Page 70 of All the Dangerous Things

I felt Dmitry tense beside me, and I leaned forward, the air between us crackling with anticipation. When we first found out about Tatiana getting hurt, we sent out several of our men to get informationthat would paint us an entire picture so we could handle it accordingly.

“Well?” Dmitry growled, his patience hanging on by a thread. Just like mine.

Sly looked nervous as hell, which made me nearly snap at him to just fucking tell us already. He swallowed, and I could see him weighing his words and how to say what needed to be fucking said.

“You found out who killed him, didn’t you?” my brother prompted. I felt my need for blood rise.

Sly nodded and ran a hand over his sweaty face.

“Jesus Christ. Spit it out before I slit your throat,” I finally seethed.

“The man who killed the person who hurt your sister was Gio Bianchi,” he said in a rush, his voice shaky. He took a step back, clearly sensing the darkness coming from the two of us. “Without a doubt. He’s the one who took the bastard out.”

For a breath of time, everything went still. I let his words—the identity of the man who killed my sister’s attacker—sink in real deep.

“He might try and hide his identity, but people know. And they were afraid to say anything to me because of who he is. But when they found out both of you wanted to know, they had loose lips.”

And then it all peaked. The fury I’d been holdingin check snapped. There was this low rumble, and I realized it came from not only me but Dmitry as well.

I grabbed my glass, my intent to shoot back the last of my vodka, but before I knew what I was doing, glass shattered in my hand as I slammed it down on the table. Shards exploded up and outward, scattering across the booth and onto the floor.

Although I sensed a silent heaviness filling the room, patrons and employees knew better than to gawk and got back to work.

I locked my focus on Dmitry. He didn’t need to say a single word. I could see the shock and betrayal in his eyes. No doubt, the cold fury I saw in his icy expression matched my own.

“Leave us,” I spat at Sly, and he was gone a second later.

“That motherfucker,” Dmitry snarled and finished his drink.

I looked down at my hand and saw a few pieces of glass lodged in my skin, blood dripping from the open wounds and falling onto the tabletop.

I picked out the glass, wrapped my hand in a paper napkin, and said in a seething voice, “Let’s go.” My tone was like a knife slicing through the tension.I was already on my feet as soon as the words left my mouth. Dmitry was already right behind me as we strode out of the bar and toward the waiting Mercedes just outside the door.

Once in the car, I sat there, my hands curled around the steering wheel as I stared straight ahead.

“Are you thinking about what to do?” Dmitry asked in a low, deep voice that didn’t hide his anger. “Do you want to talk about what the fuck we should do?”

There was nothing left to discuss. And although we had yet to fully discuss what the fuck was going on with Maksim’s death, we were well past giving a shit.

The time to talk about any of this was over.

I could see Dmitry nodding in my peripheral vision, but I didn’t say a thing.

“Let's go,brat,” he told me, and I shifted the car into gear.

The drive back to Butcher and Son was a blur, and the low hum of the engine barely registered in my chaotic brain through the rush of my blood pounding in my ears. I knew Gio was still fighting. It had been hours since we left, but he’d signed up for several more fights that were set for well after the heartfelt breakdown in the locker room.

When we arrived, the rundown building loomed ahead of us. There was this dark and angry atmosphere that surrounded it.

Great. It matched the black rage simmering inside the both of us.

“Let’s get this fucking shit over with.”

Once inside, we made our way to the locker room. We pushed through the doors, and the second we stepped inside, the sound of the shower running and the steam billowing out of the short hallway told us where Gio was.

The dim light cast long, ghostly shadows on the broken tiles and cracked cement. Dmitry was right behind me, his presence a solid, unwavering force. But as the seconds passed, I knew something was off.

The humid air hung heavy in the confines of the small space. But there was… something else—something that made the hair on my arms stand on end. I took another step toward the shower, but when I heard a gruff male groan, followed by a feminine gasp, I saw red.

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