The Enforcer (Chicago Bratva 3)

I make no movement. There wasn’t a question, and I can’t speak to fill silences. Story toys with my fingers where they lie on her thigh, squeezing my thumb.

“I assumed you were running from something or you wouldn’t have left Russia. I’d thought it was your old cell. The introduction would’ve worked just as easily in Moscow. Or St. Petersburg. Or Kazan. But you came here to a country where you didn’t know the language. To work for me, a pakhan you’d never met.”

Another pause for silence to settle.

“You refused to say who cut out your tongue.”

It’s true. He asked me point-blank at least three times when I first arrived, and I stonewalled him, like I stonewall everyone.

“Either it was cut out as punishment for something you already told, or it was to keep you from talking in the future.”

When I remain passive, he snaps, “Tell me which.”

I scramble to pull out my phone and text him.

He reads the text aloud. “Future. That was my guess. So now someone’s come around to get your secrets out of you, is that it?”

I nod.

“And they figured out that Story is leverage.”

I drop my forehead against her shoulder, the pain of my situation flowing fresh again.

There’s a long pause, then Ravil asks, “Who cut out your tongue, Oleg?”

I don’t move to answer him. I need his help. His protection. If he throws me out, Story and I will be sitting ducks. I may excel at killing, but even the simplest things are difficult for me without being able to communicate. But my answer will also damn me. He may get rid of me anyway.

There’s a huge bounty on Skal’pel’. Clearly on me now, too. People must think I know how to get to Skal’pel’. Or know the new identities of his past clients. Maybe someone is looking for a particular client—who knows why I’m suddenly on the radar.

Story watches me even more closely than Ravil.

“It was an interesting choice, cutting your tongue out. Did they frame you for the drug charge, too?”

I jerk with surprise at the question, giving Ravil the answer he sought.

“You see, to me, it shows a certain affection. Why not simply kill you? Unless this was a person adverse to murder. But considering your training and skill with all manner of weapons, not just your fists, I doubt that was the case. You didn’t learn what you know in prison.”

My heart thuds painfully in my chest. I tighten my hold on Story, who attempts to soothe me by lightly trailing her fingernails across my inked forearm.

“Am I right? There was love between you. He opted to silence you rather than kill you. And so you keep his secrets.”

I let out a shaky breath. Is that true?

Blyad'. I don’t know. Maybe it is. I came from nothing. I was nothing. Skal'pel' gave me a home and a job when I was still an eager-to-please youth. He made me feel like a man when I was just teetering on the edge of adulthood. He was a father figure when I had none. In return, I was loyal as hell.

I’d thought that loyalty died when he ruined me, but maybe some of it is still there.

No.

I shake my head.

“No, you’re not keeping his secrets?”

I stare at Ravil suddenly feeling sick. I guess I am keeping them. But it wasn’t a conscious choice. I can’t fucking speak! Except I think Ravil might be right. Some part of me might still be protecting Skal'pel' and, by default, his clients. Loyalty is a character trait I don’t know how to turn off.

Ravil laces his fingers and rests them against his chin. “If I made you choose, Oleg, between me and him, who would it be?”

Story twists to look me in the face. I don’t expect the mountain of grief that pours over me, even though I’m sure of my answer. It’s grief over what Skal'pel' did to me. The pain of betrayal from a man who was like a father to me.

I point at Ravil.

No contest. He’s the better man, a hundred times over.

“Good.” There’s sympathy in Ravil’s gaze. Like he sees my pain. “Then you have my protection. Story, too, that goes without saying.”

“But?” Story demands.

Ravil raises his brows.

“It sounded like there was going to be a but.”

She’s right, it did.

Ravil shrugs. “But if and when I need you to spill, you’ll spill.”

I’m sweating but cold. I stare at Ravil.

“I don’t give a fuck who you worked for, Oleg,” he tells me, and I can suddenly breathe again. “You’ve never crossed me. Your fierce loyalty is part of who you are. I’m not going to fault you or read more into you still being loyal to someone who fucked you.”

The room seems to spin. I don’t know why I want to cry like a fucking baby.