Aleksandra isn’t foolish enough to lie to me.
“I’ll have to find someplace new and safe. But he won’t hurt me if I leave you. He does not need to protect me.”
I don’t think it’s as easy for Aleksandra as she makes it out to be. “Mikhail is out for blood and revenge. The minute he discovers the twins are mine, it’s leverage for him to hurt me. He doesn’t care who gets in the way of his dirty plans.”
There’s an internal struggle, like a fog that settles over her eyes as she squints and struggles with the right choice and what to do.
“Please, you can’t keep me locked up here.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it if you can keep yourself in line,” I warn her. “I won’t be made a mockery of in front of my guests. Is that understood?”
Her gaze falls to my lips, staring at them for a long moment. “Yes,” she whispers, glancing up into my eyes. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“Good.” I take a step back, letting her retreat into my office.
She opens the door, and the kids are doodling on my desk with the permanent marker that they found.
Wonderful.
“How about you three clean up this mess, and then you can join everyone in the living room?”
I leave the door open and gesture Mario over.
“Keep an eye on them. They need to clean up the office, and when they’re finished, they can join the other guests,” I say.
Mario peers into the office, his eyes widening at the sight in front of him. “Yes, sir.”
* * *
I’ve made a promise to Aleksandra that I wouldn’t personally harm Mikhail. But my interrogators will do what is asked of me, and I expect to have information that we can use against the bratva.
With Aleksandra and the twins in my office, I hurry across the hall and back down the locked stairwell to the prison.
Otello leans against the concrete wall facing the prison cell with Mikhail inside.
Mikhail’s hands are bound behind him, and he’s seated on a wooden chair.
Across from him, Jacopo and Aurielo have laid out several instruments for torture on a nearby folding table that they’ve brought into the prison cell.
Jacopo holds a blow torch, fire blazing as he threatens Mikhail. The bratva leader’s face is bloodied, his eye blackened. Numerous bruises are covering his skin, and they’ve only just begun.
“You can end this, Mikhail,” I say as I approach the prison cell.
Otello unlocks the gate, letting me inside.
“All we need is your cooperation to end this war.”
“A war that you started,” Mikhail says with a snarl. “This is your fault, Antonio! You stole my nephew.”
“Roberto ordered the abduction of your nephew, and in case you haven’t noticed, he’s not calling the shots anymore. He’s dead.”
“Does my sister know that you’re a cold-blooded killer?” Mikhail smirks, and there’s a smear of blood on his teeth from his gashed lip.
“I don’t think she cares, considering it runs in your family. Tell us how to stop the attacks on the other mafia families. If you want a war, you have it with me. Leave the children out of it.”
Mikhail’s eyes are icy. “We intend to slaughter your sons and daughters. Every one of them. And if I don’t report to my men within the hour, the bloodshed will escalate.”