Chapter 10

Grigori

As the last punch lands, the sound of bone crunching under the relentless force of my men”s fists, I lean back against the cold wall, unimpressed. The interloper, now barely recognizable as the man who thought he could infiltrate our ranks, lies motionless on the ground. I watch from the corner, the scene unfolding before me with a monotony that”s become all too familiar. Torture, pain, the desperate gasps for mercy—it”s all part of the job. And frankly, it can get very boring at times.

”Is he still breathing?” I ask, my voice flat, detached from the brutality that”s just occurred. One of my men, Twitch, checks, his movements efficient, practiced.

”Barely,” he replies, looking up at me for the next order.

I nod, already thinking ahead. ”Don”t cut his tongue yet. Make sure he talks before. We need to know who sent him.”

Twitch raises an eyebrow in question, but I don”t give him the chance to voice his confusion. ”Get some water ready. We”ll coax it out of him, but we need him alive for now.”

The other men exchange looks, but they know better than to argue. They”ve seen death and destruction at the hands of their leader, and they understand the value of a captive.

It”s my job to extract information, no matter how grueling or agonizing the process. I”ve seen countless men broken down to nothing, only to have their will to live restored by the prospect of information.

”Alright,” I say, my voice low and menacing. ”Tell us who sent you. We can make this quick and relatively painless, or we can drag it out. Your choice.”

The captive, a scrawny man with wild eyes, looks at me defiantly. ”You”ll never get anything from me,” he snarls.

I smirk, reaching down with my gloved hand to grip his jaw. ”I think you underestimate us,” I say, my voice dripping with threat. ”We”re not the type of people you want to defy.”

He sputters, his eyes wide with fear, but remains stubbornly silent. I release his jaw and stand up, crossing my arms over my chest. Time to change tactics.

”Alright, then. If you won”t tell us willingly, we”ll find other ways to make you talk.” I turn to Twitch. ”Get the salt.”

I nod at Twitch, who retrieves a small bag of salt from his pocket. The man watches in horror as Twitch pours it onto his wounds, the coarse granules stinging like needles.

”Who sent you?” I demand, my voice low and cold. ”And what do they want from us?”

The man grunts in pain as the salt eats away at his flesh, but he doesn”t falter.

”I won”t tell you anything,” he gasps, his voice hoarse from the agony. ”You”ll never know our secrets.”

I smirk, a cold sensation spreading through my veins. This man, so determined to keep his secrets, has no idea what he”s getting himself into.

”Fine,” I say, my voice dipped in menace. ”We”ll see how long you can hold out against this.” I gesture for Twitch to pour more salt onto the wounds, and the man screams in unbearable pain.

But I can see he”s not giving in. His eyes are still locked onto mine, full of defiance and the promise that he will never crack under pressure.

”We”re going to kill you slowly,” I say, my voice icy. ”And trust me when I say, that”s the easiest way out for you.”

With a deep breath, I wave Twitch over. ”Bring me the electric prod.”

Twitch brings me the electric prod, and I hold it menacingly in front of the man. ”Last chance,” I hiss. ”Tell us what we want to know, or we”ll make sure you regret it.”

He looks at me, his face twisted in a mix of fear and contempt. ”I”ll never tell you anything.”

I press the prod against his skin, and the electricity courses through him, lighting up his body with a blue hue. He screams in unbearable pain, but still doesn”t falter.

I release the prod, watching as he convulses on the ground. Finally, he looks at me, his eyes pleading for this to end.

”You know,” I begin, my voice low and mocking, ”you”re the first one to ever last this long. I must commend you for your... persistence. “

I watch as Twitch prepares the next round of agony for our captive, bringing him back to consciousness with a splash of water. He looks at me, his eyes filled with despair, and I can see the breaking point is imminent.

”Fine,” I sneer, my voice dripping with contempt. ”We”ll see how long you can hold out against this.”

I motion for Twitch to continue with the next form of torture, and he moves to secure the man”s limbs to the rusted metal frame. The man”s screams fill the room as twitch applies the electrical currents and tightens the screws.

As the man writhes in pain, his teeth gritted, the scent of burning flesh fills the air. The once-scrawny man becomes a skeletal figure, his once wild eyes now dull and lifeless.

