Fierce King by Ivy Mason

Eight

"Please."

Aldo's voice was low and raspy, a condition common to men in his situation. He fell to his knees, his hand moving from his bleeding ear to the floor as he prostrated himself before Dimitri. "Mercy."

Dimitri's eyes were as cold as his heart. “Just as you gave Rose mercy?"

"Please," Aldo sobbed, as he pressed his face to the ground. "I swear, I will make up for it."

Dimitri leaned forward, his lips twisted up in a sneer. "I've given you enough time. It seems as if Bourbon is the only reliable source around here.”

I pressed the cold glass tumbler to my lips, forcing a sip of the vodka down my throat, then nearly spit it out. This wasn't the smooth top shelf vodka I was used to, but home brewed, straight from the man who'd made it himself, Dimitri.

Growing up a poor boy in the streets of St. Petersburg, he'd learned how to make his own with potatoes he'd stolen from the neighbor’s back garden.

It tasted like rubbing alcohol and it burned like hell going down my throat.

Dimitri glanced at me, expecting me to acknowledge his statement. I stared into his eyes as I took another sip, nodding my head once curtly.

Satisfied, Dimitri’s focus shifted back to Aldo, and I made myself relax in the sofa chair as he gripped the back of Aldo's shirt and yanked him to his feet. Aldo stumbled, already weakened from Dimitri's blows across the head earlier.

Dimitri didn't even give a shit that blood had sprayed across not only his own suit, but all over the suite, and I knew that he was expecting me to take care of that as well. I'd have to pay not only for the cleaning, but for the hotel to keep things quiet and not call the police.

He shoved him in the kitchen chair, using his security to tie the thrashing man to it. Then, with a stern face, he stared down at Aldo, who was heaving and tearing at his ropes.

I couldn't help but respect Aldo. He was taking the fall for Coulter's spontaneous decision, in exchange for me anonymously paying off his debt, plus arranging for his family to disappear into a quiet life in a small village in Argentina, far away from the mafia's sights.

It had been Dante’s idea to check our contacts in the hospitals and clinics. We’d discovered that Aldo had lung cancer, and hadn't bothered to get it checked out until it was too late. He was keeping the results from his boss, a sign he had something to hide.

Turned out, he had a tremendous debt to the cartel-owned gambling clubs, the mafia that had a very small hold on the old part of Vegas that we didn’t bother with.

He was the perfect fall guy, as they didn't expect him to live much longer than six months.

Still, instead of taking the long drawn out process of death, he was opting for a much more painful process, dying under Dimitri's sadistic care, in order to provide for his family.

It was an honorable way to go, and I couldn’t help but have a begrudging respect for the man.

"You okay, Bourbon?"

Coulter's voice was in my ear, interrupting the grunting sounds of Aldo. Dimitri was beating the living shit out of him, opting to use his own fists to draw out the pain.

I didn't answer Coulter, because doing so would only give myself away. We had our code word and he wouldn't come blasting in unless I used it.

As I played with the tumbler in my hand, swirling the liquid, I shifted in my seat.

Dimitri took out a knife and began slicing into Aldo's skin. The smell of Aldo's blood hit my nose and I took another sip of my vodka to relieve myself of the guilt tugging at my chest.

Coulter had done something completely selfish, and now, others had to pay for it.

I never would admit it to Coulter but after tonight, I was pleased he'd done it. I couldn't imagine Rose having to live under the constant torture of this man and his barbarous tastes.

Turned out, I was happy Coulter’d taken her. I just wish he'd spoken with me about it beforehand, instead of shooting from the hip as usual.

If he had, we could've figured out a way to take her that wouldn't have cost Aldo his life, or me millions of dollars in repercussions.

Just once, I'd like Coulter to think with his brain, and not his dick.

Or his heart.

The bastard.

Somehow, he'd been able to keep a soft spot inside him, even after all these years of living with Nero.

