Page 18 of Sins He Taught Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 3)

At the mention of his family member’s names, Herrington’s eyes bulge further. He knows damn well it’s a threat. Not that I’d ever hurt them. I know the rules of the Bratva Syndicate: Never hurt anyone who’s not in the game.

But Herrington doesn’t know about that rule. And I’m not about to fill him in, either. His imagination will do more damage than any real torture ever could.

He struggles, but Timofei keeps him rooted in place. “Let’s make this quick,” I say in a low rasp. “I need custody of my nephew. You can help me with that.”

The man tries to say something, but Timofei’s hand reduces it to muffled mumbling. I nod, and my second-in-command removes his palm.

“You have lost your fucking mind, man!” Herrington rasps. “Do you know who I am? I’m a motherfucking judge!”

I shake my head sadly. “I was hoping you would make this easy, Joseph. But apparently, you need to be reminded of who I am. I’m Matvei fucking Morozov. I control this city. Nothing you do and nowhere you go will ever happen without my awareness and approval. Don’t you even think about telling me no. If you do, I will make sure you cannot go anywhere without seeing one of my men pointing a gun at your head, ready to pull the trigger if I say so. You cannot run from me. You cannot hide from me.”

I step closer and press my face right up close to his.

“Listen to me, asshole,” I whisper harshly. “Because I am very, very serious.”

Even in the darkness, I can see the color drain from the man’s face. He knows it as well as I do—I am not kidding. Not even a little bit.

“Fantastic. Now that we’re acquainted with each other, let me repeat: I need custody of my nephew. His name is Nikolas Morozov. His father and mother were killed in a horrific accident, and I am trying to do what is right for the boy.”

Herrington draws in a rattling breath and rubs the sleep from his eyes. “The best I can do is provisional custody,” he says. “I swear, there’s nothing more. These things take time, and you’ve got a rep, you know?”

I scowl. If one more of these fucking civilians lectures me about my reputation, I will follow through on my threat and reduce the whole department to ashes in the wind.

Herrington must see how pissed that makes me, because he raises his trembling hands and repeats, “I swear on my mother’s grave, there’s not a damn thing more I can do! Provisional custody, and you’ll have to go through visits with a CPS worker. That’s the process; I couldn’t change it if I tried.”

I glance at Timofei. He shrugs, as if to say, I guess that’s the best we can get.

Turning back to Herrington, I say, “So be it. Make it happen. Tomorrow.” We turn to leave, but before we go through the door, I look over my shoulder once more and add, “Oh, and Judge? Don’t mention our little nighttime visit to anyone. I would truly hate to have to come back. Like I said before, Lucille and Charlie need all the rest they can get.”

Then I pull the door closed and leave the terrified man alone in his bed.

When we’re back outside, I clench my fist and let loose a long sigh. That felt much better than saying, “Please?”

Matvei

“What do you mean, ‘You don’t know?’” I snap. I look down at the scrawny bastard seated in front of me and grit my teeth.

He shrugs. The man reeks to high heaven, as if he’s allergic to the very idea of a shower, and keeps picking at his yellowed teeth with what looks like a disgusting length of bare wire.

“I dunno,” he repeats.

I look up at Timofei, who is standing in the shadowy corner with his arms crossed. He raises an eyebrow at me as if to say, Now what?

I turn back to the hobo. “You said you had info on the Justice Killer. His real name, his location, his next target. I brought you in here, paid you, let you drink whiskey worth more than your fucking life. And now, when the time comes to answer questions, all you have to say is, ‘I dunno’?”

I’m seething. My fists are clenched tight at my sides, about three seconds away from cracking this smug son of a bitch right across the face. All around me, my lieutenants are standing silent and waiting to see what I’ll do next.

Say it again, motherfucker, I urge in my head. I dare you to say that one more time. I need an excuse to break something.

His eyes meet mine. Brown, deep, inscrutable. Like piles of mud. He spends a long time flipping the toothpick with his tongue. Back and forth, back and forth.

Then he shrugs again. “I dunno.”

I’m on the man like a bolt of lightning. Seizing him with a fistful of his shirt in each hand, I roar and slam him up against the wall of my study. His skull cracks back against the wall with a nasty noise. I head-butt him once in the nose, and that crunches just as sickeningly.

“Where is he?” I’m roaring in his face. “Where the fuck is he?” I slam him against the wall again and again, and by the time I realize he’s unconscious, my men are already pulling me away from him.

I can barely hear them, barely notice them. I’m too hot with unspent fury.

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