Page 23 of Thorns of Death

And Sofia Volkov stunk to high heaven.

I glanced over my shoulder. “Kingston, want to have another go at him?”

It had been only over the last few years that he reverted back to using his birth name. For the past two decades, he was known as the Ghost. Lethal. Deadly.

He pushed off the column and produced a knife out of somewhere. “I’m game.”

I stepped back and watched with an indifferent expression as Kingston worked him expertly. The Russian screamed and yelled, but it was clear twenty minutes in that he wouldn’t cave. It wasn’t unusual for men who grew up in the underworld to be resistant to torture.

I studied Kingston inflicting pain on Fedor without emotion. A psychologist might have called us all psychopaths. Or suffering from dissociative behavior. They might have been right, but you had to dissociate to survive in the mafia. It was how Kingston had survived Ivan Petrov and Sofia Volkov’s years of imprisonment and torture. It was how I dealt with my brother’s death.

Dissociation.

Manuel’s phone buzzed and his eyes found mine as he nodded.

“Kingston, let’s try another approach.” I snapped my fingers, and Manuel stepped forward and presented the screen. I grabbed Fedor by the chin and forced him to look at it. “This is your daughter, isn’t it?” I purred as I forced him to watch the footage that one of our men recorded of her through the window, completely oblivious of the danger lurking outside her home.

I didn’t need to turn around to know Kingston had become a statue behind me. Of course we’d never hurt the girl. From all the information we had, she didn’t even keep in touch with her father.

“You motherfucker,” Fedor barked, finding the energy to jerk against the ropes. “You fucking motherfucker! She has nothing to do with this.”

He thrashed against the ropes, the coarse material cutting into his wounds. More blood dripped onto the ground.

“You have all the power here, Fedor. Tell us why she attacked the ship and what her plan is.”

To ensure he understood I meant it, I brought the screen closer to him. Fedor coughed as the knife Kingston had twisted in his ribs, fighting to breathe through the pain.

“Stop,” he hissed, glaring at all of us.

“Save your daughter.” Fedor slumped at my simple instruction, and I could tell we were finally getting somewhere. “Tell us what Sofia is planning, and what she wants”

“I don’t know.” He sighed, exhaustion seeping from his voice. “Not much, anyhow.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Tell us what you know,” I demanded. “Why attack this ship?” I gripped his hair, making sure the handful was taut against his scalp.

“End the underworld.” He coughed up some blood, then repeated, “She wants to end the underworld, for her kid. That’s all I know.”

That was fucking bullshit. Someone who wanted to end organizations like ours didn’t try to take power. Nor did they claim to be the Pakhan. And what was this shit about a kid? Sofia Volkov was just playing a game, and if my guess was right, she wanted all the fucking power.

I drew my gun from its holster and held it loosely as I studied Fedor’s bloody face. “Give me the names of who else is involved, hmm?”

His eyes were trained on the heavy gun in my hand.

I inclined my head and cocked the gun. “In that case—”

“Wait, wait,” he balked. “The Yakuza,” he confessed on a shaky breath. “Itsuki Takahashi. That’s all I know. I promise.”

The fucking head of the Yakuza. Amon Takahashi-Leone’s cousin. As cruel and sick as Itsuki Takahashi was, Amon was the opposite. He was the older, smarter, illegitimate cousin—the true heir to the Yakuza empire. Yes, he was the illegitimate son and settled for the second-in-command of the Yakuza organization, but it didn’t erase the fact that he was the true heir to that organization. If only he’d seize it. Amon was also the slightly older—albeit by a few weeks—illegitimate brother to Dante Leone. Amon was owed a double crown, but he remained crownless. A Bitter Prince.

I narrowed my gaze at Fedor as I gestured with my matte black Glock G19.

“End him.”

“Wait, wait,” he pleaded, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, before he whispered, “She has a mole in your organization. That’s how she operates. She has moles everywhere.”

Rage shot through me, fast and hot. It ripped my chest to shreds.

“Name,” I gritted.