Page 92 of For a Price

We both already know the answer.

Seated in the chair at the second station is none other than a bloated toad having his nose hairs trimmed.

The barber’s hunched over Uncle Leonid with small scissors, carefully snipping away.

“It’s the most hair he has on his head,” I say. “Let’s go.”

Over the last few weeks, Uncle Leonid has hid behind the sovietnik’s protection. He has only lived as long as he has because he was rubbing his nose so far up my father’s ass that eliminating him was virtually impossible.

But I have been lurking in wait. I’ve been counting the seconds until the moment presented itself where he got so cocky, so brazen, he would be exposed.

Despite my vow otherwise, he seems to think I won’t go against my father’s wishes.

Kazan jerks open the shop door and I stride in, quickly followed by my crew.

The handful of men Uncle Leonid has with him pop to their feet, hands fumbling for their weapons.

I ignore them and stop in front of the station where Leonid’s seated. His barber stumbles back with a startled gasp once he spots me out the corner of his eye.

I snatch the pair of scissors from him and jam them into Leonid’s thigh. He squeals more like a fucking pig than toad, which might suit him better in the moment considering his skin tinges pink and pigs are bloated too. He jerks in the barber chair, kicking out his legs. Blood spreads and stains the fabric of his pants.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he screams. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

My hand flies out and clenches shut around the rolls of fat he calls a neck. His men shift as if to close in on me, but my men have got my back.

They’ve drawn their weapons quicker and outnumber his minions.

Uncle Leonid squirms in my grip, his eyes bulging as I glare into his sweaty pink face.

“Did you think I was joking, dyadya?*?” I ask. “Ty dumal, chto ya ne pridu za toboy?*?”

“Zver, you piece of shit!”

I squeeze his windpipe even harder, making him choke. “Is it polite to call me a piece of shit right now? Is that smart when your life is in my hands?”

His eyes bug out of their sockets as he claws at my grip to no avail. He may be strong—he had no issue demonstrating that when he beat up my kitty cat—but I’m stronger. I’m bigger. I’m better than he is in every fucking way.

I slam him back down onto the barbershop chair and snatch the sleek straight razor that rests on the counter of the workstation.

“This is going to be painful,” I say, and then I grin. “Kazan, Dmitri.”

Kazan and my other soldier quickly step forward, aware of what I’m asking. One stands on Leonid’s left while the other gets on his right. No matter how hard Leonid will struggle, they will hold him down.

I point out the barber who had been working on him, who’s face is ashen and covered with shock. “You,” I say, “C’mere. You’ll be using this.”

Thrusting the straight razor into his hands, I glance around at the rest of the barbershop. Half of the men inside aren’t bratva. They’re regular citizens caught up in our warring, though they know better than to ever speak of what they witness.

“If you do not wish to see a man skinned alive, I advise you leave now.”

The men with children are first to dart for the door, covering their boys’ eyes and ears. A few more rush out a couple steps behind.

I nod at my men once they’re gone and they lock the doors.

Nobody’s leaving until I’m satisfied with my revenge.

Uncle Leonid leaks beads of sweat, still wriggling against Kazan and Dmitri.

“What’s your name?” I ask the barber.

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