The man”s resolve, once unbreakable, begins to crack. His voice, once full of defiance, now pleads for mercy. ”Please,” he whispers, “Please kill me.”

This whole scene was starting to wear thin on my patience anyway. Torture for information is one thing; endless groveling is another. And truth be told, I”m in a relatively good mood today—a rarity that shouldn”t go to waste on the likes of him. Besides, it”s clear he won”t talk, no matter what we do.

Without a word, I draw my gun, the weight of it familiar and comforting in my hand. Then, with a precision born from years of practice, I pull the trigger, shooting him right in the eye.

I holster my gun and leave without a backward glance, the man”s lifeless body a mere detail in the grand scheme of things.

I step out of the room. My suit, which was pristine and perfectly ironed when the day began, now sports splatters of blood—a stark, crimson testament to the morning”s work. It”s the worst way to start the day, and a mental note is made to wear something more practical next time. But in our line of work, practicality often takes a backseat to presenting a certain image. Oh well.

Heading upstairs to Luca”s room, my mind races through the conversation that”s about to unfold. Luca needs to be brought up to speed, and while he”s not one for unnecessary details, the implications of today”s events could ripple through our operations.

Without bothering to knock—a courtesy rarely observed among us—I barge into his room. Luca”s there, as expected, silhouetted against the window with a cigarette dangling from his lips, lost in thought or simply enjoying a moment of solitude.

Clearing my throat to announce my presence, Luca turns, the smoke curling around him like a protective veil. His eyes, sharp and assessing, land on me, taking in my appearance in a single glance.

”Grigori,” he greets, his voice even, betraying no surprise at my sudden entrance. ”You have blood on your suit.”

Yeah, no shit. The understatement of the year. But there”s no time for sardonic exchanges. It”s time to spill the beans.

”We had an uninvited guest today,” I begin, my tone matching the gravity of the situation. ”Tried to get a jump on us. Didn”t end well for him.”

Luca”s expression doesn”t change, ”And?”

As I stand before Luca, the gravity of the situation weighs heavily on the air between us. ”The man we dealt with, we”re suspecting he was a mutual contact between our syndicate and Perez”s,” I explain, my voice steady despite the churn of thoughts in my head. ”Caught him sneaking around. It”s got me thinking this might be a sign of something worse on the horizon.”

Luca”s demeanor remains unfazed, but I notice the slight narrowing of his eyes—a clear sign he”s piecing together the broader implications of my report. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling into the air like a slow exhalation of thought.

”I”ve had word from my informants,” Luca finally speaks, his voice low, ”that there”s a police task force being assembled. Their target? The mafia connections in the area. We”ve had to cut some threads loose to protect ourselves.”

The information doesn”t surprise me, but it does add another layer of complexity to our already precarious situation. The knowledge that law enforcement is tightening the noose around the mafia”s neck means we need to be even more vigilant, more ruthless in protecting our interests and our people.

”Any indication they”re getting close to us?” I ask, already running through a mental checklist of vulnerabilities we need to address.

”Not yet,” Luca admits, ”but we can”t afford to take chances. We”re going to need to reassess our operations, make sure there are no loose ends that can lead them back to us.”

”I”ll tighten security, start rotating our guys more frequently. And I”ll reach out to our contacts, see if we can get ahead of any moves the task force might be planning,” I say, the role of head of security fitting me like a second skin.

Luca nods, a silent seal of approval. ”Do whatever you need to do, Grigori. Keep us safe. That”s your top priority.”

”And your priority,” I counter, eyeing him with a scrutinizing gaze, ”should be to get some rest.”

He raises an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and skepticism playing across his features. ”What are you talking about?”

”You look tired,” I state bluntly. It”s the truth. The shadows under his eyes, the slight slump in his posture that he thinks nobody notices—it”s all screaming fatigue.

Luca lets out a short, sardonic laugh, the sound more weary than amused. ”I”ll consider getting some rest right after I find a nanny who”s willing to work for a mafia family.”

The joke lands with a thud between us, the humor failing to mask the underlying tension. It”s a moment before either of us speaks again, the air charged with unspoken concerns and fears.

