Page 78 of Of Murder and Matrimony

“Got it, boss.” Stefano nodded, then jerked his head toward the door. Filippo left first, with Stefano on his heels.

I dropped back into my chair, blowing out a long breath. I wouldn’t be able to run after anybody with my leg in its current condition. The alcohol was barely taking the edge off. Powering my computer on, I started sorting through the incoming information about the Russians. Everything else could wait.

Hours passed with no new information. At some point, exhaustion overtook me, and I slept at my desk, waking when Stefano brought me food. I tried to push it away, but he reminded me I’d heal better if I took care of myself. One of the last things Olesya told me was to take care of myself.

I ate for her.

I slept for her.

I showered and got dressed the next day for her.

Then, I got an update from Cosimo. He’d gathered five Bratva members and was working on extracting information at one of our warehouses. I grabbed my suit jacket from the back of my chair and hobbled down the stairs. Stefano and Filippo beat me to the car and drove with single-minded determination.

Nothing mattered unless it would help me find my wife.

But killing Russians? That would satisfy my bloodlust.

I lowered myself from the SUV when Stefano parked in front of the warehouse, taking a moment to adjust and steel myself against the pain. Cosimo waited in a large room in the back of the building, with five Bratva soldiers hanging from the ceiling’s steel beams.

“I see you’ve had some fun,” I observed drily, taking in their bruised and bloodied bodies.

“You told me I could,” he reminded me, holding up a scalpel and chuckling darkly. “I thought it was fitting, given Olesya’s profession.”

“That’s so fucked.” I looked at the blood-streaked tarp on the floor and shook my head. “And ingenious. Let me try.”

Cosimo handed me the blade, and I approached the first man, who was already missing the fingers on his right hand. My brother didn’t waste time. The Russian panted when I scraped the side of the blade down his chest. “Have you told my brother everything you know?”

“Y-yes,” he squeaked. “I don’t know anything!”

“That’s unfortunate.” I tapped the tip of the scalpel over his heart, making him whimper. “I guess there’s no reason to keep you alive.”

“Try to take it like a man, now.” Slowly, I dragged the blade down the center of his chest, absorbing his frantic screams and letting them fuel my rage. My lip curled in disdain when the soldier pissed himself, iron and ammonia tainting the air. I made a second, deeper pass, and the blood ran up the scalpel’s handle, staining my fingers crimson. He passed out when I retraced the line, but I didn’t stop there. I continued until he was split open from throat to the pubic bone, and his entrails sprang forth from between his separated abdominals, squelching as they flopped into a wet pile on the floor.

It still wasn’t enough. I reached into his chest cavity and wrapped my fingers around the top of his heart, then blindly followed with the scalpel, careful to avoid my own flesh as I cut the warm organ from its home and held it up for the other prisoners to see.

“This is your fate,” I announced, my voice resounding in the room. The men shook, their chains jangling erratically as they saw the bloody heart in my hand, dousing my white shirt in thick rivulets of red. One of them vomited down his front. “You can thank your leaders. They stole my heart, and I will take yours in return.”

I shrugged out of my suit jacket and handed it off to Stefano, then rolled up my shirt sleeves. My vision blurred, tunneling as I gazed upon my targets. I wouldn’t leave the warehouse until all the Russians were dead or my wife was returned.

Whichever came first.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Yuri let go of my wrists when we entered Adrik’s penthouse, and I stumbled to the ground, balancing on my knees before I hit the dark wood floors face-first.

“Motherfucker!” I hissed at him, turning my head and leveling him with a glare. “What the hell were you thinking?”

He ignored my question and shrugged. “Adrik will be here soon.”

“Good,” I huffed, struggling to stand without the use of my hands. I looked around the posh space, taking in the windows lining most of the outside wall. The city lights winked mockingly. “I’ve got a few things to say to him, too.”

“You’ll be respectful,” Yuri cautioned, removing his black utility jacket and hanging it on a hook by the door.

“Like hell I will!” I panted, steadying myself and carefully walking to the kitchen to anchor myself against the counter.

He clicked his tongue at me, crossing his heavily muscled arms over his chest, the black t-shirt he wore dangerously close to tearing at the seams. “You have changed.”

“I have changed?” I repeated incredulously, pointing a finger at him accusingly. “You are the one who dressed all tacti-cool and came into my home to kidnap me in the middle of the night! You shot my husband. You are not the brother I remember.”

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