Ruby Mayhem: A Russian Mafia Romance (Vyronov Bratva Book 1)

“We found the guy who followed our man,” Dima says as we stride into the interrogation room.

My footsteps are heavy as they echo off the cold, pale walls. Dima follows closely behind, his eyes scanning the space with a practiced ease. When I reach the center of the room, I stop, and fix my eyes on the man tied to the chair. He looks up at me, his eyes widening in defiance as he takes me in. But beneath all the defiance, I notice the underlying air of dread. The bastard’s afraid. I just know it. I’ve done this enough times to see it from a mile away. If he hasn’t spoken yet, he will. It’s only a matter of time.

“Tell me what you’ve got so far, bratok,” I say to Dima, keeping my voice low.

Dima crosses his arms over his chest, his muscles bulging beneath his tight shirt. “This is Ivan Petrov, Vlad’s nephew. We snatched him up without any trouble. You almost made it too easy for us, haven’t you, Ivan?” Dima shoots the man a glance before looking back at me. “Except the fucker is stubborn as a mule, boss. He won’t loosen his tongue. So, I guess we can move to phase two.”

I nod, my gaze never leaving Ivan’s face. I watch his expression change slightly at the mention of “phase two.” I almost chuckle. Definitely afraid. He may not have spilled anything yet, but it’s only a matter of time before he will. Dima’s done a good job of working him over; split lips, battered cheeks… bruising has left his face swollen and his eyes puffy. He glares at me balefully. His features remind me of his shady uncle. Vladimir Petrov has been a thorn in my side since my father’s days. It was no surprise to learn that he’s involved in the shitstorm with Avants. Now it seems he’s been digging even deeper into my affairs.

But right now, Theo Avants is not my only problem. It’s not like he can cause more damage than he already has. But there is someone else who still can. I must know if she is also involved somehow. Because if what Dima told me in the restaurant is true, then I’m in for a world of shit.

Blyad.

She is capable of causing ten times more damage than Avants ever could.

I shake off the thought and look at Ivan. His eyes dart back and forth between Dima and me. His breath is starting to come in short, shallow gasps. “I already told him everything I know.” He jerks his head toward Dima.

I take a step closer to him, my fingers itching to be wrapped around his throat.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we, Ivan? We can start by chopping off some of your fingers, see if that jogs your memory.” I drop my eyes to his hands, letting him know that I mean this quite literally.

Ivan’s face pales, but he keeps his mouth shut. His throat works and his eyes continue to dart between me and my second in command. This time it’s Dima’s turn to step forward. His hand rests on the handle of the knife at his belt. “We can make this easy for you, or we can make this hard, Ivan. The choice is yours.”

Ivan’s eyes flick to Dima again, then back to me, this time more frantically. He licks his lips, his tongue darting out to wet them. “I told you already! I don’t know anything else. I swear it. Call my uncle. He’ll tell you. You’re making a mistake.”

I shake my head and heave a sigh. I’m already losing patience. This nuisance is only wasting my fucking time. I’d rather be upstairs, balls deep in Tiana. Instead, I’m having to deal with an idiot who’s unwilling to speak. What does he think? That we’ll simply believe him and let him go?

I give Dima a nod before turning my attention back to Ivan. “I trust your uncle even less than I trust you, dolboyob. I’d rather convince you to cooperate.”

Ivan’s eyes suddenly widen in terror as I reach for the tools on the table beside him. Knives, pliers, a blowtorch. I pick up a pair of pliers, the metal glinting in the harsh overhead lights. “Let’s go old school, shall we? Last chance, Ivan. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll leave some of your fingers intact.”

Ivan’s eyes are even more frantic now. They dart around the room, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Ya ne mogu govorit’ Vyronov. I can’t talk. They’ll kill me if I do.”

Now that’s an improvement.

“I don’t see how that’s my problem. Now, are you going to tell me what I want to know, or shall we get this party started?” I shrug, my grip tightening on the pliers.

Ivan shakes his head, shrinking back in the chair he’s tied to. “Please, I’m begging you.”

