Page 5 of Captive Vows (The Dubinin Bratva #1)

LUKA

E mil came through with information about Miguel Lopez. He didn’t keep me waiting for long. No matter the target and regardless of the reason someone had to be investigated, my son could get his hands on whatever intel he required to get the job done.

“A daughter?”

I glanced up from the documents he’d handed me. I was back in my office at the end of a long day of reviewing the documents and reports that encompassed several businesses within the organization.

Allen was just exiting the room with Emil’s arrival.

Emil nodded and yawned, clearly staying up late, as was his style. He kept odd hours and was often on the go, all over the world.

According to the file Emil had gotten his hands on, Miguel Lopez had a daughter. Family members were always an option for collateral damage or leverage. I would know. My wife had been killed as an attack on me.

“No wife?” I tossed the file to my desk, uninterested in perusing the material inside it just yet.

“No. Or he did.” Emil shrugged. “It seems like she was killed many years ago in a drive-by.”

“Hmm.” It stood to reason that Miguel would be all his daughter had, and vice versa. Their bond would be strong, I bet. And that would work in my favor. “Any other assets of note?”

“None that I could find. He’s a deadbeat who seems one OD away from death.”

“Then I imagine these hours he’s been held are hell on him.” Withdrawal was one of the easiest means of torture and one we didn’t need to do anything to accomplish.

“From the reports of the men at the holding cells, he’s been alternating between sobbing, begging, and praying.”

“For mercy?” I guessed.

He shrugged again. “Who fucking knows?”

“Then let’s find out what he thinks about losing his daughter instead of his life.

” I stood and headed out with my son. Emil was all I had.

Just father and son for us, like Miguel and his daughter.

If anything were to happen to my son, I’d be devastated.

I’d move mountains to ensure his well-being, but with time, and especially with Emil’s propensity for and excellence at killing targets, I’d come to learn to trust him to be in control of his own safety.

Letting go as a parent was never a simple feat, but I knew without a doubt that if I were ever captured and my son’s life were dangled on the line, I would tell them to take me. To kill me.

What the fuck? Maybe this is as good as it’ll get.

Such dark and morbid thoughts weren’t the norm for me.

I surprised myself with these thoughts, that maybe I’d done all I could in this lifetime.

I was only about to turn fifty, yet my mind was veering toward a nonchalant attitude more suited for a ninety-year-old nearing the end of his life.

With this idleness and lack of interest that accumulated every day, I had to wonder what I had to look forward to again.

I’d raised my son and my nephews.

I’d strengthened the family.

I’d proved our might to our enemies.

What else?—

“We’re here,” Emil told me. He might have assumed I’d lost track of where we were going with how I’d looked out the window of the car the whole ride.

Jolted from my thoughts, I nodded. “After you.”

We entered the building and went directly to the basement where the worst of the worst were keeping our hostages and captives in line.

Miguel had his own cell at the end of a dark corridor.

His cries and begging pleas were audible before we walked down the narrow length.

At the sound of his misery, a kernel of excitement lit up in my chest. The prospect of delivering justice would give me some degree of pleasure.

But will it last?

When will I be committed to something other than working like this?

Once more, I consciously shoved those thoughts aside.

“Please, Mr. Dubinin,” Miguel cried out pathetically once Emil and I entered the room.

He was a mess, and he’d made a mess of himself.

No matter how cocky, strong, or numb a person could be, after a few hours of torture under my skilled, hardened men, they’d be pissing or shitting themselves in fear.

Ammonia from urine offended my nose. The reeking hint of dried fecal matter didn’t help.

But it was the metallic tang of blood in the cell that stood out the most.

Miguel was more a sack of bruised and bleeding skin over broken bones than a man. He lay on his side. Tears streaked over his cheeks, but the blood coating his skin had already dried over so thickly that the moisture from his eyes couldn’t rinse it away.

Between moans and wheezing inhales, he could barely lift his head. Yet, I forced him to get up anyway. I’d be damned if I bent to accommodate him.

Emil and another guard dragged the broken man to the only thing in the room.

A chair that he’d likely been tied to could barely keep him upright.

So I gave him a hand. It was the least I could do.

Gripping his hair, I twisted tightly until he screamed.

With that hold, I wrenched his head up so he’d face me.

If he could.

Both eyes were swollen. One wouldn’t open at all.

Yet, he was paying attention to me. Begging.

“Please, Boss. It won’t happen again. I swear it won’t.”

The stupid fool was under the impression I’d ever let him near any official Dubinin business again. It went without saying that he was fired. Fired and awaiting punishment. “Oh?”

