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“Fine …” He spits blood onto the floor, almost hitting my shoe. “Zakhar has been feeding us information about your operations. He told us which warehouses to hit, which routes hurt the most, where the accounts are hidden. Everything!”
I clench my teeth. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“He’ll kill you, Starukhin.” Bianchi looks at me, his eyes narrow with hatred. “He wants your Bratva to disappear as if it never existed.”
“I have his daughter.” I lean over him. “But I’m sure you know that already.”
“He’ll take her back.” Bianchi can’t conceal the stench of fear behind his bravado. “And leave you dead.”
Now we’re getting somewhere.
“The man at the wedding shower …” I start.
“A fool,” replies Bianchi, tensing up. “He was only supposed to get confirmation that you had her. Nothing else. I gotta hand it to you Russian pricks.” He chuckles darkly. “You’d think Vasily Barinov’s death at a wedding would’ve taught you to stop using outside caterers. We should count our blessings that you’re all so fucking stupid.”
“Yet you’re the one sitting in that chair.” I shrug. “I wonder what that makes you?”
“A messenger,” Bianchi growls. “Zakhar wants his daughter back. If she were returned …”
My teeth clench, and my hand squeezes to shut him up. “She won’t be.”
Bianchi catches his breath when I let go. “Then you’ve dug your own grave, Starukhin. Zakhar will make you beg. Same way your brother did!”
My hand works faster than my brain. I lash out and knock Bianchi and the chair over onto the cement floor. The man groans in pain. I stare down at him, my fists clenched at my sides, ready to hit again. Bianchi will pay for what he just said.
“Pakhan,” Rurik speaks calmly. “Maybe he has a use. Alive.”
I ignore him at first. My chest heaves with rage. I feel the anger and adrenaline mixing into a lethal cocktail. I want to kill Bianchi because I don’t have Zakhar in my grip. I want to make him suffer for daring to mention Matvei. I take a step toward Bianchi, my hand flipping the pliers to the pointed tip.
“Pakhan,” Rurik repeats, this time more forcefully.
I glare at Rurik as if he’s next. “Chto?” I demand.
“He says he’s a messenger,” Rurik replies. “Then make him send a message.”
Anton motions toward two workers, and two men in coveralls rush over, scoop Bianchi and the chair upright, and then hurry away again.
“He’s no good to us dead.” Rurik’s voice is soothing and steady. “But alive, there are things he cantell.”
The thought halts me, and I see Eden in my mind. Her body bent over my desk, moaning loudly as I push into her. Begging me to make her come, screaming for me to do it now. I shake the image out of my head quickly, before I harden.
I wonder what Zakhar would do if I sent him a video of me ruining his little girl.
“It’s your lucky day.” I glare at Bianchi coldly. “Tell Zakhar that for everything he does against the Bratva, his precious little girl will suffer more.”
“He knows you’re using her for bait,” Bianchi groans. “I told you. He just wants his daughter back. Once he has her, he’ll disappear again. Like he did for all these years.”
I lean down, getting into his face. “Is that what you really believe? After everything he’s toldyou?”
Bianchi shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what I believe, does it?”
I stare at him, considering my options before I stand up straight to back away from the smell clinging to his piss-soaked trousers. “Go back to Zakhar. Tell him that his daughter is alive, but every action he takes against me, I will repay on her.”
“I can’t tell him that!” Bianchi stares at me like I’ve gone insane. “He’ll shoot me.”
“And you think what I offer is any better?” I laugh, and Anton joins in with a loud chuckle. “Last I checked, you still have seven nails left on your hand.”
Bianchi sighs.
