“I’m not sure whether you’ve heard,” I say as I crouch next to the man, “but my wife is fucking badass.” I lock eyes with Kastrati. “You won’t survive what she survived.”
“Tinaj,” the fucker spits. “He’s in Bucharest.”
I let out a chuckle. “How fucking stupid do you think I am?”
“I swear!”
“Your word means nothing to me,” I grit out before pressing the twelve-inch drill bit to the fuckers left thigh. The sound of drilling mixes with his scream as the metal bores straight through his leg.
This is for you, mia regina.
As slow as I fucking can, I pull the drill bit out, drawing more cries from Kastrati as he struggles against Viktor’s hold on him.
“You know what the name Kastrati reminds me of?” I ask Viktor.
“Oh yeah, I like where your mind’s at,” he chuckles. “Maybe start with his left testicle.”
Our taunting of castrating Kastrati has the fucker shouting, “I don’t know! No one knows!”
Walking around him, I grab hold of his right hand, and stepping on his wrist, I pin it down.
“Not the answer I’m looking for,” I mutter as I shove the drill bit to his palm and mercilessly bore a hole through his skin and bone.
More screams echo into the night, and it has me saying, “A bit louder. No one can hear