Page 29 of Where the Wind Whispers

“Like what?” Kaz asked absently, shoving the key into place and starting the engine.

Rus tapped his thumb against his armrest, appearing thoughtful. “A man with an allegiance only to himself. However this ends, he doesn’t give a shit—he does business with both sides. He has nothing to lose.”

“Have a little faith,” Kaz said, merging onto the interstate as he followed the directions on his phone. “I know who Alfie Shelby is. Don’t worry, his loyalty is to the highest bidder.”

“And you think Alberto Gallucci can’t outbid you?” Rus asked with a dry stare.

“He could,” Kaz acquiesced, “but there’s more value for Alfie in my business contacts than in the Italians’.”

“Right.”

Rus didn’t sound as though he fully agreed with that, but he would just have to trust that Kaz knew what he was talking about. After all, he had been working with Alfie for years now, though this knowledge wasn’t widely known. Between his father not wanting to do business with Alfie at all and Rus no longer having such an active role in the Bratva, he had kept the information more to himself.

After about forty-five minutes of driving, Kaz pulled into what looked like an abandoned school, the brick of the building marred with age and graffiti. Circling around the back—where his car wouldn’t be as visible from the street—he parked beside a shiny black Escalade, pocketing his keys as he climbed out.

Rus wasn’t far behind as they entered the school through the rear door with a broken lock. Though the interior was dark, the hallway smelled strongly of mildew and something else he didn’t want to think about—or step in—but a light glowed in the distance, a clear direction for them to go in.

They weren’t halfway down the hall before a zap sounded, followed by a man’s agonized scream.

“Fucking hell,” an accented voice—Alfie’s—said. “Quiet down.”

The moment he was in the room, Kaz’s gaze centered on the man roped to a chair, his feet submerged in a large aluminum tin of water. In nothing more than a pair of black briefs with a blindfold over his eyes, the man was trembling. Kaz realized with a blink that either the man was sweating profusely or he’d been purposely drenched.

But besides his current predicament, Kaz was more focused on the man’s tattoos. He might not always remember faces, but he remembered the ink that defined who they were.

Three domes of a Russian cathedral in the center of his chest, a pair of stars beneath his collarbone, and an assortment of others with less precision along his arms and even a few on his legs.

Denis was his name—one of Vasily’s men from the old country.

Thinking back, Kaz couldn’t say he had ever really liked the man.

“It’s about time, innit?” Alfie called as he stood, tapping his cane against the floor. “I was starting to think you lot weren’t going to show. Then all of this,” he said, with an absent wave to Denis, “would have been for nothing.”

Kaz arched a brow, looking from Alfie back to one of his own—or at least a man he thought was supposed to be one of his. It was then he noticed the silent man standing behind Denis holding what looked like jumper cables in gloved hands.

Alfie, apparently, had brought in a generator and hooked up not only the bright spotlights that were beaming down onto Denis, but he also decided that electrocution was the way to go.

Couldn’t say the man wasn’t creative.

“It’s about time you cleaned house, eh?” Alfie asked as he took a step closer to him, but not close enough that he would be splashed with water. “You asked me to find your traitor, so here you are.”

“What proof do you have?” Rus asked.

Denis’ head jerked blindly in his direction when he heard his voice.

“Would you not take my word for it?” Alfie asked with a casual air, though anyone who knew him knew nothing was casual about the inquiry.

Despite being the youngest in the room, Kaz also seemed to be the most rational as he put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, a silent command to let him handle it. “You know the way we do business, Alfie. We don’t act unless given a reason. Now, answer the question.”

From his breast pocket, Alfie produced a small tape, holding it up with two fingers. “Didn’t think to bring a camera, mates. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Kaz narrowed his eyes, knowing that someone like him wouldn’t have forgotten a detail like that. Alfie wanted to see what he would do next because the tape could very well hold the truth, but Kaz had no way to verify it at the moment.

He would either have to trust that Alfie was right about the man he held hostage, or he was wrong, and they would have killed Denis for nothing.

Fucking Alfie.

“My associate seems to think you’ve betrayed the brotherhood,” Kaz said in Russian as he turned his attention to the man in the chair. While he knew that Alfie could understand what he was saying, Denis would think this was a private conversation.