14. Gleb

Three Years Later

Keeping my back pressed firmly against the red brick wall, I glance toward Pyotr behind me. His deep frown tells me he doesn't like this any more than I do.

But I've spent every waking minute of the past three years hunting this bastard down.

Tonight's the night we catch our rat.

And I want Pyotr to see it with his own eyes because I'm still struggling to believe it myself.

It's nearly nine o'clock, several hours after Val's shift at the Veles house ended. He stopped for a drink and meal at one of the finer Brooklyn Heights watering holes. Now, he walks with casual confidence down the promenade, heading toward the bridge. It's nowhere near his Queens home, which means he's not taking a stroll on his way.

He's meeting someone.

If I didn't know better, I'd almost suspect it must be a lady friend. It'd be the perfect setting for a clandestine tryst. The reflection of the City lights twinkle on the water, casting an almost romantic atmosphere on the crisp early May night. And the couples that pass, heading in the opposite direction, are linked arm in arm, their smiles wide from having enjoyed an evening out.

Sticking to the shadows of the trees along one side, Pyotr and I stay nearly a block behind the stoic bodyguard. Val's lingering limp makes him easy to distinguish from here. And when he finally settles onto a bench in the Fruit Street Sitting Area overlooking the bay, we duck behind a thicket of bushes.

Pyotr keeps his eye on our target as I dig in my leather jacket pocket for the earpieces connected to the receiver I tucked under Val's peacoat collar. Handing one to Pyotr, I tuck the other into the shell of my ear and activate the device. Then I ping Lev and Denka, dropping our location so they'll be here the second I signal them.

They have no clue what the hell's going on. No one does. Because I wasn't about to trust a soul with my mission. It's taken us years to put an end to the steady annihilation of Veles men. And in that time, I've slowly narrowed my sights onto the culprit who has cost us countless good soldiers.

I've already confirmed it. Men stopped dying as soon as we started feeding Val bad information. And that means tonight's meeting is high stakes for him. I have no doubt he's sweating because Mikhail is not a forgiving man. And by now, Val must suspect we know. Still, I want to catch him in the act. I want to hear the words from his lying, treacherous mouth.

Val lights a cigarette, and I can hear the slow inhale as he takes a long drag. A moment later, a lanky figure approaches from the opposite direction. His collar is turned up, hiding the lower part of his face, but I would recognize Captain Zmeya anywhere. There are few men I'd like to kill more than that animal. But tonight's not the night. It would be too public, too messy.

We have one mission. Val.

"You're on your third strike," Zmeya states as soon as he settles onto the far side of Val's bench. Getting right to business, I guess. Though he pulls out his phone and pretends to scroll.

"I need permission to pull out. They're catching on. I'm no use to Mikhail if?—"

"No names, you fucking invalid," Zmeya hisses.

Val falls silent, but I can see the vitriol in his sidelong glance even from this distance.

"I'll talk to the boss," Zmeya says flatly after several seconds of silence.

"I don't think you're hearing me. I'm not going back. I've stuck my neck out far longer than the time we agreed upon, and I may not have one tomorrow if I go back," Val's growl crackles across the line.

Pyotr and I share another look, and this time, I see my fury mirrored in his gaze. Too bad for Val he caught on a hair too late. He won't make it past tonight. I've already sent the signal to my men.

"And you'll continue to stick it out until the boss says otherwise," Zmeya states. "Go home. Have a stiff drink. Maybe start thinking about how you're going to get back on his good side after these last two major fuck-ups. Then we can talk."

Zmeya stands without another word and raises his phone to his ear as if taking a call. And with a cool indifference, he continues on down the promenade, fading into the deep shadows.

"Blyat," Val hisses.

He goes to stand. But my weapon's already drawn, the massive bodyguard locked in my sights, and with a soft thwump, the tranq dart buries itself in his thick neck. His hand slaps the exposed flesh, knocking the dart free, and he grunts.

