Page 29 of Nikolai Petrov

A low rumble of thunder vibrates through the room, shrouding the sound of my rapid steps.

His dry mouth splits blood when the heavy ring on the back of my hand strikes it. Without a sound, he’s thrown back into the chair.

Gingerly testing the wound with his tongue, he leans forward with his eyes piercing me. “I had her before you did.” He spits a wad of red tinted saliva on my black Oxford shoes and gives me a gory grin.

A roar breaks from my chest as I grab his shirt and heave him to the floor. With his hands still bound behind his back, nothing stops his nose from driving into the filthy concrete.

“You have backstabbed me for the last time!” My entire body shakes in rage and I rip off my jacket and throw it in a wad to my guard. “Rope! Tie his hands out to the crates!” Men scramble from their places to obey my command.

I’ll show them, no one undermines me and survives. Fear and loyalty is how this business functions.

Ivanov twists his cheek through the crimson pool forming around his broken nose. A low grunt looses from him as his arms are pulled out so he lies flat and tethered.

A small cloud of fine dust erupts as his feet kick out in a feeble attempt to lash out at one of the men as he passes. “You owe me, David!” he hisses. One bloodshot eye peers up from the floor to follow him as he tries to hurry away.

With a nod, I set two others to gather David.

I’ll deal with him later.

It was with great patience this morning I made sure my knife was as sharp as it could possibly be. Sharpening a blade is a lost art. My series of whetstones and honing oil are getting harder to find.

I wonder if that means I should sheath my blade and retire? Perhaps when one of my sons decides to step up and take over Chicago for me.

In the meantime, I’ll keep my tools precise. For special occasions, just like this.

A staccato of heavy rain sweeps over the tin roof of the building making a low din of noise in the background.

All the better.

His thin shirt shreds easily down his spine revealing the pale skin dimpled with age spots. It hangs on his weak frame.

“Someone has been skipping the gym, Ivanov. Haven’t I told you, staying healthy is important in this line of work?”

“Fuck you, Petrov. Some of us had to fucking work while you paraded around.”

My toe connects with his flank in a hard and fast kick. The crack of his rib echoes through the warehouse.

He doesn’t hold in the shuddering groan as he gasps for air.

“Hard work, Ivanov? I gave you everything you asked for. All you had to do was make phone calls and deliver messages. In case you forget, I even made the charges disappear when you killed that professor all those years ago. Remember that? I had to burn down that fucking house because there was too much blood to clean.” The tip of my blade pops just under the loose skin on the back of his shoulder. “There was a family inside, Ivanov. I killed them, for you.” With a long, slow push, I open a line across his back to his other arm.

He squirms and grits his teeth. “He deserved it,” he chokes out. “She loved him. Even though everything I did was for her.” His lips pull back in a grimace as a tear streaks through the dirt on his swollen nose.

“No. You see, you have put me in a very bad situation. I know who that man was, now. You are forcing me to keep a secret from the one person I never want to hide anything from.” Changing the angle of my knife, I start a new slice from the center of the first and follow his spine. My hand rises and falls over each protrusion of his vertebrae like a small boat on the ocean as I trace it to the small of his shaking waist.

Dark droplets form along each line as the layers pull a gap, exposing the knotting pink tissue beneath.

Ivanov’s breath comes rapidly through his clenched teeth. “She’ll be the same, you just watch. She won’t be happy with an old fuck like you.” With every movement of his arms, the flaps pull farther apart at the base of his neck.

The steel edge bites again into his soft flesh, just over the top of his hip to filet a line across the top of his pelvis, intersecting with the line down his spine.

“You see, Peter. The difference is, I love my wife. I would never fuck around on her, like you did with yours.” Rolling back on my heels, I take a moment to admire the large ‘I’ shape I’ve carved into his back.

Using the flat of my blade, I peel up one of the corners near his neck until I can get a good hold on the slippery hide. With a hard pull and soft tearing sound, the flap peels back, exposing the muscles over his ribs that stick small pale bands through the darker flesh.

His scream fills the room.

Several of my men shift and avert their gazes.

---