Page 2 of Black Ledger

Although corpses didn’t shiver—I didn’t think.

“I mean, you do have to give me credit. It’s tough to scare a mafia boss... let alone kidnap one. Do you think your son is coming for you? Or do you think he’s celebrating your demise?”

I tapped the tip of the knife against my ruby lips suggestively, and his eyes tracked the gesture, his cock hardening.

What a sick bastard.

“Just out of curiosity, Aleksandr, did you enjoy raping your son’s girlfriend? Did you enjoy violating her with your crooked little micro-penis? Did Severin enjoy it? Was he one of the monsters watching the security feeds?”

He didn’t actually have a micro-penis. The Volkov men were far too endowed. Painfully. Horribly endowed. However, it was fun to say, and my philosophy lately was: if it’s not fun, then why bother?

He made a sound that might have been a growl, but the duct tape smothered it far too well.

“Ah, yes, dearest, you know why you are here.” I moved the knife down to the base of his engorged cock, pressing hard enough to break the skin and cause blood to trickle down his groin. He screamed. “Oh, don’t worry, my pet. I am not going to cut it off yet.”

I set down the knife and picked up my paintbrush. After all, I was an artist. “No, not yet.”

I examined the bristles. Stunning. I sighed, because apparently I was in a theatrical mood. “I once thought that you would be my last kill, my final boss, if you will. But then I realized you only gave me to them. You offered me up on a silver platter.”

I twisted the lid of my metal container with care and dipped the brush inside.

“I will keep you as my prisoner. One day for every hour you raped me.” I returned to his naked body. “You will beg me to kill you, the way I begged you. And I won’t. Just like you never stopped for me. I won’t answer your pleas, and you won’t know when your time will end. Just like I didn’t.”

Then I brought the paintbrush to his cock and began my masterpiece. He pulled against his chains and howled. His erection wilted, but I kept painting until the word was finished. I stepped back, and the word burned bright like the North Star in the sky.

Whore.

The same word he had called me. The same word he had burned into my skin while he tortured me. And did so much worse. Over and over and over again.

“Ah, it’s perfect.”

Chapter Two

Severin Volkov

Age 36

Iwas pretty sure I was looking at my father’s penis. His severed penis with the word whore burned into it. But saying it was a penis… was a stretch. It looked like a taxidermied dildo, like a mold of one with the skin stretched and sewn over it.

It was a horrifying sight… just not enough. My father didn’t deserve a cock. I honestly wanted to shake the hand of the person currently torturing him, cutting him into pieces and sending them to me.

Although that last bit, I could live without.

Someone was threatening me… and my men. But I didn’t know why.

I hadn’t pissed anyone off recently—at least not to this extent.

Except the Italians…

It could have been the Carusos, but it didn’t feel like them. Then there were the cartels, Albanians, and Serbians. But we were on fairly good terms with all of them. And the Irish were nearly our allies—I was very close to finalizing an alliance with them, and now with my father out of the picture, it should be easy to solidify that pact.

I rubbed my chin. As much as I appreciated someone torturing and dismembering my father, I couldn’t let it stand. As the acting Pakhan of the Russian mafia, I couldn’t allow someone to kidnap the highest-ranking man in the organization. It reflected poorly on me and the Volkov house, and there were always vultures circling, waiting for weakness and readying to strike.

If I didn’t hunt down the vigilante and make an example of them, people would whisper that: “I wasn’t strong enough to lead the Bratva.” Since I was the newly minted leader of the Volkov family, I didn’t have room for weakness. Weakness was deadly. The sharks were circling and waiting for the chance to take over my empire.

I shouldn’t mix metaphors. Xeniya wouldn’t approve. My jaw tensed. I shouldn’t think about her. Not now. Not here. Not staring at my father’s severed cock, but then, I always thought about her. Every day of my life since she punched me in the face when we were eight years old.

Fuck.