“Enzo.” Sokolov’s voice is rough, strained. He spits blood onto the concrete. “Should’ve known you’d bring backup. Getting soft in your old age?” He inhales, lips curling. “You brought an omega as backup? Cute.”
A broken laugh rattles out of him. “What is he, your new fuck toy? You bring him so we can share a hole one last time before I die?”
Enzo doesn’t respond. He just keeps walking forward, hands in his pockets, completely relaxed. Like this is a business meeting and not an execution.
I follow a few steps behind, heart hammering against my ribs. My hands ball into fists, nails biting into my palms. Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to lunge at the bastard in the chair, wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until nothing comes out.
Enzo stops about five feet from Sokolov. Studies him like he’s a particularly unpleasant specimen.
“How long did you think you could get away with it?” His tone is almost conversational. “Stealing from the family. From our partners.”
Sokolov starts to laugh, but it breaks into a wet, choking cough. “Took you long enough to figure it out. Getting slow, boss?”
Enzo lets the insult hang in the air for a beat. Then shrugs, unbothered.
“Ah, you know me. I like to be as thorough as possible. I wanted to make sure I had everything I could have on you. Every account, every shipment, every lie. I don’t do things halfway. You know that.”
Sokolov’s expression contorts into something feral. “Fuck you. You don’t know shit.”
“I know enough.” Enzo chuckles darkly. “I could spend the next hour walking you through it all. The offshore accounts in the Caymans. The falsified delivery records. The partnerships you brokered with the Bratva behind my back.” He pauses, letting each word land. “But we both know why you’re here, tied to that chair. Innocent men don’t run to private airfields.”
Sokolov says nothing.
“So I’m going to skip all the details. There’s only one thing I actually want to know.” Enzo leans forward slightly, his eyes cold. “Why? You’ve been with the family for two decades. We trusted you. Why betray us like this?”
Sokolov works his jaw, then spits. The thick, bloody glob lands on Enzo’s polished shoe.
“Why?” he sneers, lips splitting in a bloody grin. “Because you got weak.”
His good eye flicks to me, then back to Enzo. “The second you took over, half the street knew you’d never measure up to your father. But I still stayed. I still held your shit together. Then you had to go and bring on fucking Carlo Messina. I told you I hated the guy, told you he and I have personal issues, but you didn’t listen. No loyalty.”
He gives a wheezing laugh, ugly as the blood seeping from his lip. “So yeah. The Bratva offered me a better deal. Can’t blame a man for jumping ship when the whole damn boat is sinking.”
“Sinking.” Enzo repeats, voice going dangerously soft.
He looks down at the blood, then up at Sokolov. He walks forward without breaking eye contact, wipes the blood splatterfrom his shoe on the hem of Sokolov’s pants. Then steps back like nothing happened.
“You think we’re sinking?”
“I know you are.” Sokolov snaps. “Valerio power ain’t nothing like it used to be.”
“So you steal from me. Frame innocent men. Give orders under my name to do your fucking dirty work?”
Sokolov’s head snaps in my direction so fast it almost throws me. “Who the fuck are you again?”
Enzo answers before I can. “Marco Moretti. Ring a bell?”
The bastard had the nerve to shrug, but there’s a brief flash of recognition across his face, gone as fast as it came. He knows exactly who Enzo means.
“Just business as usual,” he rasps. “Can’t be sentimental about every motherfucker we put in the ground, can we, boss?”
“You murdered an innocent man,” Enzo says quietly. “Framed him for your theft and had him beaten to death.”
“Innocent?” Sokolov snorts. “Marco Moretti was a fucking rat waiting to happen. Kid saw too much, asked too many questions. I did you a favor—”
I don’t remember moving.
But suddenly my hand is slamming across his face. The crack echoes off concrete and steel. His head jerks sideways, and when he turns back, there’s fresh blood painting his mouth.
