His expression turned grim, as his lips thinned. “Apparently, they didn't see shit through the surveillance camera, and when one of them passed by, that’s when it stopped.”
“A setup,” Vitya stated, and Dima nodded. “No doubt about it. Someone wanted him dead.” They both shared a look then raised their eyes to me, and I didn't have to wonder what they were thinking.
Killing him was a message for me. Someone was after the pakhan of the Bratva. “Any ideas?” I snapped, desire to avenge my friend running high. “I need names and now. Whoever is behind this is dead. And I’ll be the one pulling the trigger.” No one fucked with the Bratva, and sure as fuck, no one fucked with mysovietnik.
Once again, they shared a fucking look, before Vitya carefully started, “Dominic—” However, he was interrupted by a female’s horrified gasp as she stood in front of Radmir’s bed with her hands covering her mouth as a single tear slid down her cheek. She was a brown-haired beauty with vivid blue eyes.
Vivian Jackson in the flesh.
How the hell did she slip inside? And why would she come in the first place? She betrayed him and us on that day she refused to acknowledge her connection to our man, and then married another son of a bitch.
She gently ran her fingers over his forehead, but then quickly snatched them back as if it burned her. Exhaling a calming breath, her eyes met mine as determination filled them. Slowly walking toward us, she extended her hand with a vanilla-colored envelope to me. “You are Dominic Konstantinov, right?” she whispered, and at my nod, continued, “This… this will save his life.” She licked her dry lips. “Please use it.”
Dima snorted, distaste written all over him. “Why should we believe you? You put him in prison in the first place.”
She stepped back as though he slapped her. “What?” she asked in disbelief, but I didn't get the chance to study her confusion as a small child raced inside, screaming, “Mama, why are you crying?” The boy had to be around four years old, and my men were stunned speechless as he resembled Radmir, from his brown hair to his gray eyes. A mini version of him. It was one thing to know about his existence, and another to see him. Vitya kept tabs on the boy, making sure he was treated well.
Vivian picked him up, hugged him close, and practically threw the envelope at me. “Use it. And never tell him about me.” With that, she darted outside, coming and going in a flash.
“Well that was certainly interesting,” Vitya muttered, as Dima scanned the papers she gave me, and then he shook his head, as though he couldn't believe his own eyes. “It’s a statement.”
“Statement?”
“She basically provided him an alibi for the night the killing happened. With this, they will have no grounds for keeping him for long.” He immediately starting calling various places and arranging Radmir’s release.
Despite being confused as fuck with Vivian’s sudden change of heart, or the fucking tears, I focused back on the current problem. “Who, Vitya?”
He cleared his throat, and said, “Cosa Nostra, Dominic.”
Don Giovanni sent his dogs to kill mysovietnikas a message for me not to touch his daughter? “He just declared war,” I replied calmly, all traces of me honoring our agreement gone. “All the people involved in the attack… I want them to suffer unbearable pain before suffocating them to death. Find suitable people for the job.” Vitya nodded, although his intense stare didn't escape me. He clearly didn't know how I would proceed with Don himself after Vitya, so many times, managed to calm down my temper to play by the rules.
And where did it lead us? No-fucking-where.
Killing Don wasn't an option, considering he was the father of the woman who belonged to me.
But sure as fuck, he’d never see his daughter again as long as he fucking lived.
Man with the dragon tattoo
“Book plane tickets, first class, for Lorenzo and Rosa,” I ordered into the phone, holding it between my neck and shoulder while my hands adjusted various wires on the bombing device.
“For when?”
Glancing at the clock, I counted the hours it would take for the pakhan to get on board with all this, and said, “Tomorrow afternoon.” The puppy lapped at my foot, annoying the fuck out of me, so I kicked him hard, and he bounced against the wall, whimpering.
Fucking hated those useless animals.
“Will do, boss.” Not bothering to reply, I hung up then grabbed the snips and cut the yellow wire, burned the red one, and then stuck them together in an unbreakable bond. Once it was done, I scooted the chair back and searched for the damn puppy as he lay on his side, his paws covering his eyes. Wrapping my hand around its throat, I raised him to my face and smacked his muzzle hard while he tried once again to lick. “Be a good boy, doggie, and deliver my gift to Don.” Adjusting the red ribbon on his neck, I threw him inside the cage as I placed the bomb inside the small box, which would be attached to his belly.
Satisfied with the results, I cracked my neck from side to side to relieve the tension and smiled widely, anticipation speeding through the blood in my veins.
Placing the detonator beside the table, I stood, whistling. Euphoria shook my whole body as I imagined the deaths tomorrow would bring.
Truly, life was nothing but endless bliss.
“Kneel, toy,” Alfred ordered, already wearing his favorite sweatpants, or at least grey was the only color he wore. They hung low on his abdomen, and disgusting wrinkled skin with several tattoos was visible.
When I was seven years old, he loved me to lick them or trace them with my tongue right before he’d slap me so hard my face would tilt to the side and my upper lip would split. He loved to taste my blood there as he mushed our mouths for a deep kiss, and slapped me even harder when I didn't know what he wanted from me.
