Chapter Fourteen

A couple of miles from the farmhouse of Ferma La Guzun...

The underground dungeon was dark and damp, lit only by a few flickering torches along the stone walls. Water dripped down from the ceiling, collecting in small puddles on the cold floor. Chains and shackles hung menacingly from various points along the walls and pillars. In the center of the room, tied securely to a wooden chair, sat the assassin—slender and dressed all in black, with sharp angular features and jet-black hair. Dried blood caked one side of his face from a wound sustained during his capture. Pale gray eyes flashed defiantly as he stared at the three men who had strapped his hands and ankles tightly to the chair.

With expressions hard and unforgiving, Bogdan, Vadim, Arian, and Andrei watched him for long, stretched-out moments.

“Talk, motherfucker. Who hired you to kill the Comare?” Bogdan finally demanded in a low but firm voice.

The assassin merely smirked. “I work alone.” Regardless of his taunting smile, he jumped slightly when Bogdan slammed his fist down hard on a nearby table.

“Marcire all ‘inferno! We know someone sent you. You fucking tell me who, or I will beat it out of you.”

Refusing to be intimidated, the man sneered with a laugh, “Go ahead and try. You’ll get nothing from me.”

Arian’s fist closed around the assassin’s long hair to yank his head back sharply, eliciting a small grunt of pain. With his face mere inches from the assassin, he hissed, “Unless you talk, you’re of no use to us alive.”

The assassin set his jaw stubbornly. “Then do you fucking worst, but I’ll tell you shit.”

“Beating him up and pulling his hair isn’t going to achieve shit,” Bogdan growled as he drew his dagger and pressed it up to the assassin’s throat. “Talk fuckface. I want a name.” He ignored the man’s wincing as the sharp edge sliced through his skin. The blood seeping from the cut quickly soaked his shirt like a blooming carnation.

Still, the assassin laughed mockingly, proving why he had been chosen for the daunting job. The sound was cold and ruthless as it echoed off the dungeon walls. “Do what you will. I’ll die before I break my oath.”

“He’s not going to talk. My patience has run out. Just kill the motherfucker. I’m done wasting my time, especially since we all know who’s behind this.”

Bogdan was surprised at Arian reaching the end of his tether so quickly. He was the one who could stretch out a questioning for hours on end. This time, he wanted out of the dungeon within thirty minutes.

“Yeah, we know whose tune he’s dancing to, Arian, but I want to know where to find that bastard. I’m not going to do the same tango as we did before with Maranzano. You stopped Andrei that day from killing him. This time, I’ll make fucking sure he won’t be coming back.” His gaze sharpened. “To do that, I need to know where to find that bastard before the next prick he sends has a lucky strike and kills your mother.”

“What do you propose, Tat??” Andrei asked as Arian and Bogdan retreated from their captive. He slowly circled the bound man, who watched him with growing trepidation. Andrei’s questioning techniques were well-known among assassins in the criminal world but would be preferable to the ubiytsa smerti taking charge. He flinched visibly as Bogdan picked up two knives and started sharpening them over a whetstone. The grating sound echoed ominously through the dank room.

“For the quickest way to get him to talk, I have a mind to revisit an old Viking torture method.” Bogdan’s eyes flicked over the assassin’s muscled frame. “He’s a strong fucker, so he’ll last long.”

“Is it gonna make him talk before he dies?” Vadim interjected from where he leaned against the door.

“If he doesn’t, he’d be a fool.”

“There’s no torture that’ll make me talk, fuckface, so you might as well kill me now. I’m not ratting out anyone.” His bravery evaporated as the giant man turned and walked closer.

“Thanks for the offer, but where’s the fun in that?” Bogdan pressed the sharp point against his face, cruelly cutting through the skin, leaving his chin to gape open wide. “Nawh, since it’s been a while, I aim to have some fun today.” He looked at the three men over his shoulder. “Ever heard of the Blood Eagle procedure? It’s rather a graphic and disturbing process but very rewarding when the wailing and pleading starts.”

“Isus Hristos, Bogdan, that’s gruesome. I hope you’re gonna clean up after you’re done,” Vadim protested. “There’s no way I’m picking up lung tissues and ribs off the floor.”

“No need. I’ll just send in the dogs to feed on his insides.” Bogdan continued to circle the chair.

