Page 20 of Bratva Baby

Chapter 9 - Grigor

I press my forearm against the man’s throat, pinning him to the metal chair with my weight.

“Talk,” I demand, ignoring the sweat trickling down my back. We’re in a dingy basement that smells of mildew and old bloodstains. My men stand at a distance, silent spectators to this grim work. The single bulb overhead casts harsh shadows on my prisoner’s battered face.

He coughs and sucks in a ragged breath when I ease just a fraction. Blood trickles from a split in his lip, and I can see he’s already close to breaking. But close isn’t good enough. I need him to spill whatever secrets he’s hiding. My hand tightens on the handle of the pliers I’m holding. He’s one of Pavel’s friends, or so he claimed when we caught him trying to flee the country right after we found Pavel’s body. Suspicious timing.

I jab the pliers into the fresh cut on his shoulder, ignoring his muffled groan. “Answer my questions. Who orchestrated Pavel’s murder? Why were you running?”

He spits blood onto the floor. “I don’t… know anything,” he rasps.

“Wrong answer.” I motion to one of my men, who hands me a short length of chain. I loop it around the chair’s back, securing our captive more tightly. He thrashes, but it’s useless. My men have done their job, leaving him with nowhere to go. “We found you with a suitcase full of false identification documents trying to hightail it out of here. You expect me to believe you’re innocent?”

His breath stutters. “I only wanted to—to escape what’s coming. I didn’t… kill anyone. I swear.”

I lock eyes with him. “You were Pavel’s friend, or so you said. If you truly cared about him, you’d want justice, not a plane ticket out.”

He cringes. “I—I owe money. To men who’ll kill me if I don’t pay. You have to understand—”

My patience thins. I grab a fistful of his hair, forcing him to look up. “Listen carefully. Pavel died on my watch. I want the name of whoever arranged his murder. I’m told you have intel—something about a Rossi contact who pulled strings. Spill it, or I’ll make this hurt more than you can imagine.”

His eyes flick around the room, perhaps hoping for mercy in someone’s gaze. None of my men meet his desperate stare. We’re past the point of sympathy. He tries to clamp his mouth shut, so I yank out a finger clamp from my toolkit and pry open his jaw. A pitiful gasp leaves his lips, and I press the clamp on his tongue for a second, just enough to remind him who’s in control.

He whimpers. “Stop—please—I’ll talk.”

I release his jaw, letting him gasp for air. “Then talk.”

He sucks in a tremulous breath. “They… They said the Rossis wanted to expand. That they saw an opening with Pavel gone. I—I don’t know who gave the order.”

“Names,” I bark. “The name of whoever hired you to run messages or coordinate a hit.”

He grimaces, and his eyelids flutter as though he’s about to lose consciousness. “It wasn’t me who arranged anything. There’s a man—Davide—he’s the one who came to me. Paid me to keep quiet about Pavel’s route that day.”

Davide. The name rings a bell: a low-tier Rossi enforcer, rumored to be climbing the ranks. “You took money to betray your friend?” My stomach churns with disgust. “Worth it?”

He chokes, and tears mix with the blood on his face. “I didn’t mean for him to die! I thought… I thought maybe they’d just scare him off, not kill him.”

“Pavel trusted you. You fed him to the wolves for cash. You expect me to believe you feel remorse now?”

He struggles for words. Before he can speak, his eyes roll back, and a ragged cough jerks through him. Blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth. My men shift in place as I grab him by the collar, shaking him. “You’re not done yet. Tell me everything about Davide. Where does he operate? Who’s backing him?”

He wheezes. “Warehouse… near the docks. He—he meets men there. Talks about… shipments. I swear that’s all I know.”

I slam my fist against the arm of his chair.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I never thought—” His words falter as his voice is reduced to a wet rasp. Then he exhales, and his body goes limp. The spark in his eyes dims as death settles over him.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, releasing him. My men stare, waiting for orders. “Get rid of the body. Make sure no trace leads back to us.” They spring into action, untying the corpse and hauling it away. I run a hand over my face, repressing the anger simmering inside. We only got limited intel before he croaked—a lead on Davide and the Rossis, but nothing that fully explains who’s behind Pavel’s murder.

By the time I exit the basement. The sun has dipped low, and my phone vibrates with a text from Maksim. He’s off dealing with his own vices, no doubt. The message simply says:Any update?I ignore it. I’ll fill him in later. Right now, I need a shower and some quiet to mull over what I learned.

***

Driving back to my estate takes longer than usual. Traffic in the city’s center is thick, and every red light feels like it takes an hour on its own. By the time I pull through the gates, night has fallen completely, and a bone-deep weariness clings to me. My clothes bear smudges of dried blood, and I can’t decide if I’m too tired or too keyed up to care.

One of the housekeepers hurries over as I step out of my SUV with an anxious look in her eyes. “Mr. Barkov, welcome home.”

I nod and toss my keys to the valet. “Where’s Seraphina? Any trouble with her today?”

---