Page 140 of The Lazarov Bratva

But there is no one else.

And Aleksander’s frustration at a lack of contact will be because August kept her and Alena under a constant, watchful eye. Even since being back here, Alyona’s had a twenty-four-hour guard to keep her safe.

I stare down at my glass until my eyes blur, then I set it down and steel myself. Contemplation and running thoughts are getting me nowhere.

Abandoning my drink, I head outside and immediately come face to face with two guards.

“Sir.” They snap to attention like boards, and one fixes me with a quizzical look. “What do you need?”

August’s men are good, I’ll say that much.

“The basement, is it occupied?”

“No, sir.”

“I need you to bring someone to meet me there.”

“Who?”

“Alyona. I need to see her. No arguments. Drag her from her bed if you have to.”

“Understood.”

7

KRISTOF

“What is the meaning of this? Kristof! Kristof, you shit, look at me! What the hell is going on here?”

Alyona sits on a hardback chair with both hands tied to the wooden slats behind her back. The guard had used rough rope to minimize her attempts to escape, but she hardly seems to care. She jerks herself this way and that, quickly rubbing her wrists raw.

I remained in the shadows at first, just watching her various stages of confusion and anger, then as it melted into fury, and finally, an understanding.

Still, anger blazed like an inferno in her eyes when I stepped forward and revealed myself.

Despite her age, she struggles with impressive strength against her bindings while I keep my back to her and stare down at the wooden table against one wall. It’s old, with grooves of age splitting the wood into a pattern across the tabletop. I track them with my eyes because I know I’ll be tearing at the seams when I turn to her.

“Kristof!” Alyona yells again, her thick accent making her words all the sharper. “Is this any way to treat me after everything I’ve done for you? You have me dragged from my bed by fucking statues that don’t blink or speak. I raised you better than to cart an old woman down into the bitter cold.”

“Everything you’ve done for me?” My fingertips trail across the wooden split, then my hand curls and I press my knuckles to the groove. “You still sit there and speak as if loyalty is what drives you.”

“Loyalty?” Alyona scoffs sharply. “Kristof, I am the only one who is loyal to you. I sacrificed everything to raise you?—”

Her head snaps to the side, and her words fall silent as my slap collides with her face. Blood pours from her nose and drips down onto her nightie.

“Don’t lie to me.”

She cries out, hoarse and broken, and I turn away from her, back to the table.

Where I expect pain or upset, Alyona doubles down on her anger. Of course she does. She’s as tough as old boots.

“You ungrateful little fuck,” she spits. “I gave up my life for you, didn’t even have my own family because I was too busy here with you and this house, this Family! And this is the fucked up thanks I get? Did the fight knock a few screws loose?”

In any other situation, I would admire her strength and her anger. Right now, though, it merely irritates me. Dabbing at the blood staining my hand with a nearby rag, I force my stone-cold heart further into my gut where it can’t cause problems, and then I speak.

“How much did they pay you?”

Her rant stutters to a halt. “What? What are you talking about, boy?”

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