I lean in close, my breath hot against his ear. “You should have thought about begging me before you got involved with my shit. A dozen men died when you fuckers hit that last shipment. Now be smart and start talking or bear the consequences.”

“Bullshit! They knew what they were getting into when they got into this business. You know that,” he objects, a swirl of his previous defiance surfacing. “They served their purpose when we took them out.”

My blood wants to boil. Those men had families. Children. They were loyal to my Bratva. And these motherfuckers executed them in cold blood.

“Served their purpose, huh? How about I make you serve your purpose, mudak?” I snarl, the pliers an inch from his face. “Where should we start? Little finger?”

Ivan’s lips tremble, his eyes squeezed shut. The struggle in his face is a visual representation of the internal battle between self-preservation and loyalty to his family. He’s been trained well to withstand interrogation, I’ll give him that.

But not well enough.

Finally, he opens his eyes. “We… we picked up a couple of your shipments. Nothing big time. My uncle didn’t want you to know that we’re behind it, so we went for the smaller cargo.”

I nod, my grip on the pliers loosening slightly. “Good boy. Where did you get your intel?”

Ivan’s eyes whip around the room, his mind racing. I can almost see the wheels turning as he calculates his choices. Too fucking bad he doesn’t have any.

Finally, he takes a deep breath. “You know that already. You had Avants here when we iced him. He was our inside man.”

I know that alright. Theo Avants’ brain wasn’t blown out for no reason. But the fact that his daughter had to witness her father being murdered like that makes my blood boil all over again.

Ivan’s story checks out, though. Except I know there’s more to it. A lot more. I flex my hand in front of his face, the pliers making a metallic sound as they open and snap shut.

“Tell me what Avants gave you,” I snap. “I’m getting tired of asking questions!”

His eyes are glued to my hand as he answers, “I… I don’t know the details. I swear. All I know is that he was feeding Uncle Vlad intel on your business. He was well paid for it.”

I heave a sigh, but don’t say anything. Keeping a straight face, my hand snaps out, raising the pliers to his left hand.

“Net pozhaluysta!” Ivan screams in terror. “Your operations! Shipments, routes, security measures! Avants was a world of information. He even told us where you live and where to hit your estate. That’s how we took him out. His own information lead to his death.”

I eye him coldly for several long seconds until he’s squirming in his seat. At least he’s telling the truth now. But it’s ironic that Avants is the one who told them where I live and how to penetrate my security. The motherfucker signed his own death warrant with that.

I rub my eyes and glance at Dima from the corner of my eye. Ivan’s still not telling me anything I don’t already know. This shitshow keeps dragging on and my patience is getting thinner by the minute. I need to make sure he spills everything. He could easily be playing smart, by telling me what I already know so that he won’t compromise his uncle’s operations. His trembling victim act could all be for show.

Besides, Avants wasn’t the only one feeding them intel. And my instinct tells me that somehow, she is also involved. I just know it.

It’s time to change my strategy.

“Did the intel from Avants get you to our drop-off this week?”

His brows pull together. “Drop-off? What drop-off?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Ivan. You know exactly what I’m talking about. We’ve had that deal in play for years. Now, within a week of Avants going down, we get hit. Where is she, what did she tell you?”

“She? I don’t know who you’re talking about.” He’s still frowning. It would almost be convincing if I didn’t know what a snake this kid really is. Petrov’s men are animals. His family members are even worse. Ivan Petrov didn’t earn his ranks in the game without getting his hands dirty in the worst ways possible. Drug distribution networks. Child trafficking. Organ trade. And the list goes on.

“Fine. Patience ran out,” I quickly open the pliers, grasp his left forefinger, get a grip on his nail, and pull sharply.

“Aaaaaah! Jesus! Fuck!” he screams, twisting against the ropes holding him in his seat. “Idi na xuy husesos!”

“Memory coming back yet?”

“I told you, I don’t-” He gives another piercing scream as I rip another fingernail off.

“We had our man at the drop-off. One of your people must have followed her and got there before she arrived. Where the fuck is she now?”

