Chapter 17 #3
The man tried to hold his gaze, tried to maintain that triumphant expression, but it was crumbling at the edges.
Dimitri continued, “you thought that hurting her would save you. That making her falter would somehow change the outcome of this conversation.” He tilted his head slightly. “You were wrong.”
Killian moved then, coming to stand on Dimitri’s right side. His hands were still clenched into fists, and there was murder in his eyes.
Nico appeared on Dimitri’s left, his tablet forgotten. His expression was calm, almost serene, but Bea knew he wasn’t .
The three of them stood there, a wall of controlled violence, and the prisoner finally understood. He’d made a fatal error.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Dimitri said softly. “You’re going to tell us everything we want to know. Every name. Every location. Every detail. And you’re going to do it quickly, because my patience is gone.”
The man’s throat worked. “And if I don’t?” Dimitri smiled. It was the most terrifying expression Bea had ever seen.
“Then we’ll start with your fingers,” he said calmly.
“Nico will break them one at a time while Killian makes sure you stay conscious. Then we’ll cut off your toes.
Then break your knees. Then your elbows.
” He leaned down, bringing his face close to the prisoner’s.
“And when we’ve broken every bone in your body, when you’re begging us to kill you, when you’re screaming so loud you can’t even form words anymore, I’ll ask you again.
And you’ll tell me. Because everyone breaks eventually. ”
The prisoner’s face had gone white. He straightened up and turned to look at Bea. His expression softened, just slightly, just enough for her to see.
“No one hurts her, or talks to her like you just did.” He said, his voice still quiet but carrying a weight that made the words feel like a vow.
“No one makes her doubt herself. No one makes her feel small.” He turned back to the prisoner.
“And the people who try? They don’t get mercy. They become examples.”
Killian pulled a knife from somewhere. Bea hadn’t even seen where he’d been carrying it, and flipped it open with a practiced motion. The sound of the blade locking into place was obscenely loud in the quiet room.
“Last chance,” Dimitri said. “Talk.”
The man looked at the three men standing over him, looked at the knife in Killian’s hand, looked at the absolute certainty in their faces that they would do exactly what they promised. Then he looked at Bea.
She was still standing off to the side, her arms wrapped around herself, her face pale but composed.
Then once again the man smiled and looked right at Dimitri and spat in his face.
Dimitri pulled his gun from the holster at his back. The movement was smooth, practiced, almost casual. The prisoner’s eyes went wide. He raised the gun.
“Wait!” the prisoner screamed.
The gunshot cracked through the room. It was so loud in the enclosed space that Bea’s ears rang.
The prisoner’s head snapped back, a neat hole appearing in the center of his forehead. For a moment, he just sat there, eyes wide and surprised, mouth still open on whatever plea he’d been about to make. Then he slumped forward, held up only by the cuffs attaching him to the table.
Blood began to pool on the metal surface, dripping onto the floor with a steady drip. Silence followed. Heavy.
Bea stared at the body, at the blood spreading across the table, at the way the overhead light reflected off the growing puddle. She should have been horrified. She should have been scared.
She should have been running for the door, screaming, calling the police. Doing any of the things a normal person would do when they watched someone get executed in front of them.
Instead, she felt…Safe. Protected. Claimed.
Dimitri lowered the gun and turned to look at her. His face was still carved from stone, still cold and controlled, but there was something in his eyes. Something that looked almost vulnerable. He was waiting. Waiting for her to recoil.
Waiting for her to finally see him for what he was, a killer, a monster, a man who could end a life without hesitation or remorse. Waiting for her to be afraid.
Killian was watching her too, his expression unreadable but tense.
Nico had set down his tablet and was studying her with those sharp, analytical eyes. They were all waiting to see if this was the moment she ran. Bea looked at the body one more time.
Then she walked toward Dimitri. Killian’s eyebrows shot up. Nico just watched, and Dimitri didn’t move, but she saw his throat work as he swallowed.
She stopped right in front of him. Close enough to see the tiny flecks of gold in his blue eyes. Close enough to see the tension in his jaw. Close enough to see the question he would never ask out loud. Are you afraid of me now?
Bea rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek. Soft. Brief. Deliberate. When she pulled back, Dimitri looked more stunned than the corpse behind her. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted, and for a moment he looked almost vulnerable.
Bea turned and walked toward the door. Killian moved aside automatically, his eyes tracking her movement like he was trying to solve a puzzle. She reached the threshold and paused, looking down at her cream silk blouse.
There were small drops of blood on the front, spatter from the gunshot.
She touched one of the spots with her finger, rubbing the fabric slightly, then sighed.
“Next time, I’d appreciate a warning before you shoot someone.
This is silk, and blood is a bitch to get out. ” Her voice was calm and steady,
Killian let out a short, shocked laugh. It was quickly followed by Nico, who covered his mouth but couldn’t quite hide the smile. And behind her, for the first time since she’d walked into the room, Dimitri Marchetti looked like a man who had just realized he was in very serious trouble.
Not the kind of trouble that came from enemies or rivals or business deals gone wrong. The kind of trouble that came from falling in love with a woman who could watch you execute someone and then complain about her shirt.
Bea walked out of the interrogation room without looking back, but she was smiling. Because she’d learned something important today. She’d learned that these men, these dangerous, violent, powerful men, would burn the world down for her and she’d learned that she liked it.
The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving the three men alone with a corpse and the dawning realization that they were completely, utterly, irrevocably hers.