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“You can, sir.”
I look up from the phone, puzzled.
“I can?”
Anton nods. “If you swipe past the messages, you can see who paid the account.”
My thumb swipes fervently until I land on the information I’m looking for.
“Fuck.”
I can’t believe this.
My money funded the hit on Vanya’s family.
Which tells me one very important thing.
I have a mole in my organization.
* * *
The warehouse again.
Dusk has fallen over the desert and the winter wind is biting as I step out of the Escalade and walk toward the place where men come to die. I bleed them out here. Their pained cries are the melody that paints these walls.
“Boss,” Sasha smirks. He’d been giving me updates every hour on my soon-to-be bride. After picking up her cell phone, she’d asked to visit my mother, which I’d allowed. Apparently, Vanya hadn’t been too pleased at having to ask permission. Something I’m sure I’ll hear about when I get home.
My cock hardens at the thought of punishing her. It’s been far too long since I’ve turned her ass a pretty shade of red. The next time I do it, I’ll be fucking her from behind so that I can feel the heat of her punished skin on my thighs.
“Princess all tucked away in her tower?” I tease. If there is something I have been learning, Vanya is anything but a princess. She has shown herself to be so much more. When she’d asked me my name in Russian last night, something stirred inside of me. A longing I’d put aside a long time ago. She reminds me of the girl in my letters. The ones Ada had written to me for years before we ever met.
But like everything else, those letters proved to be a lie.
Yet I can’t stand the thought of getting rid of them. There are times when I wonder if Ada had even written those letters or sent those text messages. No matter how hard I tried, I could never reconcile the two.
Had Ada written those to lure me into marrying her? Had her games of manipulation started that young? If so, it would have been at the edict of Castellanos. She would have been sixteen when we started messaging. That is another thing that bothered me. The letters always sounded as if they were written by someone a few years younger at least, not a teenager.
“Well, if it isn’t the big boss man himself,” comes a hoarse laugh from the middle of the room. My eyes slide to the man hanging by his neck from the rafters, his feet barely touching the box below him. His face is a mess of cuts and bruises. One eye is swollen shut and the other is bloodshot. Rivers of blood run from his nose and mouth.
“Luan Osmari, the Albanian Butcher.” I walk up to him, my head tilting so I can look him in the face. “You’re a lousy shot.”
“Shot the Castellanos bitch,” he sneers. “How’s the whore doing? Get a piece of that wet, tight cunt? Find out how magically delicious it is?”
He’s trying to bait me. It won’t work.
“Too bad for you,” I tell him. “She survived. What a blow to your ego that must have been.”
“Who says I was paid to kill her?”
Interesting.
“So, you meant to keep her alive?” I ask. “Why?”
He snorts. “Why would I tell you?”
I shrug. “Maybe because I’m the only thing between you and a very painful death.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Volkov,” he spits at me, blood spots appearing on my white dress shirt. Anna is going to hate me for this. She hates blood stains.
