"Yes. They keep it on the down-low mostly."
"How?"
He shrugged. "I don’t know. But if you head over to Brighton Beach, there are a shit ton of bar brawls—one of my informants keeps me looped in.
"Lyanov’s new blood. Stepanov is the only one left of the old guard who was high up the ranks. Lyanov eradicated the rest."
Which meant the Pakhan thought he could trust Stepanov…
You just couldn’t get the fucking staff anymore.
I cracked my knuckles as I processed that, then, well aware I had an audience which was frozen with anticipation, and quite comfortable in living up to their nightmares for the moment, I pulled out a set of tweezers from my pocket.
They were longer than the ones Savvie used to pluck her eyebrows, and they had a kind of downward-angled tip with pointed ends. I’d bought them this morning with this task in mind.
The vomit made his face slimy, but I still managed to pinch Cain’s nostrils. His mouth gasped open, and I snatched his tongue with the tweezers.
"My father’s day is done. In the past. It’s my time to rule over you, and I do shit differently than him." I scanned the crowd, putting pressure on the tweezers when Cain started to struggle until he was yelping in agony at my hold on the slippery muscle. "Get on my bad side and I’ll fuck you over. Get on my good side and I’ll reward you. But if you fucking lie to me, that’s it—game over."
And with those words imparted, that warning tossed down like the gauntlet it was, I sliced through Cain’s tongue.
As he choked and gagged on his own blood, I let him drown, ramming home the visual, forcing them to accept that I could more than live up to my father’s reputation if I chose to.
The sounds of his death graced the room with all the splendor of an aria sung by a soprano at the Met.
As they rang around the high ceilings, Finn rasped, "If you kill him, you can’t question him further."
He had a point so I hurled the bloodied mass that had been Cain's tongue into the crowd, dug my foot under his shoulder, and shoved him over.
Around an agonized wail, he sucked in deep, gulping breaths as blood poured from his mouth.
That sure as fuck had ripped away his attitude.
I glanced at Brennan who, understanding my silent order, barked, "Morrison, Port, get him out of here. Eoghan, cauterize the wound."
The two runners jumped to their feet, and Eoghan, the only field medic with in-depth training, strolled after them as they dragged him along to a backroom.
Upon snatching the handkerchief Brennan tossed me, I wiped my hands. "Don’t mistake sanity for weakness. Liars will be treated the same way as MacMurray. Traitors will be executed.
"If you have any information about Red, about the Bratva disagreements, about any-fucking-thing suspicious, you go to your captain, and they will relay that information back to me, Lucas, or any of my brothers. Understood?"
When I didn’t get a response, I snarled, "UNDERSTOOD?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Yeah."
"Yes, of course."
"Sure."
Affirmations—a cacophony of them.
And when they came from hundreds of men, it sounded like a song written just for me. Maybe not an aria like what Cain had serenaded me with, but it sure as fuck sounded sweet, nonetheless.
I turned to Brennan again and waved a hand this time. He surged forward, shouting, "Leave the room in an orderly fashion. I don’t want to have to recruit more brothers because you have about as much sense as fucking lemmings. Your cells and pieces will be returned to you by one of my crew." He directed a look at Forrest who heaved a sigh.
When Bren didn’t head off with them but stuck to my side, I wasn’t altogether surprised when Finn and Declan did the same.