Page 160 of Dangerous King
I pull Cat into my arms, ready to get her out of here, and feel her tremble. Her whole body vibrates with fury and grief. I tightenmy grip before she explodes. Ledyanoy Prizrak tilts his head, his eyes flicking between us. "She wasn't innocent. Just stupid. And stupid gets people killed."
"You son of a bitch—" Cat snarls, lunges forward, and slaps him again.
His head flings to the side, but his smirk stays on his arrogant face. "Now, will you tell me how she died?"
The eagerness in his eyes sickens me. That bastard would get off on the gory details of Sabine's death.
"Alright, Cat, let me take over." I gently push Cat to the side and watch as, numbly, she takes a seat. Her eyes are filled with pain and grief; I should take her home. She must read my thoughts on my face, because she shakes her head. "I'll be fine."
I'm not sure I want her to see me like this, but here we are. There is no going back. I take off my jacket with deliberate slowness. A grin spreads over Ledyanoy Prizrak's face, almost like he's anticipating the torture he knows is coming. I put on my game face and push Cat from my mind, even though I can feel her eyes on my back. "Who hired you?"
He laughs, shakes his head.
"You and I both know that you'll answer my questions, sooner or later. Ledyanoy Prizrak."
"My name is Igor Pavlov," he replies, surprising me. But I don't let on. I walk over to the side table that holds all the torture instruments one could want. I like to keep it simple and reach for a blow torch. "I was in the KBG before I became a… freelancer." He scoffs, "So, yeah, I know all about torture."
I turn with the torch, playing with the strength of the flame.
Igor Pavlov. I think it suits him. Igor is still grinning at me. "I didn't hold a grudge against you until you messed with my contract, you know."
"How wonderful," I reply sarcastically, lighting the blowtorch.
The blue flame hisses, filling the sterile air of the warehouse with a new kind of tension. Igor doesn't flinch. He's cuffed to a reinforced chair, his shirt is soaked with sweat, but he hasn't begged. Not yet. His expression is carved from stone—until I take a step closer and angle the torch toward his thigh. That gets a twitch. Barely.
"You know," I murmur, my voice steady, "there are faster ways to die than the one you signed up for."
"I know," he says in his light Eastern European accent, "But you won't kill me yet. You want answers."
"And you're going to give them to me," I reply, angling the flame a little closer.
I pause. "You planted a fucking bomb in my fucking wedding cake. You were going to kill my wife. My wife. On our wedding day!"
"It was poetic." He shrugs.
I slam my fist into the table beside him. The metal shudders, the flame wavers. "Why did you take my sister?"
"Ah, now we're getting somewhere." He grins as if he were the one standing there with the blowtorch. "Don't you get it yet, Sartori? Certain people want certain people at war. Your sister was just... leverage. A push in the right direction."
My grip on the torch tightens. "You're saying someone wanted me to retaliate?"
His grin widens, full of teeth. "And you did, like clockwork. You reacted just as predicted. Executed Giovanni. Set fire to the Giordano estate. A beautiful opening act."
I lean in, voice cold. "You're wrong. I didn't kill him right away. Got a few answers first."
Igor barks a laugh. "Nice bluff. That fool didn't know shit. He was a pawn, a pathetic one. Always was. You were meant to take him off the board. Hell, you did us a favor."
I narrow my eyes. "Us?"
He shrugs with maddening nonchalance. "Let's just say… Omertà Infernale prefers its pieces in motion. You'd be amazed how much blood moves things forward. And you? You moved just fine."
I take a breath to rein in the fury tightening my chest.
"You're being used," I say low. "You know that, right?"
"We'reallbeing used, Enrico." His voice turns dark. "The difference is—I know it. Do you?"
The flame hisses, hungry in my hand.