”How are you handling the news?” I finally ask, broaching the topic that”s been looming over us like a storm cloud. Lana”s pregnancy—unexpected, uncharted territory for all involved.

”Not great. You?”

I take a moment, considering. Truth is, I”ve spent so long rolling with the punches, adapting to whatever life throws my way, that this feels like just another challenge to navigate. ”I”ve spent so long rolling with the punches, Luca. I”ll do the same here. Nothing has to change.”

But even as I say it, I know it”s not entirely true. Everything has changed, and yet, nothing can. Our world, our lives, are a delicate balance of power, loyalty, and now, a new life that ties us all together in ways we”re still trying to understand.

”Everything”s going to change,” Luca counters, ”Then we”ll learn to live with it.”

How can you learn to live with an ever-shifting landscape of danger and uncertainty while still maintaining the facade of a normal life? It”s a question that has plagued both of us since the news of Lana”s pregnancy.

”You”ve been quiet the past few days,” I say, breaking the silence that had engulfed us. ”Is everything okay?”

Luca”s eyes soften, the scrutiny shifting from the events surrounding us to a more personal matter. ”I”m... dealing with it. We”re all dealing with it. It”s a lot to process.”

The complexity of our situation isn”t lost on me. The fact that this baby will have three protectors is a given. In terms of safety, this child might just be the most secure kid on the planet. We”re meticulous, always a step ahead, ensuring that nothing and no one can harm what”s ours. That”s where my confidence lies, in the unwavering assurance of our capability to protect.

But it”s not the safety of the baby that”s knotting up my thoughts—it”s our dynamics. The unspoken tension that”s always hovered just beneath the surface of our interactions. It”s no secret to anyone in our circle that all three of us—Luca, Roman, and I—have been with Lana. And now, all three of us are potential fathers.

I”ve never been in what you might call a poly-romantic relationship, but then again, our current arrangement isn”t far off. The only difference is, now it”s out in the open. We know where we stand, or at least, we”re starting to. I can handle it, this strange, tangled web we”ve woven. But Luca... if I know Luca, and I do, he”s not going to take this well.

Luca has always been the possessive type. It”s one of his defining traits, right up there with his strategic mind and his unwavering loyalty. If he”s developed deeper feelings for Lana—and who could blame him?—this situation is going to tear him apart. Sharing isn”t in his nature, not when it comes to matters of the heart.

I lean against the doorframe, watching Luca wrestle with the enormity of our situation. Despite the gravity of it all, I can”t help but try to lighten the mood. It”s how we”ve always dealt with the impossible, with a bit of sass and a refusal to bow under pressure.

”Hey, think of it this way,” I start, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. ”You always wanted to be part of a groundbreaking team, right? Well, here”s your chance. We might just redefine modern family dynamics for the underworld.”

Luca shoots me a look, the kind that says he”s not entirely sure whether to laugh or throw something at me. ”Oh, great,” he drawls, his voice dripping with that sardonic edge I”ve come to expect. ”Just what I”ve always dreamed of. Making history for the most dysfunctional family setup known to the mafia.”

I chuckle, undeterred. ”Come on, it won”t be so bad. We”ve handled worse. And hey, between the three of us, this kid”s going to have the best protection racket running before they even hit kindergarten.”

That gets a grudging smile out of him, brief but genuine. ”Imagine the parent-teacher meetings,” he quips back, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. ”I can see it now: ”Your child has been very... persuasive on the playground.””

”Exactly,” I agree, pushing off from the doorframe to clap him on the shoulder. ”And who knows? Maybe this won”t be so bad. We”re all in uncharted territory here, but if there”s one thing we”re good at, it”s navigating the unknown. Together.”

There”s a moment of silence, a shared understanding passing between us. We”re in this, for better or worse, and no matter what comes, we”ll face it as we always have: as a united front.

”Alright, Grigori,” Luca finally says, a hint of his usual resolve returning to his voice. ”We”re in this shit already. Might as well make the best of it.”

As I leave Luca to his thoughts, I can”t help but feel a sense of camaraderie that goes beyond our usual ties. This situation might be a mess, but it”s our mess. And somehow, someway, we”ll turn it into an opportunity. Because that”s what we do. We adapt, we protect, and we never, ever give up on our own.