Page 29 of Brutal Crown
Another, to the ribs this time. He screams into the tape.
“For what Ialmostruined.”
Another splits his lip. Blood pours down.
“For thinking I could want a girl like her and still walk away whole.”
I slam his head back against the wall. He slumps, then breathes in shallow gasps. I lean in one last time.
“You didn’t hack a file,” I hiss. “You hacked the last shred of peace I had.”
I step over the wreck I’ve made and grab the burner from my coat pocket. I stare at the number pad for a second. My pulse has already slowed.
Then I dial.
The line clicks. I let out a ragged breath and shift my voice to a higher, frantic tone, with a shaky Slavic accent I picked up from one of our guys in Warsaw.
“Hello? Yes—hello, I-I don’t know if this is right number—uh—yes, police, yes. Please?—”
I breathe fast, stumbling over words like I’ve been running.
“I live under apartment 5B, and—there’s bad things upstairs. So many computers. Cameras. Wires. I think… maybe drugs too? I think maybe the guy who lives there is into cybercrime and some stuff? I hear shouting. Some crashing around. I’m scared.”
Another breath. Quick, shaky.
“I smell chemicals. Smoke. Pizza. But… burnt, like… like bodies.”
I let my voice tremble just enough. Not too much. Not hysterical, but like a guy who doesn’t want to get involved buthas to.
“I don’t want problem, I just… I think maybe someone should look. Please don’t say I called. I have family with me.”
I hang up before they can ask my name.
Silence returns.
The kid groans behind me in broken sounds.
I signal my men to plant some drugs discreetly around his apartment. I estimate the time the FBI will show up. He’llprobably still be out cold. And when he wakes up, he’ll be in custody, charged with drug trafficking, cyberterrorism, and enough digital dirt to bury him for life.
Unconventional mafia justice. It works best sometimes when I’m not in the mood to dispose of bodily evidence.
The dusk is settling in by the time I return to the estate. The sky is a wash of orange and blue, and when I walk toward the house, I hear laughter coming from the courtyard.
Lia.
She’s sitting on the stone bench under the oak tree with no one else but Marco sitting stretched out and comfortable next to her.
My jaw tightens as I watch the way Marco leans in to say something low near her ear. She nudges his shoulder and scoots closer to him.
I feel something crack inside me.
My hands tremble, and I ball them into fists.
I take a deep breath, and then I turn around and walk away. Because if I stay, I’m not going to be the man I promised myself I’d be.
And I already broke that promise once.
9
