“Unlike Sergei.”
Roman shoots me a wry look. It does little to settle my itch to kill. I told Sergei I’d slit his throat if he touched Justine. I don’t disperse any threats I can’t execute. I’ll just need to be inventive since Sergei is being sheltered by the last man I expected.
“If Justine wakes, come get me.”
Nodding, Dok takes a protective stance in front of Justine’s bedroom door. Confident he won’t let me down, and more trusting of my men now Sergei is gone, I push off my feet and head to the kitchen. Roman shadows my stalk. I can hear his brain ticking a million miles an hour, but he remains quite while I hunt for the device I know he hid in the pantry, untrusting of my surly mood. I don’t blame him. I can’t recall the last time I was this worked up.
When I find a tablet similar to the one Roman handed me earlier stashed behind a year’s worth of rice, Roman attempts to snatch it out of my grasp. I glare at him, warning him I’ll rip him into motherfucking shreds if he doesn’t back the fuck up. Roman is like a father to me, but my mood is hostile. I’m the most unhinged I’ve ever been, so now is not the time for him to ‘mentor’ me.
After holding his hands up in defeat, Roman yanks out a frail wooden chair from beneath the dining nook, spins it around, then straddles it backward. His face is as hard as a stone, and as impenetrable as the shield I plan to shroud Justine in.
His tough stance all but crumbles when Justine’s fight to get away from Sergei blares through the speakers of the surveillance device. Sergei calls Justine a whore, and goads her to fight him because her screams turn him on before he yanks at her shorts so fiercely, her button pops open under the strain of his tugs.
Considering Justine is barely half Sergei’s size, her fight is commendable. She gives it her all to get away from him, and was on the verge of winning before I intervened. The thought puffs my chest with pride, although it’s barely felt through the anger turning my veins black.
My hands shake when I stab my finger on the rewind button so I can watch Sergei’s crime over and over again. Each second of reel convinces me my sentencing was right.
Sergei is going to die.
I’m going to kill him.
Then I’ll parade his death for the world to see.
He hurt what is mine, so he will hurt for his stupidity.
When the video commences playing for the fourth time, Roman shouts, “Enough!” He stands from his chair, the veins in his tattooed arms pumping. “I get it. I understand, but will you stop fucking watching it?”
“He was going to rape her, Roman! He was going to kill her.”
“I know, but watching it over and over again won’t change the outcome. You stopped him, Nikolai, so stop taunting yourself as if you didn’t.” He snatches the tablet from my hand, tosses it onto the kitchen counter, then runs a shaky hand over his thick afro. “I understand the pain clawing at your chest. I feel the hurt poisoning your blood, but if you kill Sergei, Vladimir will—”
My angry roar bounces off the white-washed walls when I interrupt, “I don’t fucking care what he’ll do to me! I will suffer the injustice.”
Roman is quick to shut down the panic detonating in his eyes, but I see it before he fully tucks it away. “He won’t stop them this time.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to.” I take a step closer to him, the air pumping out of my nostrils as chilly as my words. “But I’m not a sixteen year old boy anymore, Roman. I know how Vladimir thinks. I know what makes him tick, so I’m more than capable of withstanding his wrath.”
A fatherly flare darts through Roman’s almost black eyes when he says, “You are… but is Justine?”
His question jabs at me like a knife to the chest, stealing both the air from my lungs and the words from my throat.
The fury in Roman’s eyes softens when he locks them with mine. He doesn’t speak, he just lets me see the worry etched on his face. Justine is barely coping after her tussle with Sergei. She’s not strong enough to endure the madness that comes from being drafted in a war against a man as evil as Vladimir.
She will be soon.
She’s just not there right now.
Confident I understand his objective, Roman slaps my shoulder before giving it a firm squeeze. “You will sentence Sergei for his crimes. We just need to work out a way you can do that while keeping both you and Justine safe.” I’m about to say I can take care of myself, but he continues talking, foiling my endeavor. “Vladimir’s family shares blood. Ours share burdens, Nikolai. This is our fight as much as it is yours.”
Stealing my chance to reply, he squeezes my shoulder for a second time before lurking out of the kitchen, taking the tablet with him.
* * *
Several hours later, my eyes pop up from the weapon distribution schedule in front of me. Even with my agitation still on edge, business must continue as normal. I’ve been placing footholds around Vladimir’s empire the past three years, and now more than ever, I need to ensure they’re capable of withstanding the load I’m about to place on them. My competitors are weak, villainous men, but they protect their assets well—assets that will crumble when the monarch of their realm falls victim to my knife.
I stab out my cigarette into an ashtray when Justine’s head pops out of her bedroom door. Since Dok is blocking her exit, she misses me signaling for him to stand down. She looks well rested, so there’s no need to keep her trapped in her room. I’m also interested to see how she interacts with my crew. I was born a mafia prince; my entire life has been consumed by it, so I don’t just need a woman strong enough to stand at my side, I need her to walk through the inferno of hell with me.
Justine has already done it once, and survived without her wings smoldering from the heat, so I’m confident she’ll do it again. Sergei’s attack would have most women cowering for days. Justine only rested for a few hours. She battled the most vicious man in Vladimir’s crew and came out without a scratch on her. If that doesn’t prove to you she’s an angel seeking chaos, I have no fucking clue how else to convince you.
