52. Andrey

52

ANDREY

It's like shooting fish in a barrel.

Viktor has one arm chained to the bedframe by a pair of fuzzy red handcuffs, but that's about all of him I can see. Two naked women make up the rest of the picture. One of them seems to have lost her tongue down his throat. The other must've lost hers somewhere between his legs.

Before I can gag, I pull out my gun and aim at the bedpost looming over Viktor's head. Even with the silencer screwed on, the pop of the discharge is enough to make both women scream.

Neither one screams as loud as Viktor, though. I suspect that has something to do with the second woman reacting to the unexpected noise by clamping her jaw closed.

Poor bastard.

He's cursing up a storm and clutching himself as the women scurry in search of their clothes.

"Looks like you're bleeding, brother," I remark.

"Pity. I was hoping she'd bite it clean off," Leonty mutters.

The women are quivering from head to toe. When I incline my head to the door, they bolt without a backward glance at Viktor.

"I-I have security here with?—"

"Bullshit." Spit flies from Leonty's mouth as he paces along the foot of the bed.

Shura drags a chair from the corner and sits like he's anxious for the show.

I'm eager myself.

"There's no one here with you because you're not important enough to require security, you fucking mudak." Without warning, Leonty lunges forward and lands a solid blow to Viktor's jaw.

"Fuuuck!" Viktor bellows, straining against his handcuffs. Despite how cheap the cuffs look, they're holding up just fine. The zip-ties I brought might not be necessary after all. "When Slavik finds out about this?—"

"He'll send us all gift baskets for taking you off his hands," Leonty growls.

I only agreed to let him come on the condition that he controlled himself and followed orders. I'm not sure this qualifies.

He towers over my brother, top lip curled back. "I should put a bullet through your fucking mouth."

"Leonty," I caution. "Breathe."

With a snarl, he backs away to the furthest corner of the room. Shura is handling himself somewhat better, but even he's white- knuckling the back of the chair like he wishes it was Viktor's neck.

"I only did what any one of you would have done in my place!" Viktor cries out, his voice cracking. "My honor was at stake?—"

"What fucking honor does a worthless rat like you have?" Shura seethes.

Viktor ignores Shura and focuses on me. "Can you let me out of these things?" he begs, pulling at the cuffs.

"You got yourself into them," I say. "You get yourself out. It's time you learned that lesson."

"Brother—"

"Oh, now, I'm your brother?"

He tries to push himself upright, but the cuffs have him chained in place. "Listen, you've humiliated me, I've humiliated you?—"

"Don't flatter yourself. You don't have the power to humiliate me."

He flinches before his face hardens into that cruel, arrogant mask I know so well. "I heard you're a father now. Boy or girl?"

"Boy," I say on impulse.

Viktor's eyes dull. "An heir, then."

"Not if you have anything to say about it. Isn't that right, brother ?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Viktor mumbles. "I would never wish harm on your son."

"That's the thing about you, Viktor," I sigh, turning my back on him and heading towards the door. "I can't believe a word you say anymore."

Shura gets to his feet. Only Leonty stays where he is. He cracks his knuckles. "Now?"

"What are you doing? What is he—" Viktor looks from me to Leonty. "Andrey! Brother!"

"You have fifteen minutes." I ignore Viktor and address only Leonty before I walk out. "But don't get too carried away. I need him alive."

When Viktor splutters awake again, he's naked and shivered, caked in blood. All of my vory surround him, but his eyes dart wildly around the room.

I know what he's looking for.

He won't find it here.

"Welcome, brat ," I greet, ignoring the gnawing in my gut as I step forward. "This is judgment day."

I pull a scalpel from behind my back and it winks in the lights. I tap it against the heel of my hand as I approach him.

"Andrey," Viktor pleads, "you can't do this to me. I'm your brother!"

I raise my arm and circle in place, pointing the scalpel at the dark-eyed men forming the loose circle around us. " These are my brothers, Viktor. You are simply a traitor."

"I'm no traitor!" he yelps. "I always had your back?—"

I laugh—a dark, cold laugh that has Viktor cringing back into silence. "I suppose you did have my back. All the better to stab me in it, right? Then again, I shouldn't have expected anything less from a coward."

Viktor's mouth curls down. "I'm not a coward?—"

"No?" I turn around as the crowd of men part. Ivan strides between them, stopping where Viktor is restrained, his face twisted into an ugly grimace. "What do you call a man who orders his own wife's death?"

"Ivan…" Blood drips down Viktor's jaw and over his chest. The mark of the Kuznetsov Bratva is barely visible on his chest beneath the crusted grime. He smells like a slaughterhouse. The next few minutes will do him no favors in that department.

"You have the audacity to look me in the face? To call me by my name?" Ivan roars, drawing himself up to his full height. "After what you did to my daughter?"

There's a moment where I wonder if Viktor will beg for his life. Maybe, for once, he'll find some humility.

Then he sneers, and I can only sigh. Tigers never change their stripes, I suppose.

"Your daughter is a whore !" he spits. "She deserved what she got!"

Before Ivan can do him any damage, Leonty beats him to the punch—literally. He flies from the outer rim of the circle and cracks Viktor across the face with a wicked backhand, as if he didn't get enough of that when I left them alone in the whorehouse.

Viktor's teeth clack together and his eyes roll in their sockets.

Leonty looms over him, ready to deal out more. "Say another word about her, and I will cut out your damn tongue."

Ivan nods approvingly and rejoins his men, all of whom are wearing satisfied smirks.

"This is ridiculous," Viktor blanches as the circle reforms. "You've really brought me here to punish me over a woman ?"

"It's a weak man that arranges a hit on his wife," I say. "It's an even weaker man that turns his back on his family."

"You're no family of mine. Not anymore."

"Those may just be the truest words you've ever spoken."

I know what I have to do. I'm prepared to do it. But when I look in my brother's eyes, I see the little boy who came to me wailing when he had nightmares.

That boy is long gone, though.

And he's never coming back.

I twist my scalpel in my hands. "Since we're both in agreement, it's time to make the parting official."

Viktor spasms, trying to free himself from his restraints. "No! Let me go. Let me the fuck out of here! If you kill me?—"

"Kill you? As if I care whether you live or die. No, Viktor. I've brought you here to sever you from my Bratva once and for all." I place the tip of my blade against the tattoo on his chest. "This is my mark. You've worn it with my permission. As of this moment, consider that permission withdrawn."

I press the blade to his skin and do what I must.

Viktor screams and thrashes at first, but his energy wanes quickly. By the end, he's a pale, shivering mess. He's barely even conscious. And the tattoo is no longer a part of him.

"Unchain him and leave him naked on Slavik's doorstep," I order. "Viktor is his problem from now on."

My men move to do my bidding, but Ivan stands. "Every man in this room is depending on the Kuznetsov Bratva to retain power and influence. Viktor was meant to be your successor. With him gone?—"

"Nothing has changed," I finish for him. "Do you have no faith in my victory, Ivan?"

"Of course I do," he splutters. "I am simply being practical. You need a successor."

Shura's jaw is a hard line. He holds my gaze, and I can hear the words he can't voice. You promised Natalia.

What I promised her was to keep our children safe.

Which is what I intend to do.

"I'm winning this war, brothers," I proclaim, addressing all the men standing around me. "And I also plan on living a very long time. But since this seems to be a matter of some concern, let me clear your minds…"

The room goes silent.

"I have a successor. My son, Grigory Kuznetsov."