The light breeze cooled my heated skin, covered only with a light, white, satin nightshirt. My long hair was pulled over my shoulder, and I closed my eyes for a second, letting go of all the worries.
Instantly, my head was filled with the images of two entwined bodies, lying on a bed while the man softly caressed the cheek of a woman who had a smile on her face.
“Vivian.”The voice.
The voice was deep and husky.
The voice in my nightmares.
The voice in my dreams.
The voice that belonged to the only man who was in my life, who I used to love unconditionally.
The man who was the father of my child.
He was out of prison.
And he would come for revenge.
All I could do was pray for mercy.
Radmir
Entering the warehouse, I cracked my neck from side to side as the person sitting with his arms tied to the metal chair whimpered.
Giving him my sinister smile, I said to Dima, Petor, and Vitya, “Leave.”
They complained, but not before Vitya whispered into my ear, “Think before you act.”
With that, the warehouse door closed, leaving me alone with various torture devices spread on the table and the motherfucker who testified against me in court all those years ago. One solitary bulb lit the cold and dark space.
Dominic’s twin sure knew how to inflict pain on people, if his collection of knives, wires, chains, and pliers was anything to go by. He was the one who brought it all here.
“I’m sorry.” The guy begged, while breathing heavily in fear. He struggled to get out of the chair, but all he accomplished was banging it against the floor.
Ignoring his apology, I put on latex gloves and ran my fingers over the metal chains, enjoying the source of power rushing through me.
Yes, it would be truly freeing to finally deliver revenge on those who deserved it, a generous gift the pakhan allowed me, considering our archaic rules.
The sovietnik, the counselor, was the left hand of the pakhan, and his job was to oversee the actions the boss ordered and everything related to the Bratva dealings, take care of the legal aspects of the organization, and the financial situation. But the most important part for the sovietnik was to be an impartial adviser to the pakhan and solve internal conflicts. For this purpose, the sovietnik should be devoid of any interest or ambition, meaning he didn’t know half of the shit that went under the radar.
And more importantly, he should never engage in any kind of fight or touch any illegal aspect of the Bratva. Being present during beatings and other stuff was one of the things he should not be associated with. Before Vasya, our old pakhan—may he rest in peace—granted me the position as his sovietnik, I used to be the enforcer, which meant I was the best when it came to fighting and weapons. In addition, he trusted me with new recruits, and those little shits put me through a lot with their stubbornness and no-fucks-given attitude.
But I couldn’t allow anyone else to avenge my lost years, and Dominic might have been a pakhan, but he was my friend first.
Besides, no one except him understood the need for revenge.
Smirking, I played with the pliers, causing a metallic sound, and the man swallowed loudly, fear evident in his body. Droplets of sweat ran down his forehead, while his eyes frantically searched for a way out, which wasn’t possible considering who designed this establishment.
“Please, I had no choice.”
Chuckling at those absurd words, I leaned down and grazed the metal against his knuckles, and he closed his eyes, whimpering. But instead of chopping off his fingers as he expected, I cut the rope and freed his hands and legs from the chair.
Gasping, he rubbed his wrists while chanting, “Thank you, thank you so much. I will pay you as much as you want.” I raised my brow in amusement, because the fucking American was hilarious. Did he really think I would let him go so easily, just because he asked for it?
Generosity was a gift not to be expected from a man who lost everything in the span of five years.
My life, my status, and my woman were stolen from me. Mercy was a gift none of my enemies would get.
