Chapter 28 TWENTY EIGHT
Chapter 28 TWENTY EIGHT
SERGEI MOROZOV
Last night had been cold, but today’s sun was baking hot, beating down even through the thick shades of trees towering overhead. The wind howled through the branches, but it did nothing to cool my temper.
All I could see was red.
All I could feel was the anger boiling in my veins.
My bratans and I have had enemies before, more than just the Vescovi demon or his little minion, Marino. I had lived my life ever since my teenage years being a daredevil, and honestly, a man in the Bratva never runs out of enemies. It could be a disagreement from years ago, or a greedy partner wanting a bigger cut after an agreement. But never for once had I had a brawl with the Albanians.
Their sudden attack on my men today was completely unexpected. A harsh blow that stung like hell because I’d lost valuable men in that attack and a property as well, and to top that, they’d had one name on their lips that they should never have. ANYA VESCOVI. MY WIFE. It was almost laughable how something such as small as the ring on my finger could fill you with so much obligation and duty overnight.
Weird ones...
Such as... wanting to protect the daughter of an enemy. Wanting to protect the woman I was now married to. To submit the head of the men that had come for her at her feet, while she sat high on a throne.
Dead leaves and dirt crunched beneath my bare foot as I paced in a small isolated clearing deep in the woods behind the house, while my bratans, Ruslan, Ova, Pavel stood side by side in bloodied shirt, and right between us, bleeding into the dirt, was the bastard who had the guts to attack my men this morning.
True to Ruslan’s words, he wasn’t Italian, and honestly, his face was too grotesquely beaten up to be able to tell what nationality he belonged to. Blood trickled in thick trails from a massive gash on his forehead, almost showing the white of his skull, and his face was all sorts of color.
Purple, red, pink, from blows from Ruslan.
He was stripped naked from the chest up, his skin completely drenched in sweat and dirt.
I swung the heavy iron crowbar in my right hand more than once, my patience running out with every ticking second as I asked the same question for the umpteenth time.
“Why were you there?”
No answer.
“Who sent you?”
Still nothing.
“What do you want?”
Silence.
Nothing but whimpers and groans escaping his lips. Maybe I had been phrasing my questions wrongly. Maybe I had to phrase it better, maybe I just needed to use the crowbar in my hand to get the answers, because he remained mute.
I stopped pacing.
Crouched into the dirt in front of him. From closeup, with the crowbar tapping against his cheek lightly, he reeked of blood, sweat and piss, disgusting just as the one thick chunk of flesh hanging off his cheek.
“I'm being patient." I said. It was true. My fingers were twitching to hit. “And yet you're still breathing. You and your men killed thirty five well trained men of mine. Do you know how much at a loss that leaves me? How much time and money I spent training them to become my top men..?”
My voice was rising.
My chest was heaving.
“You couldn't have done this without help.” I stated. Yet, the man didn't look like he could hear shit of the words I was saying. “If you were able to spot the location, and even bypass my security... it means you have help.... Someone on the inside. Someone that… helped you get in. And that’s what I want to know. I’m going to put aside the first question, and politely, I need you to tell which of my men let you in today.”
I rose to my feet, fingers tightening around the bar, my heart racing as I asked through gritted teeth.
''WHO LET YOU IN?"
Somewhere at the back of my mind, seconds ticked. The bastard remained mute. There was no sign in his eyes that he even understood what the fuck I was saying, but the adrenaline coursing through my system almost drove me to a near-animalistic rage that was getting hard to control beneath my skin.
My eyes lifted.
Landed on Ruslan pacing in the distance, a few feet away, pale sweaty skin glistening as sunray perched through a tree branch above him, landing perfectly on the tattoos all over his back.
He was oblivious to my look, puffing smoke, so antsy.
I didn't linger too much.
My eyes darted to Ova, leaning against a tree bark, probably taller than the goliath that had been told in the bible, and then finally... finally... tiny weeny Pavel... the tech guru amongst my men, the tracker, the one that had been in charge of the house security.
The instant our eyes connected, I caught the way he froze for a millisecond before he pushed the frame of his glasses over his nose properly.
I looked at the man now, thoughts tumbling in my head enough to make a man go mad, before the next question slipped from my lips.
“Which of my men helped you get in?" I gritted, raising one one finger, pointing from Ova, “Him…” to Pavel. “Him…” and then finally, the pacing man a few feet away. “Or him?”
Pavel gasped.
Ova didn't even move an inch.
In the distance, Ruslan halted mid-pace.