Page 76 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

Against my better judgment, two hours later, we're at the warehouse. If Sabine hadn't died, I'd have tied Cat to my bed, but she has a right to be here. As it is, it's been nearly twenty-four hours since the bombing, and we need answers. We need to know who hired Ledyanoy Prizrak and why.

That bomb was meant for Cat and me. It would have gone off the moment we cut the cake, and that thought makes me fucking furious. That someone dared to want my wife dead is not something I can tolerate for a second longer. Whoever this bastard is, he will pay in blood and pain.

I don't believe in ghosts, but Ledyanoy Prizrak has a certain reputation, and I won't be able to rest until I have my answers from him, and he's dead.

Usually, I don't enjoy torturing people, but for him, I'll make an exception, just as I did with Giovanni. It'll be my pleasure to prolong his death. To have him bleed for what he's done.

"Ah, the bride and groom. To what?—"

Cat surprises me, cutting him off with a slap across the face. "You bastard. You killed my sister."

He blinks, confused. Blinks again. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Sabine," she bites out. "You used her. Lied to her. And then you killed her."

He shrugs. "I told her I was an undercover cop building a case against the Sartori family. That she could help expose you. That if she did, she'd walk away clean."

"And she believed you?" she chokes.

"She wanted to believe me," he says. "People like her—jealous, insecure, eager to matter—they don't need much. I gave her just enough. A badge I lifted off a real agent. A fake name. A mission."

Cat flinches like he hit her.

"She thought she was saving the world," he goes on, smooth as oil. "Said she wanted you to suffer. That she was tired of standing in your shadow. She let me walk in the back door, no questions asked."

Fucking Sabine. If she wasn't dead already, I'd kill her. What in the hell was she thinking? Well, obviously, she wasn't thinking. She was driven by her own jealousy.

I pull Cat into my arms, ready to get her out of here, and feel her tremble. Her whole body vibrates with fury and grief. I tighten my grip before she explodes. Ledyanoy Prizrak tilts his head, his eyes flicking between us. "She wasn't innocent. Just stupid. And stupid gets people killed."

"You son of a bitch—" Cat snarls, lunges forward, and slaps him again.

His head flings to the side, but his smirk stays on his arrogant face. "Now, will you tell me how she died?"

The eagerness in his eyes sickens me. That bastard would get off on the gory details of Sabine's death.

"Alright, Cat, let me take over." I gently push Cat to the side and watch as, numbly, she takes a seat. Her eyes are filled with pain and grief; I should take her home. She must read my thoughts on my face, because she shakes her head. "I'll be fine."

I'm not sure I want her to see me like this, but here we are.

There is no going back. I take off my jacket with deliberate slowness.

A grin spreads over Ledyanoy Prizrak's face, almost like he's anticipating the torture he knows is coming.

I put on my game face and push Cat from my mind, even though I can feel her eyes on my back. "Who hired you?"

He laughs, shakes his head.

"You and I both know that you'll answer my questions, sooner or later. Ledyanoy Prizrak."

"My name is Igor Pavlov," he replies, surprising me.

But I don't let on. I walk over to the side table that holds all the torture instruments one could want.

I like to keep it simple and reach for a blow torch.

"I was in the KBG before I became a… freelancer.

" He scoffs, "So, yeah, I know all about torture. "

I turn with the torch, playing with the strength of the flame.

Igor Pavlov . I think it suits him. Igor is still grinning at me. "I didn't hold a grudge against you until you messed with my contract, you know."

"How wonderful," I reply sarcastically, lighting the blowtorch.

The blue flame hisses, filling the sterile air of the warehouse with a new kind of tension.

Igor doesn't flinch. He's cuffed to a reinforced chair, his shirt is soaked with sweat, but he hasn't begged.

Not yet. His expression is carved from stone—until I take a step closer and angle the torch toward his thigh. That gets a twitch. Barely.

"You know," I murmur, my voice steady, "there are faster ways to die than the one you signed up for."

"I know," he says in his light Eastern European accent, "But you won't kill me yet. You want answers."

"And you're going to give them to me," I reply, angling the flame a little closer.

