I don’t care. In the red haze, I want to kill him. I want to rip him apart limb by limb. Shrugging Omero off, I serve another punch, his orbital bone giving way under my fist.
Marcus and Gio move forward, each grabbing at my arms to pull me off of Dimitri.
“The car, Dimitri. This is your last chance,” Omero demands. “Tell us what you know, or he really will beat you to death.”
“It was one of Vladkovs guys!” Dimitri screams. “I don’t know his name! I swear, that’s all I know!”
Finally. I shrug the men off me, my chest heaving, looking down at my hands. They’re covered in blood — his blood, soaking my shirt, dripping onto the floor where he’s slumped over. My knuckles are bleeding, split open, raw.
The rage is still there, simmering just beneath the surface. Ready to explode again at the slightest provocation.
“Give me a name,” I demand through gritted teeth. My voice is seething with violence.
“I don’t know! He didn’t give me a name, and I hadn’t met him before! It was a simple key for a cash deal. I didn’t know what he was going to use it for, I was just told he needed wheels state side, that’s it!”
I crouch down beside him, grabbing a fistful of his beard and forcing him to look at me. “What did he look like?”
“Tall. Dark hair. Scar on his cheek. That’s all I remember, I swear!”
“Where did this transaction take place?”
“Brighton Beach. Outside Petrov’s bar.”
Brighton Beach. Russian territory. This is bigger than I thought.
“Why?” I demand. “Why did they take my son?”
“I don’t know. I just did what I was paid to do.”
He’s fading now, his body going into shock. I believe him. He’s too broken to lie right now.
I release him, standing. My hands are shaking—not from exertion but from the effort of regaining control. Because I want to keep hitting him until he’s not breathing. I want to make him suffer the way Emmanuel suffered, being taken from his home. The way I suffered, not knowing if my son was alive or dead.
But he’s given me what I needed. A piece of the puzzle.
It makes a sick kind of sense. The Russians have been pushing into my territory for years, testing boundaries, causing problems. But kidnapping Emmanuel? That’s an act of war.
“Boss,” Omero says quietly. “What do you want us to do with him?”
I look down at Dimitri, broken and bleeding on the floor. “Clean him up. Dump him in their territory. Let them know we’re chasing down answers. And Dimitri? If I find out you lied to me, if I find out you know more than you’re telling, I’ll come back. And next time, I won’t be so merciful.”
Marco and Gio step around me, moving to collect Dimitri’s broken body up off the floor. I watch them drag him back to the chair, leaving a trail of blood across the concrete floor.
I leave the shed, stepping out into the afternoon sunlight. The contrast is jarring—bright and clean and normal while behind me is blood and violence and darkness.
Omero follows me out, closing the door behind him. “You think he was telling the truth?”
“About the guy being new in town? Yes. About not knowing why?” I shake my head. “I’m not sure, but we’ll find out.”
“Taking Emmanuel was the opening move. But to what?”
I don’t have an answer.
We walk back toward the main house, my knuckles throbbing, blood drying on my hands. I’ll need to clean up before Emmanuel sees me. Before?—
Chloe.
The thought of her seeing me covered in blood has me rushing up the stairs even faster.
