Chapter 62: Chapter Seven

Andrei

She stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language. I wondered if it would be easier if I just communicated in nothing but Russian. Didn’t she see that I was saving her ass?

I expected her to burst into tears any minute or at least say thank you. Instead, she just stood there on her bloody battered feet, her body swaying like she was seconds from passing out.

Wouldn’t be the first time someone had done that in my presence. Then again, half was because of blood loss, I was sure of it.

The only sound in that room was her breathing and the squeak of my leather gloves as I tightened my hands into fists.

I hated repeating myself.

She blinked slowly.

“Well?” I was agitated. I couldn’t read her as well as I could read other people, and that was saying something.

I was forced at a young age to get good at reading the room, the men in it, my father especially.

It’s why I lasted.

Because I knew pride got you killed.

“Sorry.” She eyed me up and down then looked away. God, she was dirty. What did they do… roll her in a swamp before bringing her in here? I shook my head. No, I didn’t even want to know.

She didn’t know that I was planning on killing her brother.

She didn’t know that I was going to go with Chase Abandonato and make it personal because I could.

She had no idea the monster I would become.

The one I would embrace.

“Speak.” I waited, my patience thinning by the second. “Or you could return to your room, the one with the chains on the bed and blood running down the cement floors, if you prefer that…”

“No, I just don’t know what you expect of me.” She chewed her lower lip and put her hands on her hips.

She was skinny, her leggings showed off nice legs, but other than that I was too distracted by the giant mop of hair on her dirt-caked face and the blue eyes peeking out from sooty long lashes to notice anything else.

“This entire conversation is ridiculous; you get that right?” I smirked, almost enjoying her obvious discomfort. “You don’t get to ask questions.

“I said eat, you eat, I said shower, you march your ass down the hall and shower, and if you finish and I’m not here, you make yourself useful. You like washing dishes, wash the fucking dishes.

“You want to watch TV, find the remote, you want me to draw you a list of chores, that’s not gonna happen.

“I’m sharing my prison with you, may as well find out a way to co-exist without losing your shit every time I speak to you or look at you for that matter. If I say you’re safe, you’re safe.

“Wh-what?”

I grinned, this time enjoying her face going pale. “Well, first I’ll torture him, then I’ll let you get in a few good hits.

“I may chop off his dick if it pleases you, and then he’ll die, slowly, when I think he’s ready. Sometimes I give them IVs and just enough drugs to keep them alive.

“It’s amazing what people will do when they’re desperate. I think you’d like to see him beg, I think I’d like it too. In fact, I look forward to it.”

“You can’t just—” She stopped herself, as I took a lethal step toward her. Six thirty-two put up her hands like she wanted to stop me.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” I said, again enjoying myself more than I should.

“Literally the most depressing decorations I’ve ever seen in my entire life and I know my shit,” Chase said as he waltzed into my sanctum and whistled, and then his eyes fell to her.

If she knew what was good for her she’d look away.

She’d run her ass down the hall and shower.

They knew a De Lange was here.

They didn’t know it was her.

I’d give them someone else.

I’d lie.

I still had no idea why I was putting myself on the line for someone like her, someone I would kill without blinking.

But staring up at the ceiling like she was on a fucking vacation.

“Six thirty-two, meet Chase Abandonato, De Lange executioner and sometimes friend.”

“Sometimes my ass,” Chase muttered eyeing her up and down. “You look like complete shit.” He looked to me. “One of your new ones?”

I shrugged. “Came in a few days ago.”

He sighed. “I just killed seven people in cold blood and had brunch like it wasn’t a big deal, but this—” He pointed to her like she didn’t even exist; it pissed me off. “This is worse.”

“I’m Russian.” My answer.

He burst out laughing.

Italians.

All of them were insane.

“You need me to wait outside?” He lowered his voice.

“No, she won’t escape, will you, six thirty-two?” I taunted.

“No.” She gulped. “No, I won’t escape… um…”

“Petrov,” Chase offered for her, his voice filled with disgust.

“Thanks, Chase.” I muttered a curse.

“No problem.” He slapped me on the back. “You got your shit?”

“All my shit.” I looked at her one last time and gave her my back. “You have zero tact.”

“Compliments? Bro, it’s only noon, I’m touched. Now let’s go find some De Langes and see how much blood we can spill. I don’t want to miss dinner.”

“Italians, always thinking with your stomach.”

“Russians always thinking with your tiny dicks, oh wait, you still have one, right? It hasn’t withered away from all that vodka?”

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t like you more than the others,” I grumbled, locking the door behind me and walking with him down the hall.

“I like killing, you like killing, I have rage, you have rage.

I stopped walking.

He sighed like he knew what was coming.

We were around the same height. I was leaner than he was, he’d packed on a lot of muscle since the loss of his wife eighteen months ago.

Her betrayal was the reason we hated the De Lange Family in the first place. They tried to betray everyone by doing a deal with me.

The rest was history.

I, Andrei Petrov, was somehow more Italian than I was Russian, if anyone could believe it, though I refused to claim it.

And ever since I was given that second chance by a man who should have shot me on sight.

I’d been paying the price.

Playing both sides.

Helping my enemy.

Helping my friends.

“Out with it.” I waited.

Chase actually grinned. “Luc’s pregnant again.”

“You have sex more than anyone I know,” I stated matter-of-factly. “I’m not surprised.

His smile fell. “What?”

“Ah, Tex didn’t tell you.”

“Tex was eating lunch. You know how he is when he’s eating lunch…”

I frowned and then realization dawned. “With Mo, he was with Mo. Just say that next time, and he was already here, and we talked things through. I’ll debrief everyone during family dinner.”

Chase’s eyebrows shot up. “You bringing a date?”

“I’m this close to punching you in the dick and making it so you can’t have any more kids. This close, Chase.” I shoved him against the wall.

The guy enjoyed violence. He just shoved me back and tried to hit me. I ducked and slid my knife from the sheath at my ankle.

“Save it for the De Langes,” Chase grinned. “And I want to hear all the details about six thirty-two in the car.”

“It’s easier when you don’t know their names.” We continued walking.

“Easier for them, or you?” Chase asked.

I didn’t answer.

Because I knew the truth.

If I named them, I wanted to save them all.

And I knew I would never be able to.

As long as a Russian ran this club—this demented club—I could save some of them, and that’s all I wanted, to save who I could, until I could rain holy hell down on the people behind the scenes.

The only problem?

I still had no clue who was grabbing the girls and bringing them to me, only that they showed up every day at the same time, barely clothed, shivering, and half dead.

I had cameras.

They were careful.

And the payments were all offshore accounts.

My father, it seemed, had done one thing right in his life. He’d made it almost impossible for anyone to infiltrate his empire.

Even his own son.