Page 93 of Filthy Little Fix
He pulls me out of the terminal room.
He gives the disk to a guard outside and drags me down the same path he brought me: a long, gray, dirty corridor, full of rows of doors on the walls.
Near the end is the metal door with the highest security and most locks. The place we came from. He shoves me inside. The concrete scrapes my skin under my clothes.
He approaches. He crouches beside me, pulls the collar of my shirt. Brings his disgusting face close to mine. Rotten smell. "You'll beg me to stop when the boss isn't looking, you cheap whore."
He lets go. Before I can answer, he kicks my abdomen. My diaphragm spasms. It's hard to breathe for the time he turns his back and leaves, closing and locking the door, drowning me again in an almost comfortable darkness.
It's funny. If Dante said that, it would be an aphrodisiac.Dante. He could call me anything he wanted. I like him to curse me, threaten me. But here, with this putrid-smelling guy, I only feel disgust. The blows don't give me pleasure. His hatred is so automatic and impersonal—it's miles away from how passionate Dante's hands are.
Maybe this, Alexei and this guy, would have excited me before, if it was the first time. Chemically, who knows. Before Dante. I have a comparison now.
It's hard to beat that.
The door opens.A few hours later, perhaps. The bright light blinds me, and I hear hurried footsteps and low voices. Alexei Malakov returns, accompanied by three other men and a metal chair.
The same brute who kicked me earlier approaches. He pulls me from the floor and drags me to the newly placed chair. My wrists are still tied, and every movement sends searing pain from my wrist and ribs.
I sit down. The metal is cold against my skin. My back aches, but I lift my head, forcing a smile. "How kind," I provoke, looking directly at the brute. As soon as he finishes adjusting me and steps away, I blow him a kiss. Playing with fire. He wants to kill me.
The brute's neck muscles pulse. Looks like they're about to explode. His fists clench, and he takes a step forward, but a chilling look from Alexei stops him. His rage is obvious, and I revel in it. Even trapped, I still have control over something. A henchman's fragile masculinity.
"My analysts confirmed. The data you gave us is legitimate. You fulfilled your part," Alexei says. This means my dormant script has already done its job.
The brute returns to his side, and I rest my back against the metal. It's uncomfortable, but having something to support my torso is appreciated.
"Meanwhile, Dante Volkov was out there, setting my empire on fire," Alexei continues. "Warehouses, stocks, men... he's trying to erase the Malakov name from the map. This isn't retaliation. It's disproportionate."
"Dante is a passionate man, sir," I say with a crooked smile, remembering Luca's words about him one day.Passionate. He must be furious.
"Of that, I have no doubt. A man who inspires that kind of fury in someone as powerful as a Volkov is a nuclear bait. Personally, I have no interest in holding you when they come for you. They cut one of our men into seven pieces. I received the images half an hour ago." The only thing that betrays his humanity is, again, a slight, almost imperceptible frown. He doesn't like how much Dante is escalating this. He doesn't think it's worth it. "Therefore, Leonel, we appreciate your primary service. You are a very skilled hacker. But, in response to the Volkovs, we are going to transfer you. Do you know Ivan Malakov? Very welcoming to new inmates."
He gives me a smile. It's genuine. It'sstrange.
Ivan. His cousin, the brute. The conversation about values... the plan wasn't to recruit me. He just wanted to know if I was a controllable asset or a ticking time bomb.
"Ivan?" I repeat, savoring the sound of the name.
Alexei nods. He's calm, very pleased with what he's doing. "He would love your services. You seem to be Dante Volkov's favorite toy. That, in itself, makes you an interesting gift."
He turns to the brutes. Gives orders. Transfer. The dumber brute—the one who kicked me—is confused about the reason for the transfer. He doesn't understand.
Alexei measured Dante's obsession. In the first hours or days I was alone here. He watched everything burn. He used my unique service for internal encryption and threw the bait into his internal rival's yard.
While Dante and Ivan destroyed each other, Alexei would retreat to count his money and wait to pick up the pieces. I admit it, Alexei Malakov. A brilliant plan. Dante would destroy Ivan Malakov regardless of what he did to me, and Alexei wouldn't get his hands dirty. In the best and most likely scenario, he would kill me before Dante arrived. Likely. Ivan doesn't have a gentle reputation.
I laugh. It escapes without wanting to. It's funny to think I'm stuck in this idiotic war between two Malakovs trying to destroy each other. It's obvious that Dante's name is synonymous with a violent death for them. Alexei is pulling his cards out of the game because he knows he would lose if he didn't.
The henchmen look at me. Confused. Alexei doesn't care about my laughter.
I watch Alexei leave, giving orders. "Clean up the mess. Call Ivan's assistant, inform them we have a package for them. They will send discreet transport. Do not make the transfer until the designated van arrives. I want nothing more to do with this matter."
He doesn't look back. He leaves, adjusting the lapels of his suit, withdrawing from the board after sacrificing a piece to corner two kings. With him goes the only strategic intelligence in this room.
The dumb brute transforms confusion into bitter resentment. I'm still amused. He isn't.
"Whore," he spits in my direction. Then, he says to another guard, "Keep an eye on him. I'll make the call. We'll see if he's still laughing when he gets to Ivan's compound."
