Page 72 of One of Them

The electro room, as we called the first cell, harbored a man already filled with static.

Not just any man, another made man. An Underboss.

Lorenzo Artuso sat in the chair, clutching the metal arms.

His eyes immediately flicked to us. Shock overtook his face at seeing my proximity to the man who had him captured.

With the slightest shake of my head, he turned away. We both needed to play our roles right. I pretended we didn’t know each other, while he ignored my presence.

There was no freaking way he allowed himself to get captured. Thankfully, Ilya was too wrapped up in his fury to recognize the probability of the situation.

He could have been in the safety of Don’s fortress in Sicily, smoking cigars while it all played out. The alliance didn’t need to get involved in internal affairs. This was Bratva’s mess.

Instead, he was here. Tied to a chair with electric cables burning off his fingertips. In his suit and tie, flashing us the annoying smile.

His eyes dared anyone brave enough to come close. I’ve experienced his stares many times before, but now they burned a darker color. Outside of his position, I knew nothing about the man. His past or his abilities were as much a mystery as mine were to him. But over the short while, I’ve learned all I needed to be sure about.

Lorenzo and Taya found what my siblings and I didn’t have to look for. A strong bond. Life came with relations for us. It only expanded as our family grew, but they fought and earned their friendship.

Somehow I knew there was nothing the man would do to jeopardize what they had. After all, he was here, in her place, offering himself on a silver platter.

“Artuso.”

“Aistov.”

Ilya leaned over the chair, keeping his distance as if Lorenzo wasn’t worth dirtying his shoes.

“If you missed me so much, all you had to do was call.” The Italian sent a virtual kiss on the air, and I held my breath, keeping in the laughs. I leaned against the doorframe, observing the exchange.

“You were always her expansion,” Ilya sharpened his words.

Lorenzo tsked. “Desperation doesn’t suit you.”

The Pakhan reached for the remote, dialing it up two digits. A buzzing sound came out of the machine, traveling through the lines straight to Lorenzo’s nerve endings.

“Let’s skip the part where we pretend we don’t know you’re the first person she ran to,” Ilya disclosed.

The Italian ignored every word. He trashed in the chair, veins popping on his neck.

“Does it make you angry?” he hissed each word through the pain. “Knowing you don’t control her like you thought?”

Those words sliced Ilya deep, even if the knife was still dull.

“Can you feel the control over her slipping through your fingers?”

“She was nothing when I found her,” Ilya barked, panting.

“Or it was you who would be nothing without her.” God knows how many watts were running through his body as Lorenzo spoke the very truth. “You finally found someone to carry out the dirty work you see beneath you. Would you make it this far without her help?”

Ilya remained quiet, though I highly doubt he considered the words.

“I didn’t think so,” Lorenzo shook his head. “She blindly eliminated all the threats. Except Malek.” A manic laugh came out of the bound man. “Malek rooted himself deeply. Tell me, in your grand scheme, have you ever considered the two of them could overthrow you together?”

Ilya visibly paled. Of course he didn’t. Malek was his childhood friend. Even Taya, despite his cold interior, was someone he heavily relied on.

“After all, Malek is obsessed with two things. Her and climbing the ranks. What do you think would happen if he married her?”

Ilya’s answer landed on Lorenzo’s face, and the Italian chuckled.

---