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"If you're going to kill us anyway, why should we tell you anything?" the man on the right asks.
A more intelligent response, if shortsighted.
"Because there's a world of pain in difference between a clean death and a dirty one. I can keep you alive for days and youwilltalk." I have only run across one man who didn't respond to any of my interrogation methods.
Serbian, he was a tough mofo that earned my respect if not my mercy.
These two? They're professional, but they aren't immune to pain. I'll prove that to them soon enough.
I open the top drawer on my tool chest and pull out the blackjack that belonged to my grandfather. My dad's father, not the asshole who left me with the Golubevs for a fucking year.
Pappous gave it to me when I turned thirteen and spent the next two years training me how to use it with lethal efficiency.
"First lesson. Don't spit at thepalach." When I mention the title the Russians have given me, the bratva scum both jerk in their chains. "So, you know who I am."
"Palachis a bogeyman. There is no assassin acting as executioner to the bratva."
"Tell that to the dozens of your brothers I sent to hell when you meet up with them later." I smack the man who spit at me with my blackjack at the right angle to knock two of his teeth out.
He grunts but doesn't cry out. Anticipation sends my blood rushing through my veins. I like a good challenge.
Two hours later, my muscles burn from a good workout, and I have a sheen of sweat on my arms and chest. Bloody and missing some teeth and fingernails, both men are covered in red blotches that will bruise if they live long enough.
My methods of interrogation ultimately cause them to shout their throats hoarse, but the information they reveal is minimal. Not useless though.
Knowing they are from Russia and do not plan to stay in Portland tells me they are acting as temporary muscle to help take over territory for a US based bratva. They stubbornly refuse to tell me which one, but I already have a good idea. And there is a long road of pain driven revelations between here and death for them.
Helios is doing a deep dive based on their vehicle registration. It's not a rental and it isn't owned by a shell company. Not good planning.
The man who owns it lists an apartment address in SE Portland as his home. Zephyr is hitting it now with his team.
I will be surprised if they find anything but an empty unit, used solely for the purpose of filing paperwork. But I recognize the name on the registration. The man is dead. I killed him two years ago.
Using his credentials is a forward-thinking security move. Too bad I know his bratva and all their connections as well as I do. The dead man was a shot caller for the Golubev Bratva.
Sure, it could be someone else with the same name, but I don't believe in coincidences.
So, the Golubevs, not the Semenovs. TheÁdis Adelfótitawill be able to maintain our truce with the Semenovs.
Maybe I should have expected this. The Golubevs are moving their territory north, where they believe they won't have syndicate competition. Portland would be a good location to rebuild their decimated ranks, especially with help from their bratva brethren from the homeland.
If we did not live here.
But what they do not realize is that they are trying to relocate to territory now claimed by their enemies, theÁdis Adelfótita. Worse for them, theirpalachnow calls Portland home.
Coincidence? No.
It is Nemesis at work. They would have been safer staying in California. Because I am Dímios, the instrument of Nemesis.
Chapter 17
LUCIA
After a night of intense lovemaking, we sleep in. Or I do. Atlas isn't there when I wake up, but there's a text on my phone.
Atlas:I'll be back to take you to lunch at 1:30.
The door to my office opens at precisely 1:30. Atlas stands in the opening, his gaze locked on me. "Ready?"
