Page 61 of Scarred Bratva King

Before I can say anything, a sharp knock echoes through the room.

"Boss," Ivan’s voice calls from the other side of the door. "We need you downstairs."

“What is it?” I shout back, trying not to sound disappointed. “Did he find him?”

“Dmitri’s caught one of Marco’s people.”

Veronica tenses beneath me, her gaze darting toward the door. “You better get back to work,” she says, pulling away from me.

"Stay here," I murmur, my voice rougher than I intend. "I’ll be right back."

Dim, flickering lights cast eerie shadows on the walls. Marco’s associate, a wiry man in his thirties, is tied to a metal chair in the center of the bare room. His face is pale, his eyes darting wildly toward me as I walk in.

I step inside, my boots echoing on the concrete floor. Ivan follows behind me, his expression unreadable. Dmitri’s leaning against the far wall, his knuckles bruised.

“He’s not talking,” Dmitri says, his voice calm. “Rude, don’t you think?”

I stop a few feet from the man, studying him in silence. His breath comes in short, shallow gasps. The faint tremor in his hands gives him away. He’s already afraid. He knows my reputation. That will speed things up.

“Such a shame,” I reply coldly, shrugging off my jacket and handing it to Ivan. I roll up the sleeves of my shirt, the movement slow and deliberate. “We offer him our hospitality and he spits it back in our faces.”

My every action is calculated to send one message:This will not end well for you.

The man swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You don’t scare me,” he stammers. “Lombardi will have you killed if you don’t let me go.”

“Will he?” I step closer, crouching down to meet his wide, terrified eyes. “You know, I was in your position years ago. Tiedto a chair, no chance of escape. Do you want to know what I did?”

He glares at me, saying nothing. “I got stabbed and left to bleed to death. It was Vito Lombardi who wielded the blade.” I tap my face. “Gave me this scar. You get a lot of time to think while blood drains from you. Want to know what I thought about?”

He still says nothing.

“I thought about dying. Looked the reaper in the face and told him I wasn’t scared. I was ready to die. I made peace with that fact. You still think you can talk him out of it.”

I shake my head. “You can’t. The date of your death has been set since your birth. That’s what I learned that day. It wasn’t my time.” I glance at my watch. “But is it yours?”

“Fuck you,” he says, spitting blood onto the floor.

I move to the table in the corner of the room. It’s bare except for a few tools: a knife, a pair of pliers, and a blowtorch. I pick up the pliers, turning them over in my hands, inspecting their quality.

“People always think they can lie to me,” I say conversationally. “It’s amusing, really. They think if they pretend not to fear me, I’ll be rattled. But here’s the thing?—”

I turn back to him, my gaze locking onto his. “—It never works. Not when it comes to the people I care about. You’re a threat to my wife. You will die. The only question is whether you talk first.”

I give him a wide shit eating grin. “Everyone thinks they won’t talk but they all do eventually.”

His eyes widen. “Go fuck yourself,” he says but there’s a tremor in his voice.

I shake my head. “You’re not looking at the reaper man to man. You’re a scared little boy and you think if you play this right, you might live.”

I carry the pliers over toward him. “Youtalk.Now. Or this gets unpleasant.”

I place the pliers down on the arm of his chair, the clink of metal on metal making him flinch. “My friend,” I say as I place the pliers down again, picking up the blowtorch. “Your boss has a nephew. Marco Gorlami. Burned my wife. You ever smelled flesh that’s on fire?”

I light the blowtorch. “It’s like pork, a lot of people say.”

I move toward him, the flame inching toward his face. “Stop,” he says, shuffling in place, trying to fight the bonds holding him to the chair. “Don’t.”

I smile coldly. “Tell me everything you know about Vito Lombardi’s security.”

---