Ruddy Face gets up and leaves, clapping me on the shoulder as he passes.“Good luck, Nine.”
If I wasn’t so hazy and off-kilter, I’d plant the fucker into the wall.
Back still turned to me, the remaining asshole snaps his fingers and points toward the wet bar.“Fix yourself a drink.Might help that dry throat.”
Every cell in me bristles at his dismissive tone, as if I’m some pissant beneath him.But I bite my tongue and keep a cool head.
One, there’s no doubt I’m in the grasp of The O.And no matter how righteous my anger or bruised my pride, these people aren’t to be fucked with.
Two, Idoneed a drink, because it’s damn near impossible to speak.My throat feels like it’s packed with sand.
Ego in check, I cross to the wet bar, twist open a bottled water, and down it.Then another.And another.Once my throat’s halfway functional, I pour a finger of whiskey and walk over to him, dropping into the empty club chair across the table.
One good look at his face, and I take a sip of whiskey to wash down my pride.
Pavlov Niiveaux.Also known by the American alias “Chadrick.”Second in command of The O.Married to the commander-in-chief, JB.
Yeah.I’m in deep shit.
People this high up are ghosts—heard about, never seen.If you find yourself in front of this motherfucker or his wife, you’re either about to die…or you’ve found favor.
And I know damn well it’s not the latter.I’ve been a boundary-pushing pain in their asses ever since their kingmaker, Torin Garza, folded me in.
Not surprised, though.They warned me to back off.I chose possible death over obedience.Now here we are.It is what it is.No regrets.
Pavlov watches me with blank eyes, fingers steepled beneath his chin.“I’d invite you to the game, but from what I hear, you suck at chess.Never know when danger’s closing in.”
I look down at the board.Takes me less than a minute to read his setup for the win.“Can’t be worse than your last opponent.Pathetic defense.You’ll have him in two moves.”
After another minute of assessing the board, I slide the remaining bishop into place to protect the queen.
Pavlov nods, approving.
“I don’t suck at chess,” I say.“I was just getting beaten by the best.And I always know when danger’s closing in.I just don’t ever take the easy way out and run from it.”
“And where is ‘the best’ now?Dead or spared?”He doesn’t blink.“Everyone knows you’ve got a soft spot for ‘la famiglia.’”
“Incinerated to dust.”
Was I furious at Vale’s betrayal?Not really.Just disappointed.
The women he terrorized, however, demanded blood.So I handed him over to them to exact their revenge however they saw fit.Let them decide.
And they did.
They tied him to a stake, caned him raw, then burned him alive.Not one of them flinched or looked away as he cried out for mercy while he burned alive.Women can be terrifying when they’re angry.
“You’re a daring man, Stefano.”He moves a piece on the board.“Tell me, when did you stop fearing death?”
“About two years ago.”
“Why?”
“Peak ennui.”I take a sip of whiskey, eyes on the board.“Was at a point where I had everything I ever wanted.Every milestone hit.Got so bored I stopped caring if I lived or died.”
“And now?”He lifts his gaze to mine.“Are you ready to die, right here and now?”
“No.”
