“Keep my brother’s name out of your mouth.”
For a second, he just stares at me. Then he grins, slow and nasty, like he’s just found something to twist the knife deeper.
“Oh, I get it now. The little brother.”
He wipes the blood on his cheek across his shoulder, dragging it down the collar of his soaked shirt.
“Gotta say, kid, you’re prettier than Marco. What’d you do, huh? Sell your ass to Enzo just to stand in the room?”
He snickers, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “All for some pretty little revenge?”
I hit him again. Closed fist right in his already-swollen eye. Pain shoots up my arm, but I don’t care. I hit him again. And again.
“Luca.” Enzo’s voice cuts through the red haze. “Not yet. Let him talk.”
I stop, chest heaving, arm drawn back for another swing. It takes a second to get control, but I step away, breathing hard. My knuckles throb, one already splitting open.
Sokolov coughs, then spits a mouthful of blood and what looks like a tooth onto the floor. He glares at me through it, face twisted into a pained frown.
His gaze shifts to Enzo. “Protective, I see. Didn’t think you had it in you. Your father would’ve fucked the omega and killed him after. But you, you’re keeping him. Like a pet.”
“My father was a paranoid sadist who got himself killed by his own paranoia,” Enzo says calmly. “I’m not him.”
Sokolov throws his head back and laughs, teeth pink and gleaming. It’s not like the pained wheeze from earlier. He laughs like something has unspooled inside him, the sound bouncing off the walls.
Then he levels that good eye at me.
“Don’t know what he told you, but I swear it wasn’t my intention to kill your brother.”
What?
“Yeah, I did all the other shit. Fine. I’ll own that. But killing Marco is on Enzo. He ordered that hit.”
I whip my head toward Enzo, but his gaze is fixed on Sokolov, with that same cold expression that gives nothing away.
I look back at Sokolov. The smile on his face is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.
“Why would I lie now?” He meets my eyes. “I’m dead either way. A dying man’s got nothing left to gain. I’ve got no reason to lie, kid. But he—” He nods toward Enzo. “He’s still got plenty to lose.”
Static rings in my ears. My throat goes dry.
“Enzo?”
Even I hate how unsure I sound.
“He’s lying,” Enzo says, way too calm for my liking. “He’s trying to mess with your head before he goes. That’s what cowards do.”
Sokolov barks another laugh.
“Yeah? Then tell him the truth.” He jerks his chin toward me. “Tell him who greenlit the cell beating. Go on. I’ll wait.”
I swallow hard, pulse thundering. “Enzo?”
“He’s lying.”
He looks at me when he says it. And that’s the problem.
Because I’ve seen Enzo lie before. I’ve seen him wear that same calm, unflinching face while he had me playing the foolas David DaCosta. Like he hadn’t known who I was from the start.
