Page 89 of Villainous Kingpin
I went to Yale, and I heard from the building attendant that all her stuff was boxed up and sent to Davina Hayes-Brennan. When I asked why, he just said the girl disappeared and one of her roommates was handling her affairs.
If only I could get my hands on Davina. I seriously contemplated kidnapping her so I could question her. Priest hacked into Wynter’s phone to find it was wiped clean. He attempted to hack into Brennan’s network, but that was blocked.
“You can’t keep this up,” Dante muttered. “We’re chasing ghosts.”
We sat in the back of the graffitied entrance to one of the Bratva’s warehouses in Long Island, which served as their lab. There was one thing I learned over the last four weeks. The Russians had been expanding all around New York. That had to end.
“No, we’re not,” I hissed. The three of us came along with our ten best men. “She is somewhere. People don’t disappear into thin air.”
There was something that had been bothering me about Wynter’s abduction. It lacked logic and reasoning behind it. They left my father alive, much to my regret. I’d rather they have killed him or taken him, and left Wynter behind. But it would seem my father schmoozed the Russians too and somehow talked himself out of getting killed.
“Jesus, Basilio. You have to get yourself together,” Priest added, his eyes focused on the blade of his knife as he kept turning it over. “Maybe she escaped the Russians and just changed her mind about marrying you.”
Dante punched his younger brother in his shoulder so I wouldn’t. I gritted my teeth that he would even say something like that.
“My father shouldn’t have been at my place,” I said, that fucking day replaying in my mind over and over again. Nothing my father said sat well with me. None of it made sense. Too many inconsistencies.
“Do you suspect he set it up?” Dante inquired. The fact that we had to even wonder about it was fucked up. But that was who my father was. He’d stab anyone in the back, including me.
“Too many coincidences,” I said, frustrated that I couldn’t solve this puzzle. “It was almost as if the kidnapping of her friend was a distraction.” Their expression told me they agreed with it. “My father shows up, surveillance in my home fails, most of the city block around my home was corrupted. The Russians leave him alive. Nobody gets that lucky.”
“Except for your father,” Priest commented. “Though I have to agree. Bratva is not known to leave survivors.”
The moment he said it, he realized his mistake and a string of curses left him.
“Let’s go,” I told them all.
There was no time to waste.
* * *
The attack was brutal and bloody. We almost lost a man. The Bratva had more men than we anticipated, but we powered through it.
After hours of fighting and killing, and then torturing Russian assholes for information, we were down to the last two bastards.
“Nyet, nyet,” one of them started. Then a string of Russian words left his mouth.
Nothing would save them. But first I’d get some information. “Switch to English or Italian,” I said as I cocked my gun. The ugly fucker covered in tattoos attempted to spit at us.
Then as if in slow motion, my restraint snapped. Over the last four weeks, I had been hanging by the thread. My rage took over and I lunged at him. The Glock in my hand turned into a weapon. But not to land a bullet in him, but to strike. Again and again.
“Who are you?” I roared. “Why are you in my city?”
He smiled, stupid and gruesome, showing me his bloodstained mouth and teeth.
“Kill this one,” Dante said with a twisted smile, eyeing the other captive. “And we’ll work on this one. I’d bet my money that this one speaks English.”
The other guy’s head shook vigorously, then uttered words in Russian.Suka.Yeah, I understood that one.
The shot rang out loud and ended the first Russian. Then we all turned our attention to the next one. We’d call himsuka guyfor the duration of his short miserable life.
“He’s sensitive to being called a bitch,” Priest remarked casually to the other one who just about pissed his pants.
“Can I?” Priest asked when I readied to start working on the fucker. It has been the only way to release my fucking frustration lately. Killing people.
Fuck, I wanted to deny him. I needed to release this rage festering inside me, but I also knew I had been walking the thin line between rage and sanity. And the monster that relished inflicting pain wasn’t satisfied. Not yet, but I nodded my head just the same.
Priest produced a piece of glass from somewhere and he stepped forward to drive it into the back of the fucker’s hand. Then I watched him pry his mouth open as he drove it into his tongue.
