Page 158 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

“To new lows is more like it,” I bite out. “You’re ruining the good reputation I’ve spent years building and killing people in the process. How long do you think your profits will last when the feds come knocking at your door? You can’t let this many people overdose and expect nobody to notice. You can’t keep stealing women and girls from their homes and expect karma to spare you.”

“And you can’t run your Bratva into the ground and expect no one to step up and stop you,” The Butcher retorts, finally losing his composure.

Behind him, I see Gennady wiggling in the hallway. The light isn’t on and it’s hard to make out exactly what he’s doing.

But it looks like he’s trying to free himself.

I just have to keep The Butcher talking and stay alive long enough to let that happen.

“Okay, I’ll play along,” I say with a shrug. “Let’s say I ran my Bratva like shit. Let’s say I was a terrible don. What right does that give you to steal my son?”

At that, the Butcher’s smile is back again.

His gun has lowered slightly, aiming more at my stomach now. If it went off, I wouldn’t die instantly. But it’s still not a comfortable situation to be in. I’d like the gun to be in my hands, not his.

Patience, Dima. Wait for the right moment to strike.

“That’s what I love about this whole tale,” he remarks, twirling his fingers in the air. “It’s such a convoluted little story. A tangled web. If I saw it in a movie, I’d think it was farfetched. Yet here we are. You and I. The two of us.”

I sigh, too tired of this man’s soliloquies to stop myself. “You talk too much,mudak.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re only frustrated because you don’t know the truth. You only have half of the story.”

I don’t like being on the outside. Being left in the dark, as Arya called it. But I also can’t bring myself to ask this piece of shit to fill me in.

I’d rather kill him and find out later.

There’s a rustle in the hallway behind the Butcher. I see Gennady signaling to me that he’s working to undo the zip-ties around his hands.

Just a few more minutes of chit-chat. That’s all I need to do. Keep this asshole talking until Gennady is free.

“So, what half of the story do I have?” I inquire.

The Butcher’s chest puffs with the pride of secret information. “You know that Zotov stole control out from under you, partnered with the Albanians, and tried to have you killed. And you know that now, I have your son. You see, this story is like a connect-the-dots, except, you are missing most of the dots.”

“So fill them in. Give me the dots.”

The Butcher shrugs. “I could do that. But I think I’d rather kill you. Let you die never knowing.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“None for you, but it will be incredibly satisfying for me. Especially because… I’m growing bored.”

The Butcher lifts the gun. I’m out of time. The only option now is to fight and hope I don’t get hit in the process.

Except, just as I’m contemplating charging the Butcher, risking a shot to the gut, I see Gennady stand up behind him. His mouth is still taped shut, but his limbs are free, and he’s creeping forward slowly and carefully.

Patience. We’re almost there.

“The least you could do is tell me your real name,” I snap, trying to buy Gennady the time he needs. “I don’t want to die at the hands of ‘The Butcher.’”

The Butcher grins as Gennady grows larger behind him, looming closer and closer. “I’m Jorik Bogdanovich. But Arya should’ve told you that, shouldn’t she?”

My face screws up in confusion. I want to ask what in the hell that’s supposed to mean.

But before I can, Gennady tackles Jorik from behind.

They slam into the floor in a flurry of limbs. Gennady has his arms wrapped around the Butcher’s legs, but the Albanian’s arms remain free.

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