“Wh-What the fuck is a Blood Eagle procedure?” For the first time, the assassin showed a frisson of fear.

“See, that’s the problem I have with these youngsters of today. They have no clue of proper assassination methods other than shooting someone. Tsk-tsk, shame on you for giving our profession such a bad rep, fucktard.” Bogdan methodically started cutting his shirt from his body. “Usually, this process is done with your victim lying face down on a table, but since the chair has no back section, I’ll just do it this way.”

“Fuck! Jesus Christ!” the man screamed as Bogdan sliced a thin cut along his vertebrae.

“Come now, that’s merely a marker so that when I make the deep cut, I have the right angle.” Bogdan walked around to face him.

“Wh-What are you going to do?”

“What does it matter? You said you’re not gonna talk, so I’m not going to bother asking any questions. No... I’m doing this purely to have some fun.” He tossed the knife in the air and caught it without looking at its trajectory. “But I’m nothing if not a good sport, so I’ll explain the process to you. It’s quite an intricate procedure, but since I’m not a surgeon, I can’t guarantee it’ll be done with any finesse.” He smirked as the man squirmed in the chair. “We never asked. Do you have a name, or do you prefer fuckface?”

“I’m called Moartea Neagra,” he sneered and shifted uncomfortably when the blood seeping from the cut down his back pooled on the chair below him.

“Ah, the Black Death.” Bogdan snickered, “I’ve heard of you. It seems you’re the one chasing numbers, aiming to have the most kills recorded.”

“Isn’t he the one who takes any job, even the low-paying and easy ones, just so he can add to how many kills he has under the belt?” Andrei interjected with a tone of disgust ringing in the prisoner’s ears.

“The one and only.” Bogdan tapped the two knives together. “So, back to the Blood Eagle. Once I’ve made the cut along your vertebrae, I’m going to start pulling your lungs and ribs out through the wounds. Can you guess why it’s called Blood Eagle yet?”

“Fuck you! You can’t do that!”

“Once I’m done, it’ll form an outline that looks like an eagle’s spread wings.” Bogdan continued unperturbed and then barked a laugh at Black Death’s expression. “The question is how long you would last or if you do hold on until the very end, how soon after would you die, because believe me, the procedure isn’t only agonizing, but I’m going to draw it out as long as I can. Eventually, your body will shut down from a combination of organ damage, shock, and blood loss. Either way... at least one of us will have some fun in the coming hours.”

“Well, I, for one, am not going to stand around for that. I know how meticulous you can get with these procedures. Every cut has to be perfect. I’ll pop in tomorrow morning. Hopefully, you’ll be done by then.” Arian’s words floated over his shoulder back into the room as he headed toward the exit. “You coming, Vadim?”

“Hell, yes. I’m starving. I’d rather have dinner than watch raw meat bubbling out of the poor man’s back.” Vadim visually shuddered with disgust as he also left the room.

“Well, son? Are you squeamish, too?” Bogdan’s gaze remained glued on his victim, who was becoming paler by the minute—and the loss of blood wasn’t the reason.

“Hell, no,” Andrei said with a broad grin. “I’m actually hoping you’ll ask for my help. You know... you do the lungs, and I tackle the ribs?”

“That sounds perfect. Let’s do this right. Like they do in the movies of surgeons performing procedures—with some music. Put on your playlist. Let’s have some tunes rock this joint.”

The dull screams of pain and pleas for mercy were suppressed by the rhythmic drums of rock bands until the early morning hours.

Then... nothing.

Silence descended over Ferma La Guzun.

A luxury yacht in the Black Sea, two-hundred-and-ten miles off the Romanian coast...

“You’ve met Svetlana, I assume?”

Luciano barely looked at the tall, beautiful redheaded woman who sipped on a glass of wine where she was sunning herself beside the jacuzzi on the deck of the luxurious yacht. Since Andrei had cut off his dick, he had no desire or lust-filled moments after women. In fact, he had no desire for any sexual fulfillment. All he was after was revenge. Least of all did he have time to play the kind of games his benefactor was after.

“I have only met one Svetlana, a cleaner in Estonia.” He gestured to the lithe form on the chaise lounge. “And that’s not her. Why am I here?”

“Yes, your cleaner in Estonia, aka Svetlana Rebane, my half-sister.”

“Your what?” Luciano’s head whipped around. His eyes narrowed as they caught and held the clear azure gaze, watching him with amusement.