Sweat is prickling on my skin, but it’s not from exertion. It’s the adrenaline. And the knowing that this idiot deserves everything I dish out. For the first time in weeks, I can step away from the sea of confusion I’ve been swimming in since Tiana arrived, and focus on something I know and understand. It settles me.

“Fuck you and your Bratva Vyronov! Trakhni tvoyu mat’. Fuck you all!” he sneers.

I shrug and tear off another fingernail before moving on to his other hand.

“Aaaah! Suka poshel nakhuy, uyebok!” he screams at me. “My uncle will kill you when he finds out what you’ve done to me!” Suddenly this man looks more like what I’d expect from one of Vlad’s generals. The frightened boy is gone, and I’m looking into the narrowed eyes of an enraged man.

“We’re wasting our time, bratok.” Dima has stepped up behind me. “We spent an hour going through the same shit before you got here. He doesn’t know anything about her.”

“Relax, Dima. All he needs is a little push,” I don’t take my eyes off Ivan as I answer Dima. Pure hatred stares back at me from his twisted, bloody face.

“Fuck you and your little push, Vyronov!” His lip curls. “You think my uncle recruits pizdas like you people? We are men!”

“Sure. Men who scream like a pussy when they lose their a fingernail.” I rip off another one. He screams yet again, spit flying as he bucks and writhes. Then, he stops screaming, he starts laughing.

“You’re going to die for this, Vyronov!” he barks at me. “All of you will die as we carve you into pieces and feed you to the pigs!”

“Maybe. But I’m willing to take my chances.” I tap the pliers against his cheek. They’re bloody. So are my hands. “You’re out of nails, Ivan. Your fingers will go next. Unless you tell me where she is.”

“Tvoyu mat’ trakhayut!” he spits. “Your mother will die first! We’ll slice her fucking throat and fuck her while you watch!”

Rage hits me like a tidal wave of scalding water. I drop the pliers. Suddenly my fingers are curled around the grip of my Tokarev, and I’m not even sure how it happened.

“Last chance mudak. I asked you where she is,” I roar. The trigger is cool beneath the pad of my finger. I press the muzzle against his temple.

“Fuck you! After we’re done with your mother, we’ll play with that little doll of yours!” He laughs again. “You can watch as our men take their time with her.”

The explosion that takes the top of his head off comes without warning.

Blood sprays in a fine mist that colors the wall behind him with pink. Gore splatters my face and soaks into the fabric of my shirt as the sound of the gunshot echoes around the room. I wipe the back of my hand against my cheek where something is trickling.

Goddammit, Vyronov.

He might still have said something useful.

I push myself up and take a step away as Ivan Petrov’s body twitches, slumps to the side against his bonds, and then goes still.

Blyad.

That’s not exactly how I planned this. I set the gun down on the table, then reach for a rag to wipe the blood from my hands. Rage is still coursing through me. How fucking dare he? These animals killed several of my men in cold blood, penetrated my security, hit my home, and caused millions of dollars of damage. But to insult my mother and Tiana like that?

Pizdets!

The startled gasp behind me has me swiveling in the direction it came from. I freeze at what I see there.

Or who.

The door to the room is hanging open, the light streaming around where Tiana is centered within it. Her expression is filled with so much horror and revulsion that I’m struck dumb. Her face has lost all its color and her eyes are wide open as she stares at the scene unfolding in front of her. She takes in several heaving breaths, her throat working as she stares at the lifeless corpse of the man I just killed. Killed in front of her.

Blyad.

Shit just got a whole lot more complicated.

“You…” she croaks, then clamps a hand over her mouth. She looks at me with huge, dark terrified eyes that have so much horror in them it hurts. I know what I am. And I know she knows. But this is the first time she’s ever witnessed my dark side in full force. There is no sugarcoating what just happened. No trying to hide it.

So, I don’t. I simply stand there like an idiot, the filthy rag in my hand, with blood running down my face. Our eyes lock for endless seconds.

Then she spins on her heel and bolts down the hall.