“Very funny.”
“Plus, there are photographs of the two of you crushing the internet. They’re on every social media platform. Some more provocative than others. It’s apparent the two of you are very close.”
“Shit.” I’d seen several, but nothing that would indicate how I felt about her. “She won’t like it.”
“I don’t think either one of you has a choice at this point. From what I can tell, she’s already involved and the responsible person knows you’re very close. Even without the photographs.”
“Damn you. Said with respect. Of course.”
“Of course.”
Mikhail didn’t try to stop me, moving aside so I could approach the assassin.
“My name is Sasha Dmitriyev, but I assume you already know that. Yes?”
The man barely opened his eyes, but I’d be damned if he didn’t sneer. The pulley system could hyperextend his shoulders. With a single crank or adding extra weight the anguish would become blinding. There was a soldier standing by waiting for nothing more than a nod of my head.
I placed the bag on the floor, crouching down and taking my time to unzip. I had a selection of tools I could use, but in deference to my Pakhan, and in the best interest of obtaining information, I grabbed the personal torch that I’d only used once.
“I’m going to ask you one time. Who sent you?” Irish. Russians. Both. At this point, the only reason it mattered was simply to know who to inform when the dead bodies started piling up.
My father had been right and I’d come to an important conclusion the night before.
No matter our legitimacy or respectable status throughout the world, we were still Bratva. There was no amount of money or diluting the bloodline that would change the past. But it would alter our future.
“No one.” Smirking like the devil, he eyed me as if a cautionary tale. Or perhaps believing he’d stuck a blade into my back. Yes, he was getting under my skin by just existing.
But he certainly wouldn’t know that.
“Ah, you just decided to stop by my house and instead of bringing a present, you brought gunmen. How kind of you.”
“You’re such a fool.”
“How so?”
“You don’t understand you’ve already lost.”
While I had no idea what he was referring to, what I did know was that it was just another part of the game. Only this time, his Irish brogue was pronounced. I’d be curious if he had the accent when he accosted Lainey. Was he pretending to be someone he wasn’t to perpetuate the toxic puzzle initiated by Tristen O’Shaughnessy almost four years before? Or were the Russians using hired help these days to handle certain aspects of their business?
“Who is this man?” I yanked out the picture and in truth, all I was looking for was a hint of recognition. What I noticed instead was a hint of surprise. “You know him.”
He looked away and I grabbed his jaw, yanking his face forward. “Talk to me, you asshole. Who is this son of a bitch?”
“No one.”
I squeezed and almost had the pulley jerked up so he could drop like a rock, but I resisted and pulled my hand away, regaining control.
“I assure you that he will be found and what happens to him will make what you’re about to face seem like Candyland. What have we lost? An unseen war or just a vicious game played by little boys shoved out of the sandbox?” While one eye had swollen to the point I was unable to see the glint in his eye, the other one wasn’t.
He didn’t like being treated like a child.
Too bad.
While he eyed the torch in my hand, his face cracked when he widened his smile.
I could see Jaxon out of the corner of my eye. The man was itching to finish what he’d likely been the one to start.
“Fine. Have it your way.” As the blue flame slithered from the slender opening, I concentrated more on the hissing sound the canister made. For some, the thought of being roasted to death by a hand implement was enough to bare their soul.
