Page 2 of Crimson Curse
In this business, loyalty is the foundation upon which everything else is built. Without it, organizations crumble, families fall, and empires turn to dust. I've spent years cultivating that loyalty, rewarding those who serve me well and eliminating those who prove untrustworthy. The stench of disloyalty makes my hands itch for violence.
“Find them,” I order. “I want the leak uncovered. I want to know everything they know about Viktor and where he took Naomi. Check every communication, every access log, every breath they've taken in the past month.”
Lex inclines his head once. “I'll run audits. Backtrack every login, every data feed, every shift report. I'll find them.”
He disappears as swiftly as he came. I stand alone in the middle of the ruined sitting room, surrounded by the debris of my carefully maintained composure. The silence clamps against my skull like a vise, filled with all the words I should have said, and all the precautions I should have taken.
I think of Naomi, the last time I saw her. The way her auburn hair shimmered in the light streaming through the bedroom windows created a halo that made her look almost ethereal. The defiance in her warm brown eyes when she argued with me about taking extra security. The warmth of her hand in mine as I kissed her goodbye, tasting the coffee on her lips and breathing in the subtle scent of her perfume.
She has become everything to me without my permission and without my planning. I never intended to care for another woman after Sasha died. The risk was too great, and thepotential for loss too devastating. But Naomi slipped past my defenses like water through stone, wearing down my resistance with her intelligence, her courage, and her refusal to be intimidated by the darkness that surrounds me. I slam my fist into the wall, the plaster cracking under the impact.
Minutes crawl by like hours. I pace through the wreckage, my mind racing through possibilities and contingencies. Every second that passes is another second Naomi spends in captivity, and another moment of fear and uncertainty she has to endure because of the choices I've made, and the enemies I've created.
When Lex returns, he carries a tablet and an expression that tells me everything I need to know before he opens his mouth. He doesn't bother with a preamble or waste time on gentle explanations.
“Ivan Grigori,” he announces, scrolling through data on the screen. “Logistics handler. His credentials accessed the security cameras fifteen minutes before they went dark and Naomi disappeared. His communications log shows off-channel traffic dating back three weeks. Small transfers to an offshore account. Regular bribes. He's the leak.”
My vision narrows until the world becomes a tunnel with Ivan Grigori's name at the center. I know him. A wiry man in his forties with nervous eyes and sweaty palms. He handles supply chain logistics for our legitimate businesses, coordinating shipments and managing inventory. I've spoken to him a dozen times in the two years he's worked for me, brief conversations about mundane details that seemed beneath my attention.
Now I understand that nothing is beneath my attention. Every person in my employ, every detail of their lives, and every decision they make reflects back on me. Ivan Grigori has beenselling my secrets to my cousin and trading information about the woman I love for money.
“Bring him,” I command.
The hunt doesn't take long. Ivan lives in a modest apartment in Lincoln Park. In this neighborhood, low-level criminals and honest workers exist in uncomfortable proximity. Maksim returns within the hour, dragging the traitor into my office like a hunter presenting his kill.
The office has always been my sanctuary within the sanctuary. Dark wood paneling lines the walls, interrupted by built-in bookcases filled with volumes on strategy, history, and philosophy. My Carrara marble desk dominates the space, its surface scarred by years of decisions that shaped the fate of the Zorin Bratva.
Maksim shoves Ivan into the leather chair opposite my desk, the same chair where I've received reports, given orders, and occasionally shown mercy to those who earned it. Tonight, mercy is not on the menu.
Ivan's skin is pale, his eyes darting everywhere but mine. Sweat beads on his forehead despite the coolness of the evening, and his hands shake as he grips the armrests of the chair. He knows why he's here. Guilty men always know.
Maksim plants himself behind the chair, arms folded, a sentinel of brute force. His presence alone is enough to make strong men weep. For someone like Ivan, it must feel like standing in the shadow of death itself.
“Pakhan—” Ivan starts, his voice cracking like thin ice.
“Do not speak unless I tell you to.” My tone cuts him off like a razor. I lower myself into my chair slowly, every movement designed to emphasize the power dynamic in this room. I fold my hands on the desk, studying him with patience knowing he has nowhere to run.
The silence drapes over us, oppressive with unspoken threats. Ivan's breathing becomes increasingly shallow, his nervous tick making his left eye twitch every few seconds. I let the fear build, seeping into his bones until he understands exactly how precarious his position has become.
“You have one chance,” I continue, my voice soft as silk and twice as dangerous. “Use it well. Explain.”
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with effort. The sweat on his brow has turned to rivulets now, cutting tracks down his pale cheeks. “It wasn't meant to be betrayal,” he whispers, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Just... information. Small things. Shipments, security routes. I thought it was nothing serious. Family politics. Cousins fighting for power. I didn't know he would touch her. I swear it.”
Family politics. As if the war between Viktor and me were some petty squabble over inheritance rather than a struggle for the soul of the Zorin Bratva. As if Naomi were just an unfortunate casualty rather than an innocent woman caught in the crosshairs of our ambitions.
My gaze doesn't waver or soften. “You sold my woman's location to Viktor.”
His head jerks, panic spilling across his face like water from a broken dam. “I didn't know he would take her,” he pleads, leaning forward in the chair. “I thought he only wanted leverage.Money. Information about your business dealings. He paid me more than I make in a year for what seemed like harmless details. I didn't know Lucien Antonov was involved. I swear to you,pakhan, I didn't know.”
I already pay him more than most men will see in their lifetime. But it wasn’t enough. Ivan Grigori sold out the woman I love for a pile of cash that won’t even buy him a reprieve from what’s coming.
“Where is she now?” I ask, though I already know his answer.
“I don't know.” His voice breaks, his body trembling like a leaf in a storm. “I only gave him the motel name of where she would be tonight. I thought it ended there. I never asked what he planned to do with the information.”
Of course, he didn't ask. Men like Ivan don't want to know the consequences of their actions. They prefer the comfortable ignorance that lets them sleep at night, and the willful blindness that allows them to cash their blood money without thinking about whose blood paid for it.
His words are pathetic and meaningless against the magnitude of what has been lost. I study his face, memorizing every detail. The way his eyes dart to the door, the shallow rhythm of his breathing, and the nervous tick in his left eye.