Not like me, because even though I felt a little bit of guilt at how things were going down, I would've still done it without a second thought.

Dimitri paused, heaving as he held out his hand. One of his guards gave him a rag and he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Dimitri was terribly out of shape, and torturing someone wasn't nearly as easy as it seemed.

He met my gaze and the edges of his lips curled upwards. There was something simmering underneath the surface in his eyes and it made me uneasy. It could be that he was simply happy to be torturing someone, but I felt like it went deeper than that.

Like maybe he knew the truth, but was letting it play out to see what my next move would be.

I gave him a cold smile and, still holding my gaze, he held out his hand again.

It was instantly filled with a mason jar, filled with clear liquid. "You know what this is?"

He tilted the jar to me, and I finally let go of his gaze to look at the jar. I could smell the pungent alcohol from here, even stronger than my current glass of vodka.

"No." I answered, though I had my suspicions.

“It’s like Everclear, except this is my babushka’s recipe. Ninety-five proof.” He grinned, his eyes gleaming before he turned back to Aldo, who was heaving in the chair. His face was bloody and smashed to a pulp, both of his eyes so swollen, it looked like he had bruised lemons for eyes.

His arms and legs were shredded, cut and nicked through his clothing.

Dimitri held up the mason jar and his head turned to me again, staring into my eyes as he tilted it. The liquid spilled over and Aldo screamed in agony as the alcohol burned into his cuts.

"Shit." Coulter said in my ear, and I tightened my hold on the glass.

I kept my eyes locked with Dimitri's, not once glancing down at the man shrieking in pain. Instead, I threw Dimitri a smirk, and took another sip of the godawful vodka.

Dimitri's lips curled upwards in a cruel smile, then, finally breaking the stare off between us, looked away. He threw the glass at the wall, and it shattered as it fell to the ground.

"You think you can sell off my woman? Think you can get a better price because she once belonged to me?" He was growing angrier, his voice growing louder by the second until he was screaming in Russian. Aldo pressed back into the chair, his head hanging, his eyes closed.

Dimitri grabbed his collar and shook him, speaking in English with a rough accent. "Tell me who you sold her to."

"I can-can't." Aldo choked out. "She didn’t make it, she died in the transport."

Dimitri cursed, jerking his hand. One of his guards immediately cut the ropes holding Aldo to the chair.

Aldo slumped over, almost sliding out of his chair like a puppet who’d lost its strings. But, before he could slither to the floor, Dimitri yanked Aldo out of the chair. He threw him onto the floor, then slammed his foot into Aldo’s head.

"I don't believe you, you motherfucking liar!"

Over and over he slammed his foot into Aldo's face, and it took everything inside me to hold myself still.

I knew when I brought Aldo in today that Aldo wouldn't leave here alive.

I knew it and Aldo knew it.

His wife knew it, and his two beautiful daughters knew it.

And yet, that didn't make the violent way he died any easier to stomach.

Dimitri raged, even after Aldo had long stopped moving.

Aldo was dead, and still Dimitri kept on, until there was nothing left of Aldo's head. Then he finally stopped, his chest heaving as he looked up at me.

His cold, manic eyes met mine and he thrust his finger at me. "I won't be satisfied until you bring me her dead body, is that clear, Mr. King? And if you don't, then our deal is off, and you'll wish this was your body on the floor, instead.”

I met his dark gaze with my own, intentionally placing the glass tumbler on the side table next to me. Then I stood up and buttoned my jacket, still holding his eyes. "I will find and bring you her body. Then, you will sign off on our contract and, just for threatening me, you will give me ten percent more than our original agreement."

I stared him down. On my feet I was taller than him, and he had to tilt his head upwards to keep my gaze.

He nodded once, and I turned around, turning my back on him to show him I wasn't afraid of him or his guards.

I opened the door, striding from his room with Coulter's response ringing in my ears. "That's not fucking going to happen."

Fuck you, Coulter. You and your fucking dick.