My head snapped back. “Tonight? I?—”
“Not the Mississippi business. I told you to take some time after your return. This is other business. You will see how we deal with traitors,” Maxim explained. “We will leave shortly.”
After more than ten months training in Siberia, I felt like I could deal with anything, shit. But I wanted to watch the Sidorov Bratva in action, figure out my place as the main enforcer and brother to the king.
Thinking of the woman upstairs, though, I hoped the way we dealt with traitors was quick. I missed her already.
The brief,cool smile that lifted my lips disappeared as fast as it had come. I was glad for the shadows of the warehouse that hid that momentary lapse. Yes, I finally had Ilya Romanov where I wanted. Yes, he was in the worst shape I had ever seen him in. But he was not dead... yet. I had no reason to celebrate. I strode across the room slowly, walking closer to where he hung, strung from chains, his body twisted in unimaginable ways, the one eye I had allowed to remain open focused on me.
“Who this nigga piss off?” Targen muttered. “This just how I dreamed of fucking you up.”
His words amused me. Targen was a big man, but so was I. He wanted retribution. I could not wait for him to try.
“Whenever you are ready,brat,” I promised him. He had been asking for a fight since his return. I could feel it building.“Good job, Grigor,” I told my top enforcer, noting his bloodied clothes and bruised knuckles.
Grigor was a good man. Loyal. Focused. Smart. And he took an unholy pleasure in hurting others. That was something I could understand, respect even. There were those I wanted to hurt.
Badly.
He nodded. “Of course, sir.”
I stopped a foot away from the spectacle that was Ilya Romanov. He was once my sworn enemy. Now, he was just another foolish soul on his way to ashes. For a minute, I just soaked in the sight of him. Finally, I spoke.
“You do not look so good, old friend,” I greeted.
The one eye blinked. He stared. And then his lips dared to curve. Rage spilled through me at his insolence. I reached behind me for the SR-1 Vektor I always kept close, ready to end his worthless, disrespectful life.
“Sir!” Artyom, my right hand, called.
I stopped immediately, my mouth tightening as I realized this piece of shit had made me do something I never did, especially not in front of my men.
Lose control.
My control was legendary. Cool, respected, always in place. No one ever shook it. Except… except for—I pushed the thought away faster than I could complete it. That was a lifetime ago, a lifetime that this bastard had helped destroy. He would suffer a little more for that before I let him escape eternally.
“You wonder how I am still smiling, in my current circumstances. When you feel like you have won. When my end is almost certain,” he said, the words coming out slowly.
Probably a testament to broken ribs or his damaged throat. I felt a grim satisfaction.
“Your end is not almost certain. Itiscertain,” I corrected coolly. “At that point, I will have won this particular battle. But the war goes on.”
Again, his half smile. Again, my flash of rage, but kept in check this time.
“You will never win against me, Maxim,” he taunted.
I looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow at his sad little announcement.
“Okay,” I said, refusing to entertain a delusional, half-dead coward.
Turning, I opened my mouth to tell Artyom and Targen that we were ready to leave. And then Ilya spoke again.
“Do you ever think about Seraph?”
For a second, I froze. Artyom noted, shook his head once discreetly, warning me not to go down this path, to continue walking away from the man who would not last much longer than the night.
“Of course, you think about her,” Ilya continued. “She was once all you could think?—”
I turned back. “Why would I waste my time thinking about a whore? Especially one that lowered herself to sleep with you.”
