Page 28 of Lethal Obsession

Dima grips him from behind as my blade slices the man’s shoulder with deft, precise strokes, so fast I’m half done before he shrieks with shock. Blood runs down his arm, pooling like mercury on the ground.

“When you get to prison,” I say calmly as I work, “men will see these scars and know that it was me who marked you. These cuts will keep you alive, Marty. They will tell the men who might otherwise kill you that you belong to me.” I make a final flourish and step back, nodding at Dima.

He pulls a leather bag from his pocket, takes a handful of the mixture inside it, and presses it into the cuts delineating the Romanov eagle that symbolizes the Petrovsky clan.

Marty screams as Dima rubs it into the cuts.

“That mixture is made specially for me by a Nigerian medicine man,” I say conversationally as Marty retches onto the floor. “It’s used by tribesmen in his country for ritual scarification and works very quickly. Several hours from now, those cuts will get infected. And no matter what a doctor does, they’ll never heal quite right. You’ll be left with raised scars, in a shape that will be recognized in every prison in Florida. But like I said—be grateful for them, Marty, because those scars will keep you alive.” I smile coldly. “Until the next time we meet, that is, when we can discuss your future again. A little something to look forward to while you rot in a cell.”

The congressman stares at me in terror.

I turn to Lucchese. “Unless you still have objections, I’d suggest you leave, now. Two of my men will keep an eye on our friend here until my mixture has done its work. They’ll remove the congressman when they’re done, as well as compensate you generously for your trouble, of course.”

The Italian, who has grown quite pale throughout my operation, stands up hastily. “That works for me.”

“Your father appreciates fine cognac, from memory.” I smile at him, which only makes him even more uneasy. “I have a Tsar Alexander Cru Grande so good it will make him cry. I’ll send it over tomorrow as a gesture of appreciation.”

“Th-thank you,” he stammers, backing toward the door.

“Now,” I say, turning back to the man in the chair, “unfortunately, I have a plane to catch, so our time together is at an end.” I gesture to the two grim-faced men standing behind me. “My friends will keep you company until I’m safely out of the country. We wouldn’t want you calling your friends at the FBI before I leave, now would we? And while we’re on the topic of the FBI, Marty.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and scroll to a live video feed. “This is your daughter, in her room at college. I have cameras in her room. In her bathroom. I can watch your daughter shower any time I want.”

He struggles in his chair, his face red and furious.

“But unlike you, Marty, I don’t get off on watching college girls get naked. So your little girl is safe—for now. But I know where she is, Marty. I know where your wife is. And no matter where they go or how hard you try to hide them, if you decide to talk to the FBI, I will find them. Of course,” I say, wiping his blood from my knife with his suit jacket, “so long as you keep your mouth shut, they’ll both remain perfectly safe. Which is quite the favor, considering your little girl helped you frame me.”

“She didn’t know,” he gasps.

“Maybe. Maybe not. So long as you keep your mouth shut, it doesn’t really matter to me either way. But one word about me or my organization, Marty—even the slightest whisper—and there isn’t a criminal organization or witness protection program in the fucking world that will keep them safe. Do you understand me?”

Gulping, he nods.

“Good.” I turn to my men. “I’ll be in touch,” I say curtly.

They nod, putting out their hands for a brief grip as Dima and I leave.

“Any trouble with the Luccheses,” I say to Dima as we climb into the limo on the street, “call me straight away. The old man owes me a favor. And we’ve always worked well with the Italians.”

“What about the Cardeñas boys?” He glances sideways at me. “Those pricks are going to fucking love this. They’ll try to take advantage.”

“I’ll call Rodrigo Cardeñas in Colombia. He knows that if his family loses us, they lose access to the Miami market, especially with ICE breathing down their necks. He’ll keep them in line, and if he can’t, he’ll kill them.”

Dima tilts his head like he’s weighing this up as an option.

I shrug. “The only reason I haven’t carved them up before now is out of respect for Rodrigo, or more to the point, for his father. But that tolerance stops the minute they put you or any of our people in danger.”

He looks narrowly at me as the limo turns onto the freeway. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not planning to come back anytime soon?”

Maybe for the same reason I get the feeling that I don’t fucking want to be here.

Despite the heaviness of entering the basement with my father, with every minute that’s passed since Renata’s warning, I’ve felt a weight start to lift.

There’s something about being fundamentally powerless to control the outcome that is freeing, in a way I haven’t felt since the day I overthrew the Orlovs and took back my family legacy.

Since long before that, if I’m honest.

The truth is that from the day the Orlovs took my family compound when I was thirteen years old, my entire life has revolved around first overthrowing my captors and later, after that was done, rebuilding what they stole from us. Not for a single day have I stopped working relentlessly to first build, then expand, my organization and power.

But now, for the first time, I have no idea when, or even if, I’ll be free to come back here.