Page 3 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)

ZVER

“W hy? Whyyy?” he rasps, voice reduced to a pathetic, broken plea, scraping along my patience like jagged fingernails on a chalkboard.

God, you'd think these assholes would find a new question when facing death.

“You know why,” I growl softly, cold fury dripping from every syllable.

Slowly, deliberately, I smirk beneath my mask as his frantic breathing fills the silence. A flash of dark anticipation rolls through me as I lift a knife, turning it slowly between my fingers, feeling its weight, its balance.

I let the knife fly, the satisfying whistle of air splitting before it embeds itself deep into something solid. I note with satisfaction the blade quivering mere inches from his ear.

His eyes bulge, pupils blown wide with pure terror. His mouth moves silently, choking on pleas he’s too scared to voice.

Trust me, when I want him to feel pain, he will.

Some of my marks hold their secrets like diamond safes, impenetrable and stubborn as hell.

This guy? He’s more like a gender reveal cake. Slice into the right layer, and everything spills out. It’s just a matter of finding the right cut.

He has no fucking clue how deep a man’s fears can root.

I’ll show him soon enough.

Patience is my weapon. Fear, my ally.

I pick another knife, deliberately letting him watch the glint of the blade in the dim light. He recoils, straining uselessly against his bindings.

“Antonio D’Angelo,” I whisper, darkly intimate, drawing the tip slowly down his cheek, right beneath his swollen, purple-black eye.

His breath saws in and out, eyes rolling wild with panic. Sweat beads along his temples, and I know he’s close.

They say the eyes are windows to the soul. And by the terror gleaming there, this miserable bastard holds at least one answer to the disappearance of Antonio D’Angelo.

My father.

The fallen king whose absence still haunts our family. Vanished in thin air nearly six years ago like vape smoke in a Vegas casino.

“I don’t know anything,” he sputters between breaths.

If that’s true, it’s a tragedy… and not just for him.

I gave up everything to find my father. To the worthless piece of shit sniveling in front of me, as well as to the rest of the world, Dante D’Angelo is dead.

Blown up. Car bomb. A nice, neat Independence Day, mob style. Signed and sealed by my own uncle. Andre. The same bastard I’m almost certain made our father disappear.

The son of a bitch even tried to have him declared dead. Tried and failed. Our father isn’t going down that easy, asshole. Not with an army of attorneys on the D’Angelo payroll.

Let them fight the battle. I’ll start the war.

Especially now that my double life is over, and the only thing left standing in its wake is…

Zver .

My thick-Russian accent and my grandfather’s Bratva blood settle over me like armor.

Or, like a straight-jacket.

I stripped myself of everything. My life, my name, even my family. The brothers I’d give my right arm to see again. A sister I’d die for.

Everything, except her. Riley Mullvain. My Zapretnaya. Or Pom, depending on my mood. My little pain-in-the-ass captive who still has a hard lesson to learn: there is never a time I’m not watching her.

According to my phone, she left the pharmacy—probably through a window—and is heading to the opposite building.

A low growl rises from my chest. I’ll deal with her later.

The point is, I didn’t sacrifice all that just to have this piece of shit blubbering before me lie to my face.

I’ll have my answers. Even if I have to carve truth from this sewer rat one layer of skin at a time.

I slice open his shirt, ignoring his screams as I step back.

I mark little x’s in his flesh, murmuring thoughtfully, “Heart. Kidneys. Liver.” I pause, smirking slightly.

“Ooh, that's a nasty way to die.” I glance over my work, tilting my head in appraisal. “Just memorizing these. I’m going to try to avoid them, keep our little confession session going on for a few more hours.”

“Wait!” he sobs.

“Wait for what, Emilio? Isn’t this how you threatened Dominic’s kids and grandmother?” I shake my head in disgust. “For a cartel prince, you’re a pathetic pussy.”

“You’re Zver. You do the same.”

“Wrong.” I backhand him viciously, uncaring that the knife's blade grazes his eye. “Only a coward preys on women and children.”

The timer dings.

I glance down at my watch and exhale sharply, feigning disappointment. “Well, I’m afraid that’s all the time we’ve got for today.”

Without hesitation, I plunge the knife deep into Emilio’s shoulder, savoring his guttural scream, his body thrashing weakly against restraints already slick with his blood.

“We’ll pick up right here tomorrow.”

I turn and leave him to bleed, stepping into the dimly lit corridor and letting the heavy metal door swallow his screams with a satisfying click.

I make my way up the winding stairs to my suite, discarding my clothes and mask in the garbage chute.

For two months, I’ve deliberately avoided Riley. Maybe because some brain-dead part of me entertained the idea of letting her walk free. But freedom would be fatal—for both of us. The second she’s spotted, she’s as good as buried, and I’d quickly join her beneath the dirt.

Besides, I had my own wounds to lick.

Dominic wasn’t the only one scarred by that explosion. Flames branded me—my cheek, neck, back—leaving permanent reminders etched deep into my skin. Now, those burns have faded into pale scars, but not all scars are visible.

Dominic still has his family, whole and untouched.

Mine was torn away, leaving wounds that no amount of healing can close. And sometimes, that truth fucks with my head more than I care to admit. Makes me edgy. Unpredictable. A trapped beast caged in razor wire.

But the real reason Zapretnaya still breathes under my roof?

I’m nowhere near finished with her yet. Not even close.

Lately, she’s been testing my limits. Constantly pushing every boundary I’ve drawn like a cartographer.

It’s high fucking time she learned the price of crossing those lines.

And judging by where she’s ended up right now, today's lesson plan just got a whole hell of a lot more hands-on.