“No. I swear. I’ll never lie again. I’ll never sell any intel ever again. Just please, let me live.”

How the supposedly mighty fall. I rolled my eyes. “No, I’m not here to kill you.”

“You’re… not?” He sniffled, disgusting me and annoying me more.

“No. I expect a much more personal currency.”

He stiffened, moving his thighs closer together. I couldn’t blame him for worrying he’d be raped or otherwise abused like that. It would be a fear for anyone, but that wasn’t our style.

“More personal like this.” I dropped the file Emil had given me. He’d grabbed it when we left my office, and I used it as a prop now.

“Like what?” Miguel asked, trying to lower his head.

I still held on to his hair. Releasing him with a shove, I stepped back and waited for him to reach for the papers on his lap.

They’d scattered. A couple of photos fell to the bloody floor.

But with a weak slowness as if his arm were broken, he moved his fingers to pick up a page.

Then, straining to move again, he brought the photo closer to his face to peer at it as though his vision were compromised.

“Gabriella?” he whispered.

“Your daughter,” I confirmed. Clasping my hands behind my back, I paced from side to side.

“You… want Gabriella?” he asked, confusion clear in his shaky, tired tone.

“No. I don’t want her,” I replied. He was a moron to assume I’d lust for his child. As I paced past a fallen photograph of a young woman at a dance studio, her back to the camera, I huffed a weak laugh. Like some teenager would entice me . “I expect you to give her to me.”

He didn’t reply for a long moment. “You want me to give you my daughter? In exchange for my freedom?”

“You will deliver her to me,” I stated plainly, not replying to the matter of whether he’d be free after he saw through this act of giving me his child.

I could still very well decide to end his life, but it would not happen without a payment of something of his.

That was how it worked. This was how I restored the balance of justice in a world where I was the king to dictate the rules.

“My daughter?” he repeated, at a loss and starting to look more like the nervous man I recognized him as. No, he wasn’t a man. Just a rat. A liar. The worst kind of traitor.

He lowered his gaze, deepening the lines of wrinkles on his brow that were already red from a beating. Dried blood cracked on his face, the only indication that I could reliably follow to guess that he was frowning.

“ You want my daughter?” he asked.

It wasn’t a matter of his being confused about what I was demanding.

With the emphasis of that last repeated question, he seemed unable to comprehend why I, the Boss, would be so taken with his daughter. I laughed loudly, truly amused that he’d be so bold as to assume that his daughter was anything special. That she was something rare that even I would covet.

“Don’t overthink it,” I teased, tapping his head hard as I paced past him.

“Oh—” He cleared his throat. “Okay.” A feeble nod accompanied his reply. “If that’s what you want…”

Again, I didn’t want her. It wasn’t a matter of needing to possess his daughter over any other woman. It was the basic transaction of stealing something of value of his. To right his wrong, or at least to start that concept.

“I will bring her to you,” he said. Nervous and skeptical, he spoke slowly, as if testing out the words to see if they were the right ones to tell me.

“You’ll sacrifice your daughter?” I asked again.

The more that I witnessed him caving and complying, the more I despised him.

I’d take Gabriella whether he wanted me to have her or not.

In fact, kidnapping her and holding her captive would’ve been an alternative to informing him of his payment and punishment.

One on hand, this could’ve been psychological torture in itself.

To give him the idea to get used to it. To torment him with the premonition of pending loss.

The speed with which he agreed irked me.

He hadn’t hesitated for long. No. He had only seemed reluctant to react because he wanted to make sure he’d heard me correctly.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to lose her.

No love would be lost between them.

And that lowered her value. His acquiescence reduced the severity and cruelty of this punishment. If he didn’t seem to care about giving her up, was it even a punishment?

That was why I struck out, smacking him with so much force that he flung from the chair. Crying out in both surprise and pain, he dropped to the filthy floor. Rolling once, he moaned like a dying man.

Disappointment filled me that he wouldn’t argue with my terms.

Irritation followed. How could he not want to protect his own flesh and blood?

Why wouldn’t he fight to save her?

How come he acted like he didn’t give a shit about giving me his daughter?

She couldn’t mean much to him. Or perhaps it was a matter of his choosing his life over hers, deeming his life more valuable than hers.

Fuck it.

She wasn’t going to mean much to me, either. This woman was just a pawn. A payment.

I could always sell her later. I could hold her until I could somehow get more value out of her.

I scowled down at Miguel after I beat him. Breathing hard, seething, I once again damned this spineless idiot for trying to betray the Dubinin organization.