I dragged him to a metal table in the corner, shoving him into a chair that scraped against concrete. Drew appeared with a laptop, setting it up with quick, efficient movements. The screen glowed blue in the dim warehouse light.
“Type,” I ordered.
Sebastian’s hands trembled as he reached for the keyboard. Blood dripped from his fingers, leaving smears on the keys. Andrei leaned over his shoulder, watching every character. The Zeta leader stood on the other side, pistol now aimed casually at Sebastian’s head.
Insurance.
Minutes crawled by. Sebastian typed with shaking fingers, each keystroke labored. I could see the accounts populating on the screen—offshore holdings, crypto wallets, shell companies layered so deep even I would’ve needed days to unravel them. But Sebastian had built this maze. He knew every twist.
And now he was giving it all back.
“Zetas’ share,” Andrei murmured, his voice flat. Numbers scrolled past. Millions. More than I’d expected. Sebastian had been busy.
“Bratva’s share.” More numbers. Vladimir would be satisfied. The stolen funds from four years ago, the ones thathad nearly cost me my life, were finally being returned. With interest.
Sebastian slumped forward when it was done, his forehead hitting the table. A gag appeared, and one of the Zetas shoved cloth into his mouth, muffling the sounds he was trying to make. Protests. Pleas. It didn’t matter. We’d heard enough.
I grabbed Sebastian by the collar again, dragging him off the chair. His legs barely worked. He was deadweight, a puppet with cut strings. I hauled him across the warehouse floor, past the debris and blood, toward where the Zeta leader waited with his men.
Our deal was simple. Bratva got first blood. Zetas got the kill.
I tossed Sebastian at their feet like garbage.
He landed hard, rolling onto his side, his eyes wide and terrified behind the gag. The Zeta leader looked down at him with something close to amusement. He holstered his pistol, then crouched beside Sebastian, tilting his head.
“You stole from us,” he said softly in Spanish. Drew translated in my earpiece, though I caught the gist. “You thought you were clever. Smarter than everyone. But here you are.”
The Zeta leader stood, gesturing to his men. “We had a deal,” he repeated, this time looking at me.
I nodded. “He’s yours.”
“Gracias.”
I turned and walked toward the exit. Timur fell in step beside me, Drew and Damir flanking us. Behind me, I heard the first scream, muffled by the gag but still audible. High and desperate. It cut through the warehouse like a knife.
Then another scream. Longer. Wetter.
The door shut behind us before the third one started.
Outside, the night air was cool against my skin. I could still smell rust and blood, could still feel the ache in my knuckleswhere they’d split against Sebastian’s face. But beneath it all was something else.
Relief.
Satisfaction.
I pulled out my phone as we walked to the cars. No missed calls. Barbara was safe at home, probably asleep by now. Our child growing inside her, protected and loved in a way she’d never been before I claimed her as mine.
Vladimir’s voice echoed in my mind, the promise I’d made two years ago when he let me move to Chicago.Don’t kill anyone.
Technically, I hadn’t.
I smiled as I slid into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life beneath my hands. Behind us, the warehouse stood silent except for the muffled sounds of justice being served. Los Zetas would take their time. They were professionals when it came to pain.
Sebastian would die slowly. Painfully. Exactly as Vladimir had wanted—a death that would serve as a warning to anyone who thought they could steal from the Bratva and live.
And I’d kept my promise. I hadn’t killed him.
I’d just delivered him to people who would.
