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I shove my phone in my pocket, walking back to the doctor. “I’ll be back first thing. If anything changes, call me.”
“Of course, Mr. Esposito.” The doctor inclines his head slightly, turning to leave, as I stride away in the opposite direction.
Cold fury burns in my gut as I drive back to the estate. I’ve never been a violent man. I’ve never harmed anyone. But there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m capable of doing what needs to be done when it comes to Igor Lasilov. No doubt that I won’t regret it—that I’ll even enjoy it.
And after what he’s done to my family, I feel no shame about that.
The house is dark when I drive past it, the estate silent. All of the staff have been evacuated, those who didn’t immediately put in their notice and return home put up in rooms in town. The estate will remain empty, until we can clean up and repair the damage.
I see the black SUV parked near one of the outbuildings at the very back of the estate, far from where anyone might see or hear anything amiss. I put the car in park, step out into the night, and stride towards the door.
Gio is standing outside, smoking a cigarette. He raises an eyebrow as I approach. “He’s awake,” he says gruffly, dropping his cigarette and putting it out with the toe of one boot. “And he’s all yours, boss. Whatever you want to do with him.” He smirks. “I can give you some ideas, if you want to make it slow.”
I think about it for a long moment, standing there in the darkness. A part of me does. A part of me wants to take him apart piece by piece, for tormenting my family, for frightening my children, for threatening my wife and daughter with incomprehensible horrors. But for all the pain I could inflict on him, I have a feeling that he would get satisfaction from it.
He would take pleasure in the fact that he had managed to turn me into someone that I never was before this.
I shake my head. “I don’t think it needs to be slow,” I say finally. “I just think he needs to know why.”
There’s one overhead light illuminating the space. Igor is on his knees, his hands cuffed behind his back, a dried trickle of blood running from one side of his mouth. He looks up as I walk in and spits on the floor, a sneer on his lined face.
“You don’t have the balls, svoloch,” he spits out. “A nobody, an underworld torgovets, piece of shit.” He spits again, this time near the boot of one of the men surrounding him. The man standing there doesn’t flinch. “Who do you think you are?”
“The man who is going to kill you.” I take the gun Gio holds out to me, holding it at my side as I step just in front of Igor, looking down at him. “Not slowly, although it was recommended to me otherwise.”
“Because you don’t have the guts.” Igor looks up at me, that defiant sneer still on his face.
I grit my teeth, that well of rage that I’ve been trying to stifle since the night Bella told me what happened to her boiling in my blood. “Because I don’t think it matters how long it takes, or how much it hurts. What matters is that you know why.”
Igor chuckles darkly. “So you shoot an old man, on his knees. Hands zip-tied behind his back. Like a coward. Sukin syn. Son of a whore.” There’s no fear in his face, only mocking laughter. “Afraid of what I might do if you let me free, svoloch?”
“Fine.” I let out a sharp, hissing breath. I want this over with. I want to go back to the hospital, to Bella, to know that this is behind us. I want this man to stop taking up space in our lives. “Gio, cut him loose.”
“Boss—” Gio glances at me, and I turn sharply to look at him, leveling him with a dark stare.
“Don’t question me,” I grit out between my teeth. “Cut him loose.”
Gio nods brusquely, pushing around the other men to walk behind Igor. He leans down, pulling a hunting knife out of his belt as he reaches down and saws abruptly through the plastic zipties holding Igor’s hands behind his back. “There,” he growls, taking a step back.
I’ll give Igor credit—for a man in his fifties, and one that my men likely didn’t treat gently on the way here, he’s more agile than I would have imagined. He’s on his feet in a flash, a fist swinging out before I can move out of the way.
It connects with my jaw—not the hardest punch I’ve ever taken, but one that disorients me for a moment. I hear the click of every other gun in the room as all of my men aim at Igor at once, and I shake my head, rubbing my jaw as I look grimly at the other man.
“Don’t shoot,” I tell them flatly. “Fine. You want a fight?” I hand my gun back to Gio, grip first. “We’ll work this out. The end will be the same.”
“You, bleeding on the floor while I go and find your wife?” Igor sneers, his face hard and impassive as he shucks off his suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor. He reaches down, shoving up his shirtsleeves, revealing arms that are still muscled despite his age. “Or should I go and look for your daughter, first? I have a buyer for her, da? A man overseas. Maybe I should leave you alive, so you know I’ve taken them. Or let you bleed out, so you can think about it for a while.”
Every word makes that anger coiling inside of me cinch tighter, and I narrow my eyes, letting out a sharp breath. “I have ten men just in this room. You’re not leaving here alive, Igor. No matter what you do to me.”
He sighs heavily. “Maybe that’s true. So then I’ll take you down with me.”
This time, I’m ready for the punch. I dodge, years of practice activating my muscles without a thought, my body moving automatically to escape the blow. I step to one side, swinging, a hard punch to Igor’s kidney as I move around him.
He groans, stumbling forward. He’s agile and still strong, but not fast—though he turns and swings again, connecting with my shoulder as I move just a bit too slowly, my hand aching from the blow.
I’m too used to fighting in a gym, with wrapped hands or gloves. Even years ago, when I occasionally fought other boxers, or trained with others, I wasn’t fighting bare-knuckle. My hand throbs, and Igor chuckles, circling me again.
“You’re soft, svoloch. A man who does not have to live in violence doesn’t know what to do when it comes to call.” Igor swings again, and I dodge, but narrowly. He moves in, closing the gap between us, and gets a hard punch to my ribs.
