Page 5 of Sapphire Tears

My gut twists. But since I don’t have any idea where else to go, I do the only thing I can do.

I nod.

2

KOLYA

FIVE DAYS LATER

Thunder rolls over our heads. Clouds sit like black pits of concrete in the skies, but there’s still no rain.

I turn my attention to the line of men kneeling in front of me. There’s a certain tidiness to a bullet in the head, but my mood calls for something a lot less clean.

“Sir,” Knox says, moving to my side, “we’ve rounded them all up.”

My eyes veer across the men. There are eleven in total. All of them have their arms bound tight behind their backs and ankles cuffed together. No matter what they do, they will not escape their fate today.

I pace before them, letting my eyes flicker over each man’s face for a brief moment. I don’t recognize a single one.

“Well?” I ask, pausing in my tracks. “Information is the only thing that will save you now.”

A shiver that runs through the line of captives. Every single one of them wants to speak, but fear keeps their lips sealed.

I make eye contact with the youngest man in the line-up. He can’t be older than twenty or twenty-one. His beard is a wispy tumbleweed, but his eyes are dark and proud. “We weren’t high up enough in the ranks to be told anything important,” the boy tells me. “We don’t know where the girl is.”

Milana appears on the dock, framed by the gray harbor waters behind her. The shipyard is deserted now, but it won’t be for long. Considering we’re in for an early morning thunderstorm, I’m guessing I have a little extra time.

“You don’t know where the girl is,” I repeat. “Is that true for every man here?”

I glance towards Knox. That’s all it takes to communicate my orders. Behind the lineup of poor souls who chose the wrong leader, my men take up their positions.

“Yes,” one of the older ones growls. “We were given orders. We followed them.”

I pace leisurely over to him. “What’s your name?” I ask.

His eyes narrow. He’s got a full beard that acts as something of a mask. Most of his features are hidden behind it. “Tucci.”

“Italian?”

“Half.”

“My cousin wasn’t picky,” I mutter to myself.

Ravil certainly had the numbers, but in the last few days, I’ve begun to realize just how superficial those numbers are. He’d flooded his Bratva with the dregs of the underworld. Men with anger and adrenaline in spades, but not the skill to harness it.

It’s been easy to pick them off. Easy—and completely unrewarding. None of them have been able to give me what I want.

“If I were to give you orders, would you follow them?” I ask conversationally.

Despite my best efforts, I hear my father’s tone in my voice. Hard and calculated. Completely devoid of mercy. I’d seen his face when he murdered enough times to know I don’t want to become what he was.

And yet here I am… becoming exactly that.

Another pitch of thunder rolls across the sky. A few of the doomed men flinch. “I will follow your orders, sir,” one of the men pipes up from the left side of the line. “I will pledge my loyalty to you.”

The veterans hiss their disgust. I ignore them and keep my attention on the one who’d spoken. “And who am I?”

The man hesitates. He’s young, but already graying at the temples. “K-Kolya Uvarov.”

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