Page 87 of Toxic Attraction
He looks up when I enter and immediately starts to panic. "Lev. Please. I—"
I hit him. Hard. My fist connecting with his jaw brutal enough to snap his head sideways. Blood and a tooth hit the wet floor, staining my knuckles.
"Explain what?" My voice is calm as I wipe the blood on his stupid face. "Explain why you sent five men to kidnap my seven-year-old daughter from a public park? Explain why you thought that was acceptable? Explain why you're stupid enough to still be breathing like you were waiting on me to dole out the punishments since that was a failed operation?"
"I-It wasn't supposed to happen like that!" He's crying now, words slurring through split lips. "Just supposed to be a message, a warning, we weren't actually going to hurt her—"
I kick him in the ribs. Bones crack. He screams so loud my ears pop.
"You fucking aimed guns at my child." I crouch down to his level, grab his hair, force him to look at me. "Put her in danger. Made her relive the worst day of her life. And also pointed a weapon at my woman."
His eyes widen. "Lev, please, I have information. I can give you names, locations, please!"
"I don't need your information." I laugh and pull out my knife, a hunting blade, eight inches, sharp enough to shave with. "I have everything I need. Your organization is dead or dying. Your operations are burning. Your family will wake up tomorrow to find your pieces in boxes on their doorstep, and they will only wake up because, as monstrous as I am, I don’t mess with family."
"No—wait—"
I start with his fingers.
He screams. The sound echoes off concrete walls, mixing with the crackle of flames above us, and I work methodically. Each finger severed at the knuckle, cauterized with a lighter so he doesn't bleed out too fast.
He begs. Pleads. Offers me everything he has.
I keep cutting.
When I'm done with his hands, I move to other parts. Taking my time. Making it last. Making sure the message is clear to anyone who hears this story later.
Touch what's mine and die screaming.
By the time I put the final bullet in his brain, he's barely recognizable as human.
I stand, covered in blood and viscera, and look at Mikhail. "Clean this up. Leave the pieces where they'll be found. I want everyone to know what happens."
"Already handled, Boss."
Outside, I strip off my jacket and shirt since they’re both ruined beyond saving now. Stand in the parking lot watchingthe flames while my men finish the cleanup. Seven locations hit tonight. Seven pieces of the Armenian operation burning simultaneously across the city.
This message will be well received.
Yaroslav appears with a bottle of vodka and a clean shirt. I take the vodka, ignore the shirt. Pour it over my hands, watching Grigor's blood wash away in clear streams.
"It's done," Mikhail says, approaching with his phone. "All targets confirmed eliminated. No survivors except the ones we left barely alive to spread the word."
"Good." I take a drink straight from the bottle. The burn is satisfying. "Pull everyone back. I want full perimeter security at the estate for the next week. No one goes in or out without my express approval."
"Already arranged." He pauses. "Boss, this was... extensive. The kind of response that makes everyone nervous."
"That was the goal, Mikhail. Let them be nervous." I hand back the bottle. "Let every organization from here to Moscow know what happens when they threaten mine. Let them understand that Lev Volkov doesn't forgive and doesn't fucking forget."
He nods and moves off to coordinate transport.
The drive back to the estate takes forty minutes. I spend it staring out the window, watching the city pass in blurs of light, coming down from the adrenaline high that always follows violence.
Grigor's screams still echo in my head. The wet sound of his fingers separating from his hands. The way he begged at the end, voice breaking, promising anything if I'd just make it stop.
I feel nothing about it.
He threatened my daughter. Threatened Valerie. That's unforgivable.