I pause. "You planted a fucking bomb in my fucking wedding cake. You were going to kill my wife. My wife. On our wedding day!"

"It was poetic." He shrugs.

I slam my fist into the table beside him. The metal shudders, the flame wavers. "Why did you take my sister?"

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere." He grins as if he were the one standing there with the blowtorch. "Don't you get it yet, Sartori? Certain people want certain people at war. Your sister was just... leverage. A push in the right direction."

My grip on the torch tightens. "You're saying someone wanted me to retaliate?"

His grin widens, full of teeth. "And you did, like clockwork. You reacted just as predicted. Executed Giovanni. Set fire to the Giordano estate. A beautiful opening act."

I lean in, voice cold. "You're wrong. I didn't kill him right away. Got a few answers first."

Igor barks a laugh. "Nice bluff. That fool didn't know shit. He was a pawn, a pathetic one. Always was. You were meant to take him off the board. Hell, you did us a favor."

I narrow my eyes. " Us ?"

He shrugs with maddening nonchalance. "Let's just say… Omertà Infernale prefers its pieces in motion. You'd be amazed how much blood moves things forward. And you? You moved just fine."

I take a breath to rein in the fury tightening my chest.

"You're being used," I say low. "You know that, right?"

"We're all being used, Enrico." His voice turns dark. "The difference is—I know it. Do you?"

The flame hisses, hungry in my hand.

"I will," I promise. "By the time I'm done with you, I'll know everything ."

His gaze flicks up to mine. "Kingsley needed to die. That bill? It threatens everything."

That gets my attention.

Kingsley's legislation—an anti-trafficking, anti-child exploitation bill—will cut La Famiglia's darkest operations at the root. It's the first real threat in years. And while I want that filth purged from our business, there are others who see it differently.

"Who are you working for?" I demand.

Igor smirks. "Follow the money."

I lower the torch closer. His skin starts to sweat harder. Still, he doesn't scream. "Give me a name."

"No." His eyes gleam. "But be prepared for the storm, Enrico Sartori. It's already on its way. And you? You won't see it coming."

I narrow my eyes, the hiss of the flame loud between us as it licks over his pant legs, catching fire. The scent of burning clothes and flesh fills the air. Sweat rolls in beads off his neck, but he's still smiling. Tough bastard. "What storm?"

"There are things inside La Famiglia even you wouldn't believe. Secrets buried so deep, they've grown roots." His grin widens. "Some old vines, they don't rot… they choke."

My jaw tightens. "Edoardo? Roberto?"

That makes him laugh.

"You think you're so clever," I sneer. "Dropping riddles while I peel your skin off."

His voice drops to a near whisper. "You think this is just about Kingsley. About the bill." He chuckles darkly. "The contract came straight through Omertà Infernale."

I stiffen. "Who runs it?"

Igor's laugh turns sharp. Unhinged. "You should really look deeper into La Famiglia, Sartori. Because the ghost you're hunting? Might be a lot closer than you think."

I kill the torch, letting the sudden silence stretch.

I lean in, my mouth near his ear.

"Let me give you a riddle of my own," I whisper. "How long does it take a man to scream before he wishes he'd died quietly?"

Igor swallows, but his smile doesn't falter.

I straighten and nod to Silvano.

"Let's find out."

Igor's face turns solemn. "Tell your sister she's a rare gem, and I'm proud that it was her who brought me down."

I narrow my eyes. I'm missing something here. The bastard winks at me, his grin widens, and then he clenches his jaw with brutal force.

"Shit. Silvano!" I bark, lunging forward.

But it's too late. Igor's eyes bulge. A shudder runs through his frame. He lets out a wet, choking sound, then foams at the mouth before his body simply collapses.

"NO—"

I try to pry his mouth open, but he's already seizing, skin turning waxy pale, breath rattling. Silvano's at my side, too late, fingers at the bastard's throat. "Pulse is dropping… He's gone."

I stagger back, torch still in hand. A cyanide capsule. Hidden in a back molar. The old KGB fail-safe.

Igor Pavlov.

The ghost just killed himself in front of me.

To protect what ?

Or whom ?