Page 38 of Toxic Devotion

The man’s eyes turned cold in an instant and he spat, “No one leaves the Bratva.”

“He was leaving?”

“What the fuck is this about, Serrano?” Vetrov snapped, glaring daggers at him. “This won’t end well for you.”

“Bold of you to assume I care.”

He was smiling at Vetrov, and that smile was filled with venom. He grabbed a knife off the table and said, “He’s not the only one you killed.”

“He had a whore,” Vetrov said and the urge to slam the knife into the man’s throat rose exponentially. He needed answers, though, so he fought the urge and stepped closer until he was standing right in front of Vetrov, making the man tilt his head back to meet his gaze.

“I made him watch as we all took turns on that bitch,” Vetrov sneered, spittle flying. “Then he got to watch as I killed his whore before I cut his throat and let him drown in his own blood.”

Marco put the tip of his blade against Vetrov’s throat.

“Thatwhorewas my sister.”

The slight surprise widening Vetrov’s eyes told him Vetrov hadn’t cared enough to find out who she was before killing her. That was the last mistake he would ever make.

“I want names,” he said, staring at Vetrov who seemed to have understood just how much he’d messed up. “Who defiled my sister, Vetrov?”

Vetrov shook his head.

He shouldn’t have done that.

Marco grabbed the man by the hair and put the tip of the knife just above Vetrov’s collarbone, holding his gaze as he started to push it in. He went slow, and Vetrov’s grunts quickly became screams.

“Names.”

Vetrov had snot running down his face along with his tears, anguish screaming from his expression. Good. He deserved to suffer.

Vetrov rattled off the names of four other men and Marco looked at Rome who already had his phone to his ear, ready to send the men out to grab them. Marco turned back to Vetrov and jerked the knife out of him. Vetrov yelled and hunched forward, his breathing loud and labored.

“What did you do with Dimitri’s body?”

Vetrov didn’t look up as he shook his head.

He hadn’t known Dimitri, but he did know that he’d risked everything to be with Alicia and their son. It may have gotten them killed, but that didn’t mean Dante didn’t deserve to be able to visit his father’s grave.

He put the tip of his knife just above Vetrov’s left knee and pushed it in slowly. The man’s screams only made him smile.

“He’s?” Vetrov gasped out, moaning in pain.

“He’s what?”

Vetrov looked at him with disdain. “He’s at the butcher shop.”

He blinked at Vetrov. The man had a butcher shop on the outskirts of town. It was a front for the Russians’ business as well as a means to launder their money. Vetrov had slaughtered Dimitri like a pig and then hung him like one. Why wasn’t he surprised?

“Make arrangements to have him buried next to Alica,” he told Rome.

Rome gave him a nod and he turned back to Vetrov, a hateful smile finding his lips.

“Now,” he said and pulled the knife back out, “You and I are going to spend a lot of time together.”

Vetrov didn’t deserve a fast death. He deserved to suffer, and he would make him. He would make him wish he’d never been born. He’d make him beg for death and he wouldn’t give it to him. Not until he was done. Not until there was nothing left of Vetrov to keep alive.

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