Page 41 of Bloody Lace

The man screams as Vik comes forward, writhing in his chair as Vik grabs his mouth and yanks it open. He tries to fight, tries to close his jaws, but I move with purpose, grasping his tongue in the pliers as I lean forward with the serrated knife. “One inch for every lie,” I promise him, and then I cut.

The amount of blood is remarkable. I step back as Vik grabs a rag and shoves it against the man’s tongue, letting him wail for several long seconds before he pulls the bloody fabric away. Blood and saliva spill down the front of the man’s shirt, and I regard him for a long moment before I speak again.

“Who sent you to deliver the message?” I ask calmly. The man splutters, trying to speak with his swollen tongue.

“Can’t…say…”

“There’s a difference between can’t, and won’t.” I tilt my head, wiping the blood off of the hunting knife. The man’s eyes lock onto it with terror. “That sounds like it could be a lie.”

“Alright!Won’t…won’t tell you!” He splutters, and I chuckle.

“You can keep your tongue as is for now, then. But I don’t think you understand what’s going to happen here today. For every bit of information you give me, you get that much closer to a clean death. For everything you withhold, you earn yourself a little bit more pain, before you die anyway. Do you understand? Whatever your boss might do to you for answeringmy questions, you don’t need to worry about that. Do you understand? Because you won’t be going back to him.”

I can see the struggle in the man’s thoughts. The denial of his impending doom mingled with the fear of whether or not he really believes me. Hewantsto believe there’s some way out of this still. He wants to believe there’s a chance that he’ll live, and therefore will need to fear retribution.

“The name,” I repeat, clicking the pliers. I see his gaze skitter away from me, and I sigh.

For all that I don’t mind having a target for my anger today, I hadn’t intended on spending my entire morning like this. I take out three of the man’s teeth before he makes it to the anger stage of grief, spitting a bloody glob towards my face when I extract another molar.

“He said he’d give me the woman first if I followed orders,” the man spits out at me in a garbled voice. “Before he let the rest of the crew have her. I didn’t touch her, but it was gonna be so fuckin’ sweet when I?—”

His words cut off into a high-pitched scream as I grab his forefinger in the pliers and twist it, breaking the finger before I cut it off. “Give me the name,” I snap through gritted teeth, before I start to cauterize the stump of his right index finger.

The tarp is wet with blood, piss, and splatters of sweat and saliva before the man finally gives up the name of who sent him. Barca Valenti, a name I know. The worthless son of a disloyalcapowho was executed for his treason by the lastdonof the Italian mafia here in New York. The son survived, and started his own gang of upstart thieves and con men, scum that like to play at organized crime without actually being all that good at it. But Barca thinks he’s owed more than he has, and he has visions of being more powerful than his father was. Of taking revenge not only for his father, but taking the power he thinks he deserves.

“Why is Barca attacking our territory?” I growl, leaning down with one hand braced on the back of the chair. I reach up, pressing the point of the hunting knife into the corner of the man’s mouth. “Don’t tell me you don’t know, or I’ll take another inch of your tongue. What does he hope to gain? We’re not the ones who killed his father.”

“Money,” the man sputters. “He gets more territory, he gets more money, more influence. He’s working his way up.”

I snort. “He’s ‘working his way up’ by attacking the businesses in Yashkov territory?”

The man spits. “He thinks the Bratva are stupid animals. The lowest hanging fruit to start with.”

Anger sears through me at that. “And targeting Evelyn?”

“She was weak. An easy mark. Same reason he had me try to follow her home, to deliver a message then, too. A woman with no one to turn to. But now, you’ve made her a better target.” The man lifts his head with some effort, looking at me through wet eyes. “He’ll want her dead just to prove a point.”

“She has me to turn to.” I grit my teeth, grabbing the man’s hair in one hand, wrenching his head back. “But don’t let me be the one to shoot the messenger.”

With a single jerk of my hand, I drag the hunting knife across his throat, slicing it open. I step back just in time to avoid the gout of blood that pours out, wiping the knife off as I motion for the men at the other side of the warehouse.

“Take care of the body,” I tell them flatly. “And clean up the rest. Vik, come with me.”

I have things to do back at my office, and I want to get to them sooner rather than later. I know Gus can be counted on to keep an eye on Evelyn, but I still feel an itch to get back to her, although I don’t really know what I’m supposed todoonce that happens. Take her out to dinner? Order in like we’re a real couple? I’ve never lived with anyone, and I hadn’t letmyself think about what it would be like to live with Nicci. I hadn’t planned on bringing her to my penthouse, that’s for sure. I would probably have bought an estate of my own just to have a house big enough to lose her in.

Having Evelyn in my penthouse makes even that huge space feel small. Like there’s not enough room for both of us because my desire for her takes up all the space in between. And I have no fucking idea what to do with someone else in my space. I’m used to sending women right home after I’m done with them, not having them hanging around, living life next to me and bringing their pets over.

I pause at the door of the warehouse, glancing back at the man’s crumpled body. “Have that finger put on ice,” I tell Vik. He shrugs, heading back to relay the order, and I check my phone, half-hoping to see a message from Evelyn. There’s nothing, which shouldn’t disappoint me, but I feel a pang all the same.

Although, considering the way we left things this morning, I shouldn’t be surprised.

“Mr. Yashkov!” A gruff, urgent voice cuts through my thoughts, as the door opens and one of my brigadiers pushes his way into the warehouse, briefly wrinkling his nose at the smell. “I got a call. Your wife’s bodyguard.”

Instantly, I’m on full alert. “What happened?” I snap, and I see the man blanch slightly at the expression on my face.

“Nothing yet. That we know of. But she gave him the slip, and?—”

Mother of fucking God.I don’t hear what else he says, because I’m already striding towards the car, finding Gus’ number with one hand as my vision turns red with fury.

---