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“I did.”
I leaned forward, my eyebrows drew together, and my nostrils flared. “Who?”
“The agent?”
“The…” Slowly, I pulled myself backward. “What fucking agent?”
I inhaled as deeply as my lungs would allow. Restraint. Control. I didn’t want to let go. All I wanted to do was to ram his fucking face into the desk. So, the bottle came next.
Crash! Against the wall.
The scent of pinewood and cologne slowly faded when the smell of spilled alcohol grew stronger.
“When I say ‘ask questions’, I’m not talking about some fucking cunt wearing a fancy suit and striped tie, okay, Boris? Allow me to spell it out for you since you’re fucking dumb.” I clenched my teeth. “You inherited that land from your father. And your father was the fucking Pahkan. Do you know what that means, Boris?”
He bit the corner of his mouth and shook his head, his idiocy annoyed the hell out of me.
I slammed my palms on the desk again and stood up. He flinched. “It fucking means that you ask us!”
His crime was sheer stupidity. Firstly, Boris Varkov was an idiot. Whenever I looked at him, I saw a twenty-seven-year-old child and nothing else. Every day and every conversation I had with him made me doubt if it was ever possible to make a man out of him.
Secondly, the lad, without informing us, had gone ahead to sell the land he inherited, disregarding the warehouse that was built on the property. To make it all worse, he denied to have known the importance of the warehouse before he made the sale.
I rounded the table, straightened my tie, and gave Fedor a slight nod. Fedor, my second in command is a big, tall motherfucker, and he towered over Boris as he stood behind him.
“What are you …why?” He knew better than to say another damn word, his gaze flickering back and forth between me and Fedor.
“Why did you sell it?” I slanted my head and studied him as I stood in front of him.
I needed more reasons to keep me from slipping. Otherwise, I would reconsider my decision to kill him and explain later.
Fedor glanced at me, seemingly interested in his answer too.
He licked his lips and I saw a sliver of fear in his eyes. “I had good intentions.”
I scoffed at his ignorance. His little brain couldn’t comprehend the implications of his actions, and that pissed me off. A slight nod and a wink were all Fedor needed before he grabbed Boris’s arm, flung him aside, dug his fingers into his neck, and slammed his face against my desk.
“Fuck your good intentions and tell me why you sold the fucking land!”
“Argh …okay, fine! Please, stop yelling. It’s making me nervous. I already told you it was a fucking mistake, Viktor. What I wanted was for the good of the business, and I thought selling off the land would be a great way to make some money to invest in the business.” Boris spat out as Fedor applied more pressure on his skull.
“You mean to invest in the fucking whores in the clubs, don’t you? Knowing you, you would blow that money. You are a fucking scumbag!” I leaned down and brought my lips to Boris’s ear.
“Jesus! I can explain. Let go of me.” His voice trembled.
Fedor waited for my okay before releasing his grip from Boris’s neck.
He straightened up again, crimson crawled up his neck and he rubbed it. “I mean a real investment, Viktor. Not the fucking whores or fucking clubs.”
“Why the fuck should I believe you?” I snarled.
The frustration etched deep on his face, and he pressed his lips together. “I’ve messed up. It’s all my fault.”
“It is his fault.” Fedor said, his face remaining hard and unperturbed as he stood beside me, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his eyes fixed on Boris “There’s more, isn’t there?”
Boris broke out in a sweat; the slight twitch of his eyebrow was a telltale sign that he was nervous. He turned around in his seat and tried to get Fedor to stop talking. “Things are already bad enough—”
“What’s more, Fedor?” If glares could murder a man, Boris would have been six feet under already.
