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Matthias

I can’t sleep.

Every time I close my eyes, I see her pinned down and helpless.

It plays on a loop, each second more agonizing than the last. If this is what it’s doing to me, I can’t even begin to imagine what my brave girl must be going through.

I look down at her. She’s curled into me, warm and soft. She’s been tossing and turning, but at least she’s sleeping. At least she’s safe.

My phone lights up.

Roman.

They’re awake.

The men who touched my sweet girl. The scum who dared to lay a hand on her. They’re tied up in the warehouse, waiting.

I text him back.

‘Hold off. They’re mine’

I don’t want to leave Margot, but I have no choice. I need answers. I don’t understand why the Bratva would be at her house. No one knows about us. It doesn’t make sense.

And I need to make them suffer. They made my girl hurt. They will beg for death before I’m through with them.

I ease out from under her and put a pillow in my place. She whimpers in protest, and my chest tightens.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I whisper. “I promise I’ll be back before you wake up.”

I kiss her forehead, then slip out of the room.

I make a pit stop.

“Benny.” My voice is low and commanding.

His head snaps up, instantly ready.

“I need you to watch Margot. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Benny understands. He jumps up immediately and follows me to the bedroom. He sniffs her, checking for himself that she’s okay. Then, without hesitation, he plants himself between her and the door, waiting for me to set up his bed.

I do as I’m told.

Once I’m sure Margot is protected, I head out.

I have guards stationed at the top of the stairs and surrounding the house. No one gets up here without my say. It’s shoot on sight. I’m not taking any chances.

***

I walk into the warehouse and see both men tied to metal chairs. As promised, Roman hasn’t touched them yet. They’re shirtless, wrist and ankles cut from the tight rope binding them. They’re stripped bare for maximum exposure.

Roman leans against the wall like this is routine. I guess for him, it is.

“How is she?” he asks, his voice steady but serious.

“Sleeping. Barely. Let’s make this quick. I don’t want her waking up alone.”

He nods. Then, without warning, he picks up a bucket and sloshes cold water over them. They jolt awake, sputtering and coughing.

“We’re going to have a conversation,” Roman begins coolly. “You’ll answer every question. Lie? You suffer. Refuse? You suffer. Give us what we need? Maybe we let you go. Understand?”

It’s a lie. They’ll die for what they did to Margot.

The one on the right, the older one, laughs. It’s wet and phlegmy, a smoker’s rasp. “We are not scared of you. When my boss finds us, you will be the ones screaming.”

Roman’s smile is nefarious. “I’m not scared of Viktor. He fears me.”

Their smirks vanish. Their Pakhan’s name wasn’t supposed to come out of our mouths.

“Viktor fears no one, you fools.” The other, the one who held Margot down, says, but his voice falters.

“Zatknis, durak,” The older one hisses.

Roman moves so fast, it’s a blur. A knife slams into the older one’s hand. A scream rips through the warehouse.

“English only,” Roman orders.

“Who the fuck are you?” The dumb one mutters, eyes darting around the room as if it’ll give him answers.

Roman steps forward. “Roman Montclair. This is my brother, Matthias. We want to know why you were after Margot Peterson.” Roman’s smile is sinister.

They pale instantly.

That’s the power of his name.

The younger one visibly shrinks back. Even the leader looks like he’s swallowed glass .

“We will not betray the Bratva,” the older one says, voice steady despite the knife sticking from his hand. “We will die before we talk.”

I walk over to the table of weapons and quietly survey my options.

“Why were you at Margot Peterson’s house?” Roman asks the younger one.

“I won’t tell you shit,” he mutters, but it’s empty.

Roman drives a knife into his hand.

Unlike his partner, he doesn’t stay calm. He cries.

Pathetic.

“What kind of man breaks down at a little pain?” I mutter under my breath.

“Answer the question,” Roman demands.

“Why do you care about some fat bitch?” the younger one hisses.

My blood turns to fire.

Get it together. Stay in control.

“It would do you well to watch your mouth,” I grind out.

“You couldn’t keep your slut at home. She would have been so good.”

Red. My vision reddens blindingly.

I move slowly. Calmly. I pick up a tin of gasoline and slide a matchbox into my pocket .

He’s still talking. He doesn’t know I’ve already decided he’s going to die violently.

“Her screams made me hard. Her wrists were soft. I was waiting for my turn when you interrupted.”

He stops talking when he sees me approaching.

Fear registers in his eyes. Finally.

He realizes I’m not like Roman. I don’t do this because I have to. It’s not my job. I’m here because I want to. Because he hurt my Margot.

I silently start pouring the gasoline over his head. Chest. Groin.

He starts screaming before the match is even lit.

Begging.

I don’t say a word as I let it soak.

Then I answer his earlier question.

“She’s my everything.”

I light the match, and flick it on him.

He ignites.

And I stand there.

Watching.

Reveling.

His screams fill the warehouse, echoing off the walls.

I don’t look away.

I don’t blink.

I want to remember the way he sounds. I want to remember the dance of the flames. I want to remember what happens to people who hurt my Margot.

Eventually, his cries stop. He slumps forward, a charred carcass.

Roman calmly walks over, grabs a hose, and douses the remains.

“You ready to talk now?”

The older one stares at the corpse of his comrade, horror etched into every line of his face. Then he meets my eyes, and for the first time, he’s truly afraid.

“If I talk, you put a bullet between my eyes. No more pain.”

I nod. “Deal.”

He swallows. “We watched Margot Peterson’s house for weeks. Our orders were to bring her in. She knows too much. We do not know if she went to the authorities. We need to question her. Then silence her.”

Silence her .

I keep my expression passive while my world crumbles at the suggestion. At the image of my sweet girl silenced forever.

Roman raises a brow. “Has she been targeted before?”

“Yes. The first team never reported back. Viktor assumes she took them out then vanished. But we go to her house randomly to make sure.”

I stiffen.

The alley. The men. What if they weren’t after me?

“She was the target,” I whisper.

He nods then closes his eyes.

Roman doesn’t hesitate. One bullet flies between his eyes.

“Why the fuck did you shoot him?” I snap. “He might’ve known more.”

“He told us everything he knew,” Roman replies. “You wanted to get back to your girl. Go home.”

I don’t like it. But he’s right.

“Thanks for today,” I mutter.

“It’s what I do. For the Syndicate. And for my family.” With the way he says family, I know he means Margot too.

I nod. “She’s it.”

“What does she know?” he asks. “She’s not capable of making men disappear.”

“I don’t know. But I’ll find out. When she’s ready.”

“You’re going to have to tell Dom.”

“Not yet. I’ll figure this out first.”

I’m halfway to the door when Roman calls after me, “Take a shower. You smell like burnt flesh, you sick fuck. And you owe me a new pair of jeans.”

“Fuck off.”

“That stench doesn’t come out of clothes. And I had to sit through that shit. You owe me.”

I roll my eyes. “You have millions in the bank. Spend a little. The dark look isn’t in style anymore. ”

Roman grins. “Dark works for me. Gets the ladies.”

I don’t bother responding. I leave, already knowing one thing.

The Bratva will never get their hands on my Margot.