Page 57 of Bratva Bride

He glanced at the plate and raised his brows. “You made me breakfast?”

“Yep,” I said, popping the ‘p’. I scraped all the broken glass and food into the dustpan and placed it in the bin. Grabbing a bottle of multi-purpose spray and a cloth, I wiped the floor down, cleaning up every bit of leftover food and dirt.

“Thank you.” He picked up the plate and moved to the table, taking a seat.

I was slightly nervous. I wasn’t the best cook in the world. I could do the basics, that’s about it. Hopefully it would be good enough for him.

“How’d last night go? Did the guy talk?” I asked, washing my hands and making my way over to the table. I took a seat opposite him.

“Oh, he talked alright,” Arturo said, shoving a forkful of food into his mouth. “Your father can be quite motivating if the situation calls for it.”

I laughed. “Did he pull the whole ‘I’m the Bratva Butcher’ bit?”

Arturo smirked. “Does that a lot, huh?”

“Oh yeah. It’s his go to interrogation technique. Most people have heard of the Bratva Butcher, so it seems to work.”

“It definitely works. Miguel squealed like a pig and told us everything he knew. Nero was the one who told them to kidnap you. He wanted leverage against your father.”

I frowned. “Leverage? For what?”

“Nero wants him to butt out of our feud. He figured the best way to get your father under his thumb was to take his only daughter.”

Smart. Would have totally worked if he succeeded, too. Nothing was more important to my father than family, his children.

“One thing I just can’t figure out is why the Los Zetas are doing Nero’s dirty work,” Arturo said, frowning.

“Miguel didn’t say?”

“Claimed he didn’t know. Not sure if I believe him though.” He took another bite of his food, his brows lowered in thought.

“Maybe they’ve got an alliance, like we do?” I suggested.

Arturo shook his head. “Would your father and his men run off to do our bidding if we ordered it?”

I scoffed.

“Exactly. This was different. The Los Zetas are a brutal Mexican Cartel, it makes no sense that they would run around and do whatever Nero told them too.”

“Unless Nero has leverage over them too? Like he tried to get with my father?”

Arturo stopped eating and sat up straight. “That must be it. Nero’s got something over the Zetas. He has to.”

“What do you think it could be?”

“I don’t know, it could be anything.”

“We should try and find out what he’s got and where he has it stashed. If we can take his leverage away, he loses control of the Los Zetas.”

Something flashed across his face, an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “Good idea.”

It was silent for a few moments, just the sound of cutlery hitting the plate as Arturo ate his breakfast until I spoke.

“Tell me about your first kill,” I blurted out of nowhere. I was curious about him, about his life and what he’d experienced. There was still so much I didn’t know about him, and I wanted to know everything there was to know.

He chuckled. “Nothing really to tell. It wasn’t really a fair fight. I was nine, I’d been shadowing Alessandro for years, learning the ins and outs of the Cosa Nostra. As his successor, it was important for me to get familiar with death and violence at an early age. Being in this life, with a near constant stream of danger around every corner, there wasn’t any room for weakness. One day, he took me down to the dungeon and sitting in a chair bolted to the floor was a scrawny little guy. Early twenties, with track marks all over his arm. He jumped one of our dealers and took off with the whole stash, over $10,000 worth of drugs. Alessandro tracked him down and originally planned to make an example out of him, until he decided it was the perfect opportunity for me to get my first kill out of the way. Looking back, I always thought it was kind of cheating. The dude was strapped to a chair and couldn’t fight back, so like I said, it wasn’t really fair. I stabbed him in the throat and then threw up afterwards.” He shook his head, chuckling slightly. “Alessandro wasnothappy about that. Anytime we had someone down there, he got me to kill them until I could do it without throwing up. Took a few tries, but eventually I got there.” He looked at me. “How about you?”

“I was seven,” I began, staring off into space. “A group of thieves had broken in. They saw the guards at the front gate, the big, beautiful mansion and figured it was a good score. They weren’t your garden variety thieves; they were the real deal. Smart, professional, well prepared. They managed to get over the fence and into the house without anyone noticing. It was a real testament to their skills, considering the grounds were patrolled twenty-four hours a day. One of the men was a closet paedophile.”

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