A van door slides open behind me, and in a flash, Pyotr and I join Lev as we make our way quickly across the sidewalk to Val's bench. He groans as we sling his arms around our shoulders and haul him to his feet. It takes all three of us to steer the large, stumbling, sedated man to the van opening, and we manage to do it without drawing any suspicious glances.

"What the fuck?" Denka asks, casting a glance over his shoulder as he pulls back onto the street without hesitation. "Is that Val?"

The van door slams shut as we make a beeline for one of the waterfront warehouses Pyotr owns under a shell company with no association to his name.

Rolling Val onto his stomach, I tie his hands securely, gag him, then run my fingers under his collar to retrieve my bug. "The mudak has been trading information to the Zhivoder," I state flatly.

No one says a word on the drive, and when Lev hops out to open the garage door into the warehouse, Denka pulls the van straight inside. It takes little communication to get Val tied to a chair beneath one of the warehouse's bright hanging lights.

As Pyotr slaps Val's cheek, roughly bringing him back to consciousness, I pull out the bag of tools I packed for the occasion.

"Pyotr…" Val mutters, his eyes focusing on our pakhan as the color starts to drain from his face. "What's going on?" Glancing around himself, Val jerks against his restraints as panic takes hold.

"Don't play dumb, Val," Pyotr says calmly, though his eyes burn with intense hatred. "We both know it took a lot more intelligence than that to pull off the stunt you did."

"Stunt?" Val eyes me nervously, his chest rising and falling as I study the pruning shears, snapping them open and closed several times as if to test that they're functioning properly.

Then, I separate his pinky finger from the arm of his chair and place it between the blades.

"Okay! Okay! I've been passing information to the Zhivoder!" he shouts, losing his bravado completely.

"For how long?" Pyotr asks flatly.

"Fuck, I don't know. Years?" Val's tone is thick with exasperation, like the length of time hardly matters.

And as the shears snick closed, he releases a bloodcurdling scream.

"Were you the one who set the trap on Mikhail's estate? Did you give Maks bad information that wound up killing Efrem and half our fucking men?" Pyotr presses as Val flails frantically against his restraints.

The question makes him still, and he eyes my pakhan with fresh horror as he realizes where this interrogation is heading. A trickle of sweat runs down his temple—no doubt a combination of fear and agony.

With cool detachment, I separate his ring finger and place it between the shear blades. This time, I don't bother waiting.

"Fuck, fuck! Yes!" Val howls, thrashing in his chair as his severed finger rolls across the ground.

"If I were you, I'd start answering faster," I suggest before placing his middle finger between the blades.

"Please, I'll tell you anything," Val begs, slumping in his chair as he breaks down and starts to sob.

"The girls we took from Mikhail, the ones we swore to protect, were you part of the plot to kidnap them?" I ask, cutting into the conversation.

It's the only question I need to know the answer to because I've been plagued by my failure to protect those girls three years ago. They've all flown the nest now, moved on with their lives. They're happy. But I can't be because the one chance I might have had to find happiness vanished along with Mel. All I have now are years of bitterness and resentment that I fully intend to take out on Val, regardless of who's to blame.

Confusion flits across Val's face, as if he forgot they almost got sold into slavery. Then he swallows hard, like he's more afraid to answer my question than not.

"Too long." I bring the shears closed a third time, lopping off his middle finger.

Val howls through clenched teeth, his arms bulging as he tries to ride out the pain now that he's getting used to it. And when he looks at me, the snarl on his face is brimming with hatred.

"Yes. Alright? Is that what you want to hear? I knew you had a thing for Mel. I knew you kept them under close surveillance, so it would take planning to keep you away. I suggested the hit on Imperia to distract you."

I nod, setting aside the shears with a nonchalance I don't feel. Then, I pick up a carving knife and remove his ear with one clean stroke. The scream that rips from Val this time is barely human. And as he jerks and strains against his bindings, a deep sense of satisfaction curls my lips.

