Page 77 of Dark Promise (Suvorov Bratva 1)

Daza’s resistance, his commitment to Cardona, his ability to handle pain just pisses me off more than anything. Life bristles in his eyes regardless of how far to the brink we take him.

“Waste of fucking flesh.” I hurl the cloth into his face. “Useless!”

My vision clears, and I see him gritting his teeth at me again. I slam my fist into his smug expression, twisting it as his head flies back. Crimson blotches my view of him while I put punch after punch into that smug grin. It’s like he wants me to lose my shit. It’s like hewantsto die.

I don’t see Daza anymore. I just see red. And in my tunnel of sheer rage, a new face forms, the familiar etchings of a man who still lives and breathes beyond these walls.

A man who demands the seat that’s mine.

A man who dared to lay a hand on mywife.

I punch harder, losing myself to the repetitive motions. It’s not even a face anymore. It’s a red ruin. But I can’t stop myself, can’t contain the madness that begs to be released.

With a loud huff, I bounce back from the body, holding my hand out for Stepan to hand me a fresh cloth. I wipe the blood from my knuckles, flicking away a tooth that came loose from between my fingers.

My chest heaves as I say, “Process the body.”

“Not much to process, Pavel Sergeyevich.” He shrugs. “Disposal, maybe.”

I flash him an angry glare. “Fingers and teeth. You know what to do.”

He bows his head and then motions for Volodya and Kostya to get started. They move without flinching, descending on the body like vultures.

Once the body is removed from the room, I toss the cloth to the ground, wandering toward the iron bars separating this room from the rest of the basement. “Fucking prick.”

“Is there something bothering you, Pavel Sergeyevich?”

Other than the fact that I imagined beating Jonas to death?I huff. “No.”

Dull footsteps resonate behind me. Stepan appears at my side, staring at the brigadiers hauling the body up the basement stairs like it weighs nothing. After all the blood and flesh Daza lost to my fist, I don’t imagine he weighs much at all.

Stepan hums and says, “The Bratva can’t afford to have their Pakhan bottle everything up.”

He’s not wrong.

The brigadiers make it to the basement door. Only when I hear the resoluteclickof the door shutting do I bother turning to Stepan and saying, “It’s because of Liya.”

“Did she do something?”

“No, but her brother did.”

He glances at the chair, where a few teeth sit. “He’s trying to go back on the deal?”

“He fuckinghurther.”

Stepan focuses on me, eyes swirling with realization. “He hurt Liya?”

“He slapped her. I saw him do it.” I ball my fists up as I turn toward the chair. “In my own fuckinghouse. The goddamn prick had the nerve to strike her right under my roof.”

“Thedisrespect.”

I growl. “I held him over the terrace railing. I lost control. I almost launched him right over, except…” I swallow the words.

But Stepan doesn’t miss a beat. “Except?”

“Liya convinced me not to.”

Silence wavers between us, and I know Stepan is thinking—scrambling under that damn metal plate. He takes a few steps away and reaches into his pocket, procuring a couple of gloves. As he slides them on, he says, “That’s because you’re in love, Pavel Sergeyevich.”

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