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Note to self, ask Rian if I can renovate.
Lorenzo slammed the man into a metal chair, bolted to the ground. He swiftly sliced through the duct tape before cuffing each ankle to a leg of the chair. When he’d done the same to our captive’s arms, we stood back and assessed. Our captive’s skin was sallow under the harsh fluorescent light as he sat slumped, his eyes malevolent and angry.
Cormac leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Get a move on, Liam. I can’t go up to check on our girl until you’ve gotten answers out of this asshole.”
When I grabbed the man’s chin to pull his face up, I asked him, “Are you ready to talk?”
“You haven’t asked me any questions yet.” His Russian accent was heavy. “Do you think you can break me?” He laughed, a bitter edge to his voice. “You fucking Americans don’t know shit about torture.”
I grinned. These days, I kept my wildness locked up tight. Rian frowned on torture in general, and especially the painful cruelty I enjoyed inflicting. He’d make an exception for our girl, though. It’s not like he’d be able to stuff this guy’s intestines back in when I finished, to take him back to the Russians.
“Lucky for you, I wasn’t born here either.” I slammed his head into the back of the metal chair, and he grunted, but didn’t make any other noise.
“Who ordered the hit at the port today?”
The Bratva laughed. “You are a fucking moron.”
I walked to the cabinets along the walls of the Russo’s basement and rummaged through them until I found the tools I needed. Lorenzo grinned at me, then dragged a metal table across the room so I could drop my armload. He handed me a pair of latex gloves. Perfect.
The scalpel I held in my hand glinted in the light. I pushed it against our captive’s cheek, cutting just deep enough to bleed and admiring the dark red that dripped down his face. Twisting my lips at the asymmetry I’d caused, I snapped my wrist and cut his other cheek, too.Better.
“Enlighten me.”
The Bratva didn’t say anything, just stared straight ahead.
Cormac shoved himself off the wall. I guess he was getting bored. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”
The Bratva spat blood again, hitting Cormac’s shoes. “Who the fuck cares? You’re not Tony Russo, and you can’t do shit until he gets here.”
“Fucking Russians, dumb as bricks,” Cormac responded, nudging the Russian’s shoe with his own. “My friend’s name is Liam Bryne.”
The Russian’s eyes widened. “The Butcher,” he whispered.
“That’s right,” I said, nodding, unleashing a bit of my crazy as I admired how his grimace stretched the streaks of blood on his face into an artful caricature.
“Why did you try to kill Ginevra today?” I asked.
He spat again. I held out my hand. Cormac handed me a pair of pliers, keeping his eyes on the Russian prisoner the entire time. Lorenzo stepped back, perhaps to watch an artist at work. I jammed the needle nose of the pliers under the prisoner’s index finger and yanked. He screamed as I pulled the fingernail out.
“Why did you shoot at the Russo girls today?” I repeated.
The Bratva shook his head, but said nothing. Goddamned Russians.
Cormac muttered something under his breath, but all I caught was his irritation. “Do you have a problem, Cormac?” I snapped at him.
Cormac cut his eyes toward Lorenzo. “Get a fucking move on,” he repeated.
Damn. Always ruining my fun. He was right, though. We couldn’t trust any answers out of this guy’s mouth once Alexi got down here.Fine.
I took the pliers and wrenched out a few more fingernails.
The Russian screamed. “They wanted to scare her!”
Without letting him know how surprised I was, I pulled out another nail. “Scare who?” I asked, around his whimpering.
“Scare the Russo bitch!” he shouted.
“Which one?”