Lev and Denka stand stoically behind the chair, watching without a word.

And when I look at Pyotr, he gives me a subtle nod before taking charge again. Drawing his gun, he places the barrel on his old bodyguard's kneecap and waits until Val calms down. Ragged breaths burst from our bloody prisoner. A mad glint reflects in his eye as he peers up at Pyotr.

Crimson liquid coats his lips. He must have bit his tongue hard enough to bleed. I can hardly blame him. Losing an ear is supposed to be an excruciating experience.

"Why, Val?" Pyotr asks calmly. "Why did you betray your Bratva? Your brothers? Your family?"

Val spits, coating the tip of my pakhan's fine Italian leather shoes—no doubt a gift from his wife, Silvia. A muscle tics in Pyotr's cheek, but he keeps his cool.

"Family?" Val hisses incredulously. "That bitch you call mother ruined the Veles a long time ago. She threw us into a war she knew we couldn't win. And she didn't care who died along the way. My brother—my blood and bone brother—died so your mother could have vengeance for her husband's death. And was it worth it? This clan doesn't even know what it's fighting for anymore."

Stunned silence hangs in the air. Whatever reason I was expecting, that was not it. I didn't even know Val had a brother. Honestly, I never cared to learn why we went to war with the Zhivoder in the first place. As far as I'm concerned, they're the scum of the earth that need to be annihilated. And it disgusts me that Val would switch loyalties to them, no matter the reason.

"Let me get this straight," Pyotr says conversationally. "To get revenge for your brother's death—the same kind of motivation you condemn my mother for—you were willing to send good men, loyal men, to their deaths. You allowed innocent women to be taken, brutalized, murdered, and sold off as sex slaves. Did I get that right?"

"That's what it sounded like to me," I agree when Val presses his lips closed.

Even with the silencer on, the gunshot rings through the open space as the bullet obliterates Val's knee.

"Fuck the Veles!" Val roars, convulsing violently.

"Any other questions, Gleb?" Pyotr asks, ignoring Val's wrath completely.

"I think I'm good."

Pyotr nods and takes aim again. "Goodbye, Val. I'll see you in hell."

Echoing silence follows as the old bodyguard slumps forward, lifeless in his chair. Blood trickles from the hole in his forehead.

"Spread the word," Pyotr says coldly. "No one is to even think this traitor's name again. He's not just dead to the Veles. I want him wiped from existence."

"Yes, gospodin," Lev, Denka, and I chorus darkly.

"Get rid of him."

As my two most trusted men get to work on the grizzly job of dismembering the body, Pyotr jerks his head, signaling for me to step away with him. I follow him farther into the warehouse, curious about what my pakhan might have to say.

We walk quietly together, and in the silence, I have a moment to think, to assess the calculated emotions thrumming through my veins. After years of hunting down our rat, it feels both deeply satisfying to have achieved my mission and incredibly disappointing.

Over the years, I've become so obsessed with my hunt that I've had little time to worry about anything else. And suddenly, I feel like a kite without a string, a cat with no mouse to chase. And the last thing I want is spare time to contemplate. Because without fail, my thoughts always inevitably turn to Mel.

Reaching the far wall of the warehouse, Pyotr turns to me. "I know you've only just finished the last big mission I gave you. And you already have a lot on your plate, but are you up for another challenge?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation.

Pyotr smiles wickedly. "Good. Because I'm ready to play dirty. I want to do the same thing to Mikhail that he did to us—I want to put a spy in his midst and destroy his operation from the inside. It's time we stoop to his level and turn the tables, don't you think?"

Sick joy curls my lips. My pakhan has grown more and more ruthless by the day. And I'm more than ready to crawl through the mud if that's what it takes to gut Mikhail. "Believe it or not, I already know the perfect man for the job."

His bright eyes are sharp with excitement. "Who'd you have in mind?"