Page 24 of Deadly Vows

“Is…is Vic dead?” she questioned, sitting up quickly.

“He will be,” I reassured her. “We found him in a warehouse. He’s in my custody.”

“Oh,” she replied thoughtfully, chewing on her lower lip.

“Vic is going to die a very slow and painful death. You understand that, don’t you?” I asked, searching her eyes for any sign of trepidation.

She reached out and cradled my cheek with her soft hand. “I understand.” Then she leaned forward and kissed me softly.

I tucked her into bed and kissed her once more. “I love you, Talia,” I whispered. I couldn’t deny it any longer. I loved her, and I’ll never let her go.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, smiling softly.

“I have to go, but I’ll be back in a few hours.”

She nodded and then closed her eyes to sleep.

Chapter 14

Aleksandr

I climbed down the narrow stone staircase leading to the dungeon, each step echoing with the promise of vengeance. The air grew colder and more oppressive as I descended into the bowels of the mansion. The dungeon was a relic from a bygone era, a place where countless souls had met their end. Tonight, it would bear witness to retribution—a slow, deliberate reckoning for the blood that had been spilled.

The walls were lined with iron shackles, the scent of damp stone and old blood permeating the air.

I pushed open the steel door and found Vic secured to a heavy wooden chair by his wrists and ankles. Anton stood in the corner of the dungeon, laying out tools of torture on ametal table. Hanging from the ceiling was a solitary light fixture, throwing shadows into each corner of the prison.

Vic’s face was pale and sweat-soaked, his eyes darting around like a cornered rat. His balding brown hair clung to his scalp in greasy tufts, and his squinty brown eyes held no spark of defiance, only the dull gleam of desperation. He knew what awaited him, and that knowledge sapped what little strength he had left.

Anton stepped forward, his expression as cold and hard as the stone walls around us. He handed me a long, slender knife, its blade gleaming wickedly in the light. I took it, its weight comforting as I approached Vic.

“Do you know why you’re here, Vic, and not already dead?” I asked, my voice low and menacing.

He nodded frantically, his eyes wide with fear. “Aleksandr, I—“

“Silence!” I roared, the sound bouncing off the walls.

He swallowed hard, his body trembling. Good. Fear was a powerful tool, and I intended to wield it fully.

“Tell me,” I said, leaning in close, the knife hovering near his throat. “Why did you kill my brother?”

Vic’s rancid breath came in short, ragged gasps. “It wasn’t personal. I was just following orders.”

“Whose orders?” I pressed, the tip of the blade grazing his skin just enough to draw a thin line of blood.

“Tommy Lansky,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “It was Tommy.”

I could smell the lie oozing out of him like infected puss. “Tommy? That’s funny. Tommy said you acted on your own because you’re a lying piece of shit thief,” I hissed.

“No! No, it was Tommy. He gave the order to kill your brother because he owed Mr. Lupani money. It was a gambling debt. I just did what I was told,” he stammered.

“You’re lying,” I accused, sucking on my front teeth. “In the old country, they cut out the tongue of a lying man.” In one quick motion, I sliced the blade across his cheek, crimson blood splattering the collar of his white shirt.

Vic cried out but quickly clamped his mouth shut. He vigorously shook his head no, his eyes pleading for mercy.

“I know you weren’t ordered to kill Mikhail. And I know that you are stealing money from your boss.”

I grabbed his chin, forcing the tip of the blade between his lips. Vic’s eyes bulged as he urinated on himself. The sour smell of his piss fueled me, giving me a twisted sense of satisfaction.

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