Page 51 of Twisted Fate
Elia spits out blood on the tile, rolling her eyes up to meet mine. “I wasn’t going to kill you, bitch. I don’t care about you. I was here for him. I don’t even really know who you are, other than meeting you that one time at the bar.”
“I’m his wife,” I hiss, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. Whoever Elia is working for, then, they don’t know my real identity. She wasn’t here for me, just Konstantin. And while that pisses me off too, at least I don’t have to worry about her spilling my secrets for me while we try to get the rest out of her.
Konstantin glances at me, and I can tell he’s still not sure what to think about what’s happening. “I don’t exactly have the tools to get her to talk here,” he murmurs, and I shrug.
“I think we can improvise.” I reach across the tub for my razor, breaking the top of it open to reveal the blades with a quicksnap. I tug one free, holding it up to the light. “You can make a lot of little cuts with this without anyone bleedingout. They’re not so bad at first—” I reach down, dragging one sharp tip against Elia’s shoulder. Her skin parts, a drop of blood welling up, and she lets out a small gasp. “But eventually, they all add up.”
“Sophia.” Konstantin looks at me evenly, but I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. He’s uncomfortable, I can tell that much. This wasn’t what he expected from his wife.
I’ve been just full of surprises. And he doesn’t even know the half of it, yet.
If I’m lucky, he won’t—not until it’s too late.
“I told you, I’ve done this before.”
“You could leave it to me.” Konstantin hesitates. “You don’t have to do this, Sophia. I can handle it?—”
“I know.” I reach out, dragging the blade down the side of Elia’s arm. “So can I.”
She holds out for a long time. She’s not new to this either, I can tell. I ask her, again and again, the questions we need to know. Who sent her. Who she’s working for. Why they want Konstantin dead. She’s dripping from two dozen cuts at least before I turn to the cupboard under the sink, digging around until I find a bag of Epsom salts. I reach in for a handful, rubbing them into finer particles in my hands, and then I reach out with one salt-coated palm and rub it down the side of her sliced and bleeding arm.
The sound she lets out is a nearly animal yowl. “Let’s try this again,” I say calmly, holding up my bloody, salty palm. “Who are you working for?”
“You bitch,” she pants. “You’re fucking crazy. What kind of mafia wife?—”
I dip my hand in the salt again, and drag it down her other arm.
By now, Konstantin went back for a pair of boxers. He’s crouched next to me, watching me with an expression that I can’tentirely read. It’s not awe, exactly, and it’s not shock. It’s like he’s not entirely sure that what he’s seeing is real. Like, he thinks he might be hallucinating.
Elia gasps with pain, a groan tearing past her gritted teeth as I rub more salt into her wounds. “Fuck… off…” she bites out, and Konstantin lets out an impatient huff as he reaches for the other razor blade.
I watch as he slips the point into one of the open cuts smeared with salt, digging it deeper, opening the wound wider as Elia’s mouth drops open and she sags forward, letting out a moan of pain as Konstantin pulls the blade back and I push another salt-covered finger against the widened gash in her arm.
“You should start talking,” I purr at her, working my finger against the wound. “We’re a long way from a thousand cuts.”
I see Konstantin glance at me as he works another of her wounds open, and I focus on my work, not allowing myself to look at him for too long. I can’t think about how this feels—having a partner. It’s a weird, fucked-up thing to enjoy, I know… the novelty of having a gorgeous, brutal man next to me helping me torture a potential assassin, but I’ve lived a fucked-up life. And right now, I feel close to him in a way that I know is all wrong for what I’m supposed to do tohim.
I don’t know how much time passes before Elia moans for us to stop, her breath coming in ragged gasps, tears starting to leak from the corner of her eyes. I rock back on my knees, chuckling under my breath as I look at her.
“You’re a shitty assassin,” I tell her frankly. “You broke way too easily. Are you going to tell us what we need to know, or do I start carving designs in your nipples next?” I smile coldly at her.
“Fuck you,” Elia hisses, and Konstantin rears back, one hand shooting out to grab her hair and twist it around his hand as he yanks her head back and raises the razor blade to the hollow of her throat.
“I won’t kill you,suka,” he growls. “Not yet. But I won’t stand for you continuing to speak to my wife that way, either.” He drags the razor blade down, across her sternum, blood trickling in the wake of the thin cut as Elia lets out a low moan of pain. “Start talking, or I’ll find out if this blade can fit under your fingernails.”
Fear flashes across her face. Konstantin slides one hand behind her back, tapping his index finger against the tip of hers, and she jerks forward, shaking her head.
“I’ll tell you,” she gasps. “I’ll tell you, okay? Juststop?—”
Konstantin leans back, watching her as he turns the tip of the blade against his finger. Her eyes flit fearfully towards it, up to him, and then back to me.
“We’re listening,” I tell her coolly.
“I was hired by Don Genovese,” she blurts out, blinking rapidly. “He’s working together with the Slakov family.”
Konstantin’s gaze narrows. “You’re lying,” he says smoothly, leaning forward as if to grab one of her hands.
“I’m not!” she shrieks, trying to jerk away from us both. “I’m not lying! Don Genovese hired me.”
