. She isn’t there?"
“No.” I’m slipping. Of course I knew that. Why didn’t I think of that?
But when I pull up the surveillance footage on my phone, it’s blank.
What the actual fuck?
I go to dial Rafail, but the signal is blocked. I can’t make a fucking call. I’m forced to wander my house like it’s the goddamn dark ages .
"Anya!" I yell, the desperation in my voice impossible to hide. "Anya!"
I do a mental inventory of who’s home. Rodion and Ember are back at their place. Stefan and Zoya are here, Rafail’s family. Yana.
She’s the closest one. But when I go to her door and knock, there’s no answer.
Fuck.
I try again, but as I turn down the hall, a door behind me opens. Yana stands in the doorway, her eyes blurry, wearing sweats and a T-shirt.
"Semyon? Are you alright?”
"No. I can’t find Anya. The surveillance footage is blank, and I can’t make any phone calls."
Yana is instantly awake.
"Fuck," she says, turning to tug on boots and pulling a gun from her bedside table.
I hear the pounding of her footsteps as she finishes getting dressed. I’m already running.
I head outside, barking orders to the guards and asking questions. No one’s seen her. The estate is locked down in minutes, but without our ability to communicate?—
If she did betray me…
I’ll find her, no matter what. I have to.