Page 32 of The Payment

Gregor wasn’t ignorant of the genuine concern in Skull’s voice.The assassin had watched Tatiana grow up, trained her even, but sentiment was a weakness.He straightened his shoulders as his chin lifted in defiance.

“Tatiana can take care of herself.”He smirked darkly.“She might have walked around with rose-tinted glasses, but her feelings for her beloved husband changed the moment she found out he had used her.”

“She still lives under his roof, Boss.Do you honestly think she is safe...from his wrath when he finds out what we’re doing here?”

“If he finds out, Skull.Who’s going to tell?Nevil Surrey isn’t going to be able to talk once we’re done here tonight.Besides, my instinct about people has never failed me.”Gregor’s eyes narrowed in a dare for Skull to contradict him.“Jarek Farrel won’t hurt myvnuchka.In fact, I believe she’s safer under his roof during this upcoming war than anywhere else.”

Gregor’s temples throbbed at the mention of Farrel’s name again.His grip tightened on the walking stick until his knuckles hurt.Every time Skull brought up the Irish bastard’s reputation, rage burned through his veins.

“So, you’re going to ignore his warning?You do know he will retaliate, and no matter what your instincts say, mine is waving a red flag.Make no mistake, Boss, that Irish bastard won’t think twice to turn his desire for vengeance into a full-blown bloodbath.”

Elizabeth’s tear-stained face flashed in Gregor’s mind.His wife barely spoke anymore.She was lost without their granddaughter’s visits.Their home felt empty, haunted by Tatiana’s absence.Farrel had stolen more than money and allies.He had dared to tear apart what remained of their family.

“Why do you think we’re here, Skull?”His voice turned to steel, his face a mask of controlled fury.He jabbed the walking stick against the metal grating.“Tatiana left because of him blabbering about my business that her grandmother and I have kept from her to keep her safe.To this day, she hasn’t reached out to us, and for that, Farrel has to pay.”His eyes glittered with cold determination.“Alienating our allies, crumbling my financial stability, and destroying my reputation is nothing compared to turning my beloved granddaughter against us.If that means death and destruction, then so be it.”

Gregor caught the flicker of doubt in Skull’s usually expressionless face.The assassin’s concern was starting to grate on his nerves.In all the years of service, Skull had never questioned his decisions with such persistence.

“The Dark—” Skull began, then stopped at Gregor’s warning look.“Farrel has eyes everywhere, Boss...especially here in Boston.Word will get back to him about tonight.”

Steam erupted from a nearby vent, temporarily obscuring Skull’s face.Gregor used the moment to compose himself, pushing down the rage that threatened to crack his carefully maintained control.He was the Pakhan of the Polovskaya Bratva.He didn’t explain his decisions, not even to his most trusted protector.

“Let him hear.”Gregor adjusted his tie, a habit that had ended countless discussions over the years.The familiar motion centered him and restored his focus.“Now, shall we make sure our guest is comfortable?I believe he has some interesting information about the Irish operations that he’s dying to share.”

He moved forward, hearing Skull fall into position behind him.The assassin’s hand hovered near his weapon—always prepared, always watching.That was why Gregor kept him close.But tonight, Skull’s caution felt like doubt, and doubt was something Gregor didn’t appreciate.

The security guard scurried ahead, keys rattling as he fumbled with the door to Digester Building Three.Behind them, Boston Harbor’s waters promised a convenient solution to tonight’s covert interrogation.Gregor smiled.If—or when, as Skull believes—the Irish bastard found out about his venture into his domain, he would realize that no one, not even the precious Dark One married to his granddaughter, was untouchable.

The door creaked open to reveal the interior of the massive concrete dome.Sodium vapor lights cast a sickly yellow glow across the metal catwalks and railings.The space hummed with the constant drone of machinery, punctuated by the rhythmic drip of condensation from the curved ceiling high above.

Gregor’s footsteps echoed as he crossed the metal grating.Two of his men stood guard over a chair where Nevil Surrey sat bound, his expensive suit now wrinkled and stained.The Irish businessman had made quite a name for himself since arriving in Boston a decade ago.His private airline company served as a perfect front for the Somerville Irish Mafia’s operations, and his connection to Jarek Farrel was no secret in certain circles.

Surrey’s head snapped up at their approach.Fear flashed across his face before his features settled into a mask of defiance.Blood trickled from a cut above his eye, but his posture remained straight, proud.

Gregor circled the chair slowly, letting his walking stick tap against the metal grating with each step.The sound echoed off the dome’s walls, a steady rhythm that matched the dripping condensation.

“Mr.Surrey.I trust my men have made you comfortable?”

“Fuck you, Polov.”Surrey spat the words, his Irish accent thick with anger.“What do you want?”

“Such hostility.”A laugh rumbled in Gregor’s chest.He stopped in front of Surrey, leaning on his walking stick.“And here I thought the Irish were known for their hospitality.”His smile didn’t reach his eyes.“But since you’re asking so politely...I want to know where your boss conducts his business.The real business, not the pretty façade he shows the world.”

“You’re insane if you think I’ll tell you anything.”Surrey’s gaze darted to Skull, who stood silently in the shadows, then back to Gregor.“You obviously know who my ally is.You know what he’ll do.”

“Ah, yes, the feared Dark One.”Gregor's voice dripped with mockery.“My son-in-law has quite the reputation, doesn't he?”He gripped Surrey’s jaw, forcing the man to meet his eyes.“But reputations can be broken, Mr.Surrey.Just like bones.”

Behind him, he heard Skull shift slightly.

“Boss.”Something in his voice caused Polov to hesitate.He glanced at him over his shoulder.“This situation is off.He doesn’t look Irish.”

Polov’s eyes flashed dangerously.“We got the intel on his location from an inside source.He is Farrel’s lackey, so stop wasting my fucking time.”His assassin’s unease was becoming tiresome, but it didn’t matter.They were already committed to this course.Farrel had taken everything from him, and tonight, Gregor would begin taking it all back.“Besides...not all Irish have red hair or speak with an accent.”

He released Surrey’s jaw and straightened, adjusting his cuffs.

“Now, shall we discuss the location of the Somerville operations?Or should I give you a tour of this fascinating facility’s waste disposal system?”

Gregor studied the gold Satan’s head on his walking stick, turning it to catch the sickly light.

“Your loyalty is admirable, Mr.Surrey.Misplaced but admirable.”He shifted his grip, feeling the familiar weight.“Last chance to reconsider your position.”

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