Page 50 of Tattooed Heart

“You will tell me everything,” I growl, leaning close. “Every name. Every safehouse. Every route. Every detail of his surveillance on her. If you lie, if you hesitate for even a moment, I swear on our father's grave, I will make you bleed out on this floor while you beg for death.”

He nods frantically, choking, desperate for air. I release my grip, and he collapses forward as far as his restraints will allow, gasping like a man who has nearly drowned.

The light above swings slightly from my sudden movements, creating long, undulating patterns across the concrete floor.

“You do not get to die today,” I inform him, my voice terrifyingly calm. “But before this night is over, you will certainly wish that you had.”

Aleksandr places a hand on my shoulder. “We will handle this. No one touches our family. No one threatens what is ours.” His voice holds the absolute certainty of a man accustomed to dealing death sentences. “Morozov has signed his own death warrant.”

For thirty minutes, I stand alone in the hallway outside the basement door, the cold seeping through the concrete walls, penetrating my core. Aleksandr has walked away. His part was done. Now it’s Lev’s turn to extract the truth, one brutal detail at a time, about Morozov’s network and the surveillance on Sandy.

My mind conjures her image without mercy. Her voice when she laughs, the softness of her skin under my fingertips, and the gentleness in her eyes when she placed my hand on her stomach and told me I was going to be a father.

That child is mine. That future is mine. That happiness belongs to me after years of blood, violence, and sacrifice.

And Morozov wants to tear it all away.

This isn’t the first time Morozov has targeted her, but it’s different. Morozov's plans to have me killed in prison failed. Now, he’s escalating, targeting not just Sandy but our unborn child. He wants to destroy everything I love before destroying me.

I push myself away from the wall and head for the stairs. The house above is quiet. Most of the staff have retired for the night, leaving only security personnel to move silently through their rounds.

Aleksandr is waiting for me in his office, a glass of vodka in his hand, another poured and waiting on the desk.

“She will be protected,” he insists as I enter, not bothering with preliminaries. “I have already dispatched additional men to supplement your team.”

I nod, taking the offered drink and draining it in one swallow. The alcohol burns a path down my throat, a welcome distraction from the cold rage building inside me.

“This ends now,” I spit. “Morozov has been a problem for too long. It is time for him to disappear.”

Aleksandr’s smile is chilling. “I have something special planned for our friend Morozov. Something that will send a message to anyone else who might consider targeting the Avilov family.”

“And Russo?” I ask.

Aleksandr nods, his eyes reflecting the same murderous intent I feel. “His disrespect cannot continue. He will be taken care of.”

I pour myself another drink, staring into the clear liquid. “I want to be the one to end Morozov. For Sandy and my child.”

“As is your right,” Aleksandr agrees. “Family is everything,brat.”

Aleksandr might be ruthless and feared throughout the New York City criminal underworld, but his loyalty to blood has never wavered. The Avilov family stands together, always. It is our strength and our salvation in a world that offers neither.

“Get some rest,” he advises.

I leave him there, making my way to Sandy and our bedroom. Outside, rain begins to fall again, pattering softly against the windows. New life is everywhere this season. Buds on trees, flowers pushing through the soil, and the child growing inside Sandy. A life that I will protect at any cost.

I have a war to win. And it starts tonight.

17

SANDY

I barely close the door behind me when Dimitri calls my name from down the hall. Something in his voice makes my heart skip a beat. It isn’t panic, but it isn’t calm either. It is dark and controlled.

I open the door to find him striding toward me, his jaw clenched and his eyes stormy. The moment he reaches me, he places both hands on my arms, steady but not gentle.

“We need to talk,” he instructs.

I nod, sensing that whatever he is about to say isn’t just important. It’s life-altering.

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