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“Chert voz’mi, Dima, what is it?” he barks, stooping to get his pants off the floor and stepping into them. I pull a sheet over myself, watching as he strides barechested across the room. Hair tousled, muscles rippling, he has red streaks down his back where my nails raked his skin.
“It’s important, boss.” Dima doesn’t look into the room when Kirill jerks the door open, though I know he’s aware of me. “You need to come with me. Now.”
“Wait.” Kirill gives a muffled curse as he returns to the bed, brushes a quick kiss over my forehead, and reaches for his discarded shirt and shoes. “We will continue this when I get back,” he says.
I nod mutely, because what else can I do. Though usually, when he leaves me in a room, it’s without a backward glance. I guess this is an improvement.
But it doesn’t change the fact that when the door closes, I’m left alone. And I haven’t told him that I’m pregnant.
But there is one thing I’m certain of.
He has to know.
Chapter Seventeen
Kirill
“We found the guy who followed our man,” Dima says as we stride into the interrogation room.
My footsteps are heavy as they echo off the cold, pale walls. Dima follows closely behind, his eyes scanning the space with a practiced ease. When I reach the center of the room, I stop, and fix my eyes on the man tied to the chair. He looks up at me, his eyes widening in defiance as he takes me in. But beneath all the defiance, I notice the underlying air of dread. The bastard’s afraid. I just know it. I’ve done this enough times to see it from a mile away. If he hasn’t spoken yet, he will. It’s only a matter of time.
“Tell me what you’ve got so far, bratok,” I say to Dima, keeping my voice low.
Dima crosses his arms over his chest, his muscles bulging beneath his tight shirt. “This is Ivan Petrov, Vlad’s nephew. We snatched him up without any trouble. You almost made it too easy for us, haven’t you, Ivan?” Dima shoots the man a glance before looking back at me. “Except the fucker is stubborn as a mule, boss. He won’t loosen his tongue. So, I guess we can move to phase two.”
I nod, my gaze never leaving Ivan’s face. I watch his expression change slightly at the mention of “phase two.” I almost chuckle. Definitely afraid. He may not have spilled anything yet, but it’s only a matter of time before he will. Dima’s done a good job of working him over; split lips, battered cheeks… bruising has left his face swollen and his eyes puffy. He glares at me balefully. His features remind me of his shady uncle. Vladimir Petrov has been a thorn in my side since my father’s days. It was no surprise to learn that he’s involved in the shitstorm with Avants. Now it seems he’s been digging even deeper into my affairs.
But right now, Theo Avants is not my only problem. It’s not like he can cause more damage than he already has. But there is someone else who still can. I must know if she is also involved somehow. Because if what Dima told me in the restaurant is true, then I’m in for a world of shit.
Blyad.
She is capable of causing ten times more damage than Avants ever could.
I shake off the thought and look at Ivan. His eyes dart back and forth between Dima and me. His breath is starting to come in short, shallow gasps. “I already told him everything I know.” He jerks his head toward Dima.
I take a step closer to him, my fingers itching to be wrapped around his throat.
“We’ll see about that, won’t we, Ivan? We can start by chopping off some of your fingers, see if that jogs your memory.” I drop my eyes to his hands, letting him know that I mean this quite literally.
Ivan’s face pales, but he keeps his mouth shut. His throat works and his eyes continue to dart between me and my second in command. This time it’s Dima’s turn to step forward. His hand rests on the handle of the knife at his belt. “We can make this easy for you, or we can make this hard, Ivan. The choice is yours.”
Ivan’s eyes flick to Dima again, then back to me, this time more frantically. He licks his lips, his tongue darting out to wet them. “I told you already! I don’t know anything else. I swear it. Call my uncle. He’ll tell you. You’re making a mistake.”
I shake my head and heave a sigh. I’m already losing patience. This nuisance is only wasting my fucking time. I’d rather be upstairs, balls deep in Tiana. Instead, I’m having to deal with an idiot who’s unwilling to speak. What does he think? That we’ll simply believe him and let him go?
I give Dima a nod before turning my attention back to Ivan. “I trust your uncle even less than I trust you, dolboyob. I’d rather convince you to cooperate.”
Ivan’s eyes suddenly widen in terror as I reach for the tools on the table beside him. Knives, pliers, a blowtorch. I pick up a pair of pliers, the metal glinting in the harsh overhead lights. “Let’s go old school, shall we? Last chance, Ivan. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll leave some of your fingers intact.”
Ivan’s eyes are even more frantic now. They dart around the room, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Ya ne mogu govorit’ Vyronov. I can’t talk. They’ll kill me if I do.”
Now that’s an improvement.
“I don’t see how that’s my problem. Now, are you going to tell me what I want to know, or shall we get this party started?” I shrug, my grip tightening on the pliers.
Ivan shakes his head, shrinking back in the chair he’s tied to. “Please, I’m begging you.”
I lean in close, my breath hot against his ear. “You should have thought about begging me before you got involved with my shit. A dozen men died when you fuckers hit that last shipment. Now be smart and start talking or bear the consequences.”