“Come now, Luciano. Don’t tell me you’ve lost your desire for the thrill of the chase through the use of disguises?”

“I don’t have time for games. You sent your half-sister to spy on me? What the fuck is this about? I thought we had an agreement.” If there was one thing Luciano hated, it was to have people he made fealty with doubt his commitment or loyalty to the cause. This act was like a sucker punch to the gut. He stabbed a finger in the air.

“This, right here, is the reason why I always prefer to work alone. To be the mastermind and the driver of my own fate. I deviated from it before, and that’s why I ended up where I did. I refuse to allow it to happen again.”

“Relax, Luciano. Svetlana was there to lend a hand should it become necessary.” The man smirked. “It didn’t, so the precautionary gesture of assistance was wasted.”

“Assistance for what? You might be footing some of the finances until I can gain full access to all my money, but don’t forget who is in charge. If you were under the impression that I work for you, you are sadly mistaken.”

“I see our association more as a partnership, Luciano. One in which both of us wins, especially since we have the same end goal.”

“Do we? Pray tell,” Luciano leaned negligently against the boat railing. “What exactly is our end goal?”

“To kill Zafira Guzun.”

Luciano cackled a deep laugh. “Now see, that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t give a fuck whether the Comare lives or dies. She might have swayed a couple of spineless older generation Bratva leaders to sniff at her cunt for some fun, but in the end, when push comes to shove, she has no power. She might believe she does, but believe me, Bratva dons are old school. None of them are going to bow to a female’s leadership.”

“Then it’s a good thing I took matters into my own hands. By now, the bitch is dead.”

“What did you do?” Luciano suppressed the rage building inside him with difficulty.

“I told you from the start that I want that slut dead. You agreed. It’s not my fault that you decided to play a different game.” Lighting a cigar, his conspirator took a deep drag and blew out the smoke, watching the swirls dissipate over the ocean before he continued, “I sent the best assassin to finish her.”

Luciano laughed. “Finish her? An assassin? Don’t you think I’ve tried that before? That woman has a guardian angel hovering over her head. She should’ve been dead three times already, and still, she lives. What makes you think your guy is going to achieve success? Come, think about it. You send one measly asshole into a nest of the best assassins in the criminal world, and you believe he got it done? Tell me, my dear man, have you heard from him? Has he finished her, as you say?”

“Not yet, but I have no doubt he succeeded. Otherwise, I would’ve already been told.” The frown on his face showed his uncertainty, but he refused to acknowledge the possibility that the outcome could be failure.

“Good for you then, but I warn you, if he killed either Vanya or Arian Guzun in the process, you will pay the price for fucking up my revenge.”

“So, this is why you’re doing this? Stupid revenge?”

“It’s a factor that drives the hatred inside me, yes, but it’s only a side avenue to the main road. I will achieve what I set out to do my entire life—be the global criminal ruler, and no one is going to stand in my way. Not any of the Guzuns...” His gaze on the man in front of him turned glacial. “Or you.”

Luciano looked between the two siblings. His eyes flickered briefly as he attempted to marry the redhead with the old cleaner from Estonia. He had to give it to her; the disguise had been top-notch.

“So, my gripe with the Guzuns is well-known. What’s yours? Why is it so important to kill only Zafira Guzun?”

“That woman got everything in life that was meant to be mine, then she had the gall to interfere and forced me to adapt and change the direction I was heading. For that, she started paying her debt with the death of Viktor Guzun. Now that I have the means to rule the way I was meant to, it’s finally her turn.”

“Hold on. You killed Viktor?” Luciano searched his memory. “It’s been said that he was killed by Boris Sidorov.”

“Oh, Boris and I went way back. He was a means to an end, but his greed and lust for Arian’s bitch got in the way. In the end, it was good riddance since it kept my secret secure.”

“What secret?”

“Once you have done what we agreed by ridding the world of every single Guzun, I will tell you, because then, my friend, you and I will have the world in our hands. Together, no one would be able to touch us.”

Luciano’s expression didn’t change. This man might be powerful in his own way, but he held no danger for him. If he believed Luciano had any intention of sharing the top dog position with him, he was sadly mistaken.

For now, it suited his purpose not to say anything.

“So, is there anything worthwhile to drink on this tub?”

“Ah, now you’re talking. Come... I have a fifty-year-old single malt I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”