Chapter 32

Chapter

Thirty-Two

"We should forgive our enemies, but not before they are hanged."

― Heinrich Heine

Alexsei

Washing my hands, I scrubbed the dried blood off and dried my skin with a clean cloth from the kitchen table.

Bringing the glass to my lips, I let the vodka burn my throat, closing my eyes as the alcohol eased the tension in my shoulders.

I'd had one hell of a day. After my little witch's heart-wrenching revelation about her messed-up past and her worthless excuse for a father, I couldn't stand to stay home any longer. I needed to act, and I needed to do it now.

Leaving Caia alone was the last thing I wanted. Damn, I was addicted to that woman. All I craved was to be by her side, to feel her skin beneath my lips, to wrap her in my arms and breathe in her scent.

But I knew I had to seek justice for her, for what had been done to her. No one lays a fucking finger on my wife and gets away with it.

I had four fucking names on my list.

Volodymyr Babikiv / Klark Polanski / Slavoy Sadiek / Kristian Mankiev

I decided to start with Polansk i, just to give the other guys a taste of what was coming for them. Taking him out was surprisingly easy; he barely seemed to suffer for his crimes.

I found him in his office this morning at 8. He'd just come back from Phuket, bragging about his wild times with ladyboys and his reckless spending. I played along, pretending Silas was interested in investing in his company. He was fucking thrilled.

Casually, I asked him about his favorite pimp, just in case I needed an escort. Polanski fell right into my trap. When Mankiev's name slipped out of his mouth, something inside me snapped.

I grabbed my small hatchet from my suitcase and brought it down on his desk, chopping off both his hands. His scream was so loud, I half-expected it to reach Antarctica. Without missing a beat, I cut out his tongue to shut him up.

Afterward, with adrenaline still pumping, I made a quick stop at the security office. A bit of cash and some persuasion made sure the morning's video footage went conveniently missing. Money really does smooth over any fucking problem.

Then I headed to find Volodymyr Babikiv . I knew he wouldn't be at his office because his contract at a small IT company had ended abruptly two weeks ago, with accusations of embezzlement and thousands missing. I checked his apartment in downtown Moscow, but it was empty.

Frustrated, I reached out to Volk, asking if he had any leads on Babikiv. Hours dragged on without a word, and my patience was wearing thin. Finally, Volk came through, saying Babikiv had been spotted on a security camera at one of our casinos in Saint Petersburg.

So, here I was on this damn Sunday night, an hour-long flight on our private jet behind me, here I was, strolling through the various aisles of our casino. I nodded at a few customers, ensuring everything was running smoothly. The place wasn't as packed as it would be on a Friday night, but there were still six or seven tables filled with men gambling, drinking, and smoking.

Babikiv's face caught my eye immediately—just as repulsive as the mugshot Volk had sent me.

I approached their poker table and smoothly took a seat beside him, ordering a whiskey with a nod to the dealer. I greeted the people around the table, exchanging nods with two middle-aged men sitting across from me, before focusing on Babikiv to my right. With a confident smirk, I settled in, ready for the game.

A waitress sauntered over; her smile seductive as she placed my whiskey on the table. Before she left, she let her hand brush against my arm, but I quickly pushed her away.

"So, Babikiv," I began casually, swirling the whiskey in my glass. "What's your take on this hand? "

Babikiv glanced at his cards, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Hmm, tough call. I think I'll raise."

I nodded, a faint smile playing on my lips. "Bold move."

"Wait." His eyes widened. "How do you know my name?"

I leaned back. "Oh, just a lucky guess. Names tend to float around in places like these."

He regarded me with suspicion before shrugging it off. "Fair enough."

Babikiv was a fucking nightmare to look at, like something straight out of a horror movie. His face was covered in acne scars and rough, cratered skin, with glasses that were way too big for his face. His gut bulged out from under his shirt, and his chest hair sprouted like weeds. The worst part was his long, greasy hair that smelled like it hadn't been washed in ages, making my stomach churn.

"You know, sometimes, Babikiv, winning comes with a price," I said, my gaze locked on him.

Babikiv raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. "What do you mean?"

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Let's play. I'll bet 15K."

Babikiv's eyes widened in surprise. He glanced nervously at the sizable stack of chips in front of me, then back at his own meager pile.

"You sure about that?" he muttered; his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Absolutely. In fact, make it 30."

Babikiv hesitated, clearly weighing his options. Finally, with a shaky hand, he pushed his chips into the center of the table, matching my bet.

"Alright then," he said, trying to sound confident but failing miserably. "Let's see what you've got."

As we played, I couldn't resist using some of the sneaky tricks I'd learned from Igor over the years. Thanks to his lessons, I had a few aces up my sleeve—both figuratively and literally. Babikiv was completely fucking clueless, making it easy to outmaneuver him at every turn.

Despite his feeble attempts at bluffing, I saw right through him. With each round, I steadily built up my chip stack while Babikiv's dwindled away to nothing. It was almost fucking comical how outmatched he was.

By the final hand, I knew victory was mine. With a smug grin, I scooped up the pot. Babikiv may have thought he had a chance, but against me, he never stood a chance.

He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. "Shit... I really needed that money."

"Yeah? What's going on?" I asked, lighting a cigarette and releasing a puff of smoke into the air.

Babikiv hesitated before speaking. "I... I'm in some serious debt. If I don't come up with the money soon, I don't know what I'm going to do."

"That sucks, man. How can I help?"

His eyes met mine, and I saw a flicker of hope, like a drowning man grasping at a lifeline. "I-I don't know. Maybe another round?"

I chuckled darkly, the smoke from my cigarette curling ominously around me before I stubbed it out in the ashtray. "Do you know who I am, Babikiv?"

On cue, the two other men at our table exchanged nervous glances before hastily getting up and leaving.

"No," Babikiv muttered, his voice barely audible over the clinking of glasses and distant hum of conversation.

I smirked. "I am Alexsei Romaniev."

Babikiv's face drained of color, his eyes widening with realization. He took a shaky breath before whispering, "Y-You're part of the Silas. "

I nodded slowly, taking in the fear on his ugly face as I finished off my drink.

"W-What do you want from me? I-I don't owe you money! I don't," Babikiv stammered.

I cut him off, my tone icy. "I heard recently that you know my wife, Babikiv." A sinister smile played on my lips. "Her name is Caia Mankiev. Does that ring a bell?"

Babikiv's eyes widened in panic, and he began to fumble over his words. "N-no, I swear, I don't know anyone by that name. I-I've never heard of her before."

"Are you sure about that?"

He nodded frantically, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Y-yes, I'm sure. I-I don't know who she is."

I held his gaze a moment longer. What a fucking coward.

"You see, I happen to know the truth. You know exactly who Caia Mankiev is."

He opened his mouth to protest, but the words caught in his throat.

"You touched my wife, didn't you?"

Babikiv's face went even paler, and he swallowed hard, unable to look me in the eye. After a tense silence, he finally nodded slowly, his shame clear.

"What should I do with you, Babikiv?" I asked, my voice cold and unforgiving.

"P-please," he blubbered, tears and snot running down his face. "I only did it once! I didn't know she was your wife! I swear! I thought she was just some cheap slut?—"

Annoyed by his whiny voice, I pulled the gun from my jacket and aimed it right between his legs. Without a second thought, I pulled the trigger. The gunshot blasted through the room, and Babikiv's screams pierced the air as he crumpled to the floor, writhing in pain.

I stood over him, my face hard as I pointed the gun at his head. "Wrong choice of words, Babikiv," I said, the cold steel steady in my hand. "Say hi to Satan for me."

Without another word, I pulled the trigger again. The shot tore through the room, the bullet smashing into his forehead. Babikiv's body went limp, a ragdoll of death.

I holstered the gun and walked away, leaving the bloody aftermath of my vengeance behind. Babikiv and Polanski were dealt with, a ruthless message to anyone who dared to cross me or my wife. Now, with only two names left on my list, all I needed was a hot shower and to see the woman who'd turned my life upside down.

I got home and almost cracked and woke up Caia, but when I checked the time on my phone, I saw it was way too fucking late—or early—for that. So, I tried to let her sleep and fought the urge to barge into her room.

But I couldn't help myself. I crept in and checked on her. There she was, all sprawled out and serene, clutching a pillow like it was her lifeline. She was wearing one of my Kenzo black tees and a black thong, her hair a mess of strands framing her face. Her lips were slightly parted, and her cheeks had a soft flush. She looked like a fucking dream.

My fucking beautiful nightmare.

My little witch.

With a heavy sigh, I closed the door and made my way to the bathroom, alone.