Page 65 of Til Death Do Us Part (Kornilov Bratva Duet 2)

Viktor

The sky is a deep orange when I walk into one of Seamus’ offices and down the stairs.

There are no windows in the basement, and the air smells damp and coppery. Seamus is saying something to me as he leads me down a long hallway and into a large open space, but his words are lost when he flicks on the fluorescent lights, and I see my consigliere sitting in a metal chair in the middle of the room.

Petr looks smaller chained up. Less powerful. Helpless.

His hands are chained to his ankles and a single chain runs from his ankles to a metal hook in the floor.

There is an angry twisting in my stomach, but I try to ignore it and remain neutral. I asked Seamus to do this, after all. Petr is chained up by my orders. I can’t look like I regret it. Especially since I don’t. If Petr is guilty, I want him to pay.

He looks up, his eyes squinting against the sudden brightness, and I see there is a rag in his mouth.

“He was screaming,” Seamus tells me. “I’ve soundproofed down here, but there is no such thing as being too cautious.”

That is why Seamus will make a good ally. I appreciate cautious. Some people—like Fedor—see it as a weakness, but I recognize it for what it is: smart.

I walk forward just as Petr’s eyes adjust to the light. They go wide when he recognizes me. I rip the rag out of his mouth.

“Viktor,” he gasps, coughing and taking in huge lungfuls of air. “What the fuck? What happened?”

There is a bruise across his cheek and a cut on his eyebrow, but otherwise he looks unscathed. I’m sure he won’t be for long.

“How long have you been working for Fedor?” I ask, cutting straight to the chase.

Petr frowns and his brows knit together. “What are you talking about?”

I rear back and kick the leg of his chair, knocking it sideways and sending him toppling to the floor. He manages to brace himself for impact and avoid hitting his head. The chains pull tight, and he winces as the metal cuffs chafe on his wrists and ankles. He lifts his head, trying to look at me, but since he can’t lift himself back to sitting, he has no choice but to lay his cheek on the concrete.

“I’m talking about you selling information to my brother,” I snarl, kneeling down in front of him. “What did he pay you? What did he offer to make you turn your back on me so easily?”

Petr is trembling now, but he manages to shake his head. “Viktor. I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

“I know you lied about your mother.” I try to keep my voice level and calm, but rage is curling inside of me like a snake ready to strike. I’m not sure how long I can keep my head. “I visited her, and she isn’t sick. She hasn’t been sick at all. So, where in the fuck have you been going?”

“Okay, I did lie about my mom,” Petr admits, nodding emphatically. “I lied about that, but I’m not working for Fedor. It’s not what you think … believe me.”

“How can I?” I snap. “I’ve tracked you going into an Italian stronghold every day for a week. What else am I supposed to think?”

“I know it looks bad, but—”

His words are lost to groans when my foot connects with his stomach.

Despite what many people may think, I don’t relish the violence. At least not this violence. But it is necessary. I need Seamus to know that I deal with those who disobey me, and I need Petr to know that our friendship won’t mean a damn thing if he is lying to me.

Petr curls in on himself and a sob bursts out of him. “Vik, man. Come on. Listen to me.”

“I have been listening to you,” I growl. “For years. You’ve been my number two, and now you are lying to me.”

He tries to hold up his hands in surrender, but the chains catch, and his hands end up down by his knees. Still, he shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. “I am lying. I was, but I’ll tell you everything. Right now. You don’t have to do this.”

I nod for a few of Seamus’ men to pick up the chair, and they do. Petr sighs when he is upright, relaxing slightly, and I don’t like him thinking he is off the hook.

“You just need to listen—”

My fist smashes against his jaw, and Petr’s head snaps to the side.

I shake out my hand and pace away from the chair. “I don’t need to just do anything.”

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