Kostya: A Dark Mafia Romance (Zinon Bratva) by Nicole Fox (my reading book .TXT) 📕

to him and watch. He soaks the sponge and wrings it over the Whelan scum’s head. Again, this guy doesn’t react more than to flick his head to the side, flinging the water from his face. He’s stubborn and loyal, the first of which Whelan encourages, the second of which he doesn’t deserve.

He is a hard man, a proud man. Part of me wants to respect him.

It takes three jolts with the cables to break him.

“Collin’s …” The details spill from his lips in between blubbering gasps.

Minutes later, I know where to snatch the younger Whelan, how to use him, and when the big fun will begin.

I give Yelisey a nod. His work here is through. All our work is through. He steps back and dries his hands, as Vlad holds out a pearl-handled dagger to me. It’s long and the blade gleams in the light. Normally, I would use it to blind the prisoner before I drive it deep into his gut, but I want this bastard to see it coming. I want him to know as he goes to meet his maker that Kostya Zinon took his life with a smile and a dagger from the personal salvaged collection of Czar Nicholas II.

As I plunge the dagger deep and twist, a picture of Charlotte flashes through my mind. The agony I’ve just inflicted on Whelan’s man could be what Jack Whelan is doing to her. A man’s life blood is emptying onto my hand, and all I can think about is sweet Charlotte’s face, twisted in pain.

I drop the knife and stride out of the room as quickly as I can.

For a minute, as I walk through the yard to the house, oblivious to the blood soaked on my shirt and hands, I lose my breath. I actually have to stop moving so I can bend and clutch my stomach.

My sweet Charlotte.

Where is she? Is she awake? Alive? Are they hurting her? Do they plan to? The lights in the house are on now. All of them that I can see from this side except my office.

I can hear the sound of Tiana screaming before I walk around the swimming pool.

Shrill. Defiant. But scared. Definitely scared.

The last thing I want to deal with right now from a child who should already be in bed dreaming of unicorns and glitter ponies and all the things Charlotte read to her in her bedtime stories.

The nanny, who only a couple hours ago was composed and what I would describe as neat, is now disheveled and flustered. Her voice is high-pitched and demanding, which only seems to be making Tiana unhappier.

Before I’m five steps into the back foyer, Tiana has found me and is clinging to me with her arms around my leg.

Two hours ago, she was asleep, wrapped in her blanket in bed with her stuffed animals. Peaceful. Now, she’s melting down at my feet.

“Why is she awake?” I growl.

The nanny glares at my daughter. “Because she has no discipline. Because you aren’t here when she needs you.”

“I want my mommy!” The scream is loud and piercing, and her arms tighten around me.

I have blood on my shirt and my hands are drenched in it. I don’t want it touching my daughter.

Blyad.

I need Charlotte.

“Get Tiana and take her to her room.” When the nanny doesn’t move, I shout because I don’t know what else to do. This is not my arena. “Now!”

As she pries Tiana’s arms from around my leg, I am dumbfounded. I can deal with men and the decisions I make about whether they live or die.

But a three-year-old in mid-tantrum stymies me.

When she’s finally freed me, I turn ready to walk to my room, but the sound of my daughter’s anguish follows me up the stairs and down the hallway. It isn’t until I’m locked in my private bathroom that I close my eyes and breathe in the moment of silence.

I have a thousand things to do—a woman to save, a child to care for—but I need this second. I need it too much, and I need more of it, but the vibrating phone in my pocket is insistent that I answer.

When I pull it from my pocket, I see the name.

Gloria Lowe.

Fuck. Enough already. My patience is at its limit and if I answer this call, there’s a chance I’m going to take my aggression out on Gloria.

The risk is more than worth it since she might be calling with news of Charlotte. I have hope, small hope, but hope, that there’s a chance Whelan might come to his senses before I’m forced to finish this war between us in a manner so decisive he won’t recover.

Which is what’s going to happen anyway.

I answer. Gloria took her chances by calling. “Yes?”

“I can’t get ahold of Charlotte. I can’t find her. I’ve called …” Her anxiety is as physical as it is auditory. Had she not blackmailed me, threatened me, and ruined my relationship with her daughter, I might be more inclined to care about her feelings. Instead, I concentrate on her words. I can’t tell her what I know.

“Gloria …”

“Where is my daughter?!” She screams into the phone. Before I can answer, her voice lowers and I can hear the venom. “If you hurt her, if you did anything to my little girl … I’ll go straight to the police. I’ll tell them everything I know.”

More blackmail and more threats. Things I will not deal with tonight, so I hang up the phone on her shrieks.

Tonight, I will handle my daughter. Find a way to save the woman I love.

Dealing with the devil that is her mother will have to wait for another day.

21

Charlotte

Two days ago, I had hope. I also had a swollen jaw, two black eyes, bruises so deep on my legs that I thought they’d never move again, but I had hope. Hope that Kostya would swoop in and save me from the monsters holding me captive, from the men with the