Page 28 of Dark Truths

Alexei reaches down and grabs a handful of his hair, wrenching his head up. “Answer the question.”

“I–I–I can’t.”

"Why not?"

"They'll kill me. Please../"

“So, there is someone? Who?” Igor demands, spit flying into the man’s face. From Alexei’s curled lip, some of it landed on his hand too.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry. I–I can’t.”

“Are you working with the Triads?” I ask, refusing to step closer, but my voice carries anyway.

“No. I swear,” Anton answers, his tone assertive and sure.

Ever since that idiot, Michael DiAngelo, went on a rampage late last year following his sterile diagnosis, the Triad presence has increased. So far, they’ve been more of a problem for the Irish and Italians, but it’s only a matter of time before they turn their sights on us. I’ve told Jacob about them, but either Ford doesn’t care or he's ordered Jacob not to.

“Then who?”

Our men fear each of us in our own ways, but I’m the stuff of nightmares to them. Just my presence in the room is enough to frighten them, and when I speak—when I start asking questions—I become the devil in their eyes.

Anton closes his eyes and sobs uncontrollably. Between his legs, a new stain emerges, the liquid joining the blood and water on the ground.

Alexei groans and shoves Anton’s head away from him in disgust. “Gross, fucking bastard pissed his pants.”

That’s the least of Anton’s problems right now.

“Who, Anton?”

“I was just following orders. I’m sorry…please…I’m sorry.”

“Who?”

Anton wails, thrashing against his binds until he finally collapses, his chest heaving from the exertion. He’s close to his breaking point, and I need to be careful here.

“Who?”

Finally, after a long silent pause, he admits, “The FBI.”

The room explodes with yelling and cursing in both English and Russian. I let the Mikailhov brothers have their outbursts while Alexei delivers a punch to the side of Anton’s face. Blood flies from his mouth, along with a tooth.

“You mother fucking, piece of shit, traitorous asshole!” he shouts before he punches him again, taking a few more teeth this time.

“That’s enough, Alexei.”

My words register through the red cloud that’s overtaken my second. He stalks away like an angry hurricane, swiping things off tables and kicking anything in his path.

Igor walks up with a gun in his hand. He points it at Anton’s down-turned head and is about to pull the trigger when I step in.

“Wait.” My command is enough for Igor to stop, and the look he gives me is just as murderous as his intention.

“What the fuck, Volkov? The bastard needs to die. He’s betrayed us! He’s working with the fucking FBI.”

“I know, but—”

Igor narrows his dark gaze at me. “What? Is he a friend of yours? Huh? Are you dirty too?”

“Of course not,” I growl, making sure my answer is understood before continuing. “Look, I agree with you. He needs to die, but before he does, we could get more information from him.”

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