Page 67 of Blood Money

“Then who the fuck is he?”

Dario shook his head. “Konstantin Makarov.”

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” I deadpanned.

“Nope.”

“Was he fucking with her to get to us?” I demanded.

“It doesn’t look like it. From what we gathered, he’s here getting the lay of the land. Rumor has it that’s who the Bratva is sending to run the Russian faction now.”

“Great,” I muttered. “I’ll talk to Gabriel tonight.”

We rode in silence for a few blocks.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dario asked as I adjusted my sleeves.

“Are you sure your name isn’t actually Dr. Phil?” I snapped in irritation.

He shook his head, but as he turned to the window, he smirked.

It wasn’t long before we’d stopped outside the run-down house I’d had the little gang prick at. Dario and I got out. Catalano and Georgie were already there when we went inside. I gave them a curt nod but didn’t stop. They all fell in behind me.

Our footsteps sounded like thunder as we headed to the basement.

It smelled like old piss and shit. Not gonna lie, my stomach revolted for a second. Or two.

The battered man chained to the wall hung from his arms. Not pausing for a second, I stormed over to him, grabbed his dark hair, and jerked his head up.

“Ow, fuck,” he muttered through split lips and missing teeth. His left eye was practically swollen shut.

“Hello, brother.” My sarcasm was heavy.

“Fuck off,” he gasped.

“I don’t think so,” I replied in a light and matter-of-fact manner that I certainly wasn’t feeling. What I wanted to do was rip him limb from limb with my bare hands.

He grunted.

“Now, how about we try this again? Who were you working with? Because we know you didn’t have enough men to pull off the warehouse ambush on your own.” I led with that because I was itching to inflict pain.

“I was working with Fuck and You,” he spat.

“Mmm, I was hoping you’d say that.” I reached into my jacket and unsnapped the sheath. Then I pulled out the knife. I checked the blade with my thumb and was satisfied with the thin edge. Contemplating the man we’d had Angel heal enough to keep alive so we could get information from him, I debated where I wanted to strike first.

I tossed the knife in the air and caught it by the hilt, blade pointing down. Then I buried it in the joint of Mario’s shoulder. He screamed, and I smiled.

“Still not talking? Huh. Well, you might be interested to know that Hefty told us you approached him. We weren’t happy that he didn’t tell us immediately, but then I found out you had his daughter. That was really foolish of you. So that one was for Hefty.”

“Fuck that fat piece of shit,” he grunted.

I jerked out the knife. He shrieked briefly, then passed out, and I sighed. Blood poured over his now-dingy white shirt. I wiped the blood from the blade on his other sleeve. “Grab the ammonia.”

Georgie handed the small vial to me. I snapped it and held it under Mario’s nose. He jerked and gagged.

I patted his cheek. “Now, where were we? Oh yes. Let’s take a walk down memory lane, shall we?”

He spit at me, but it didn’t even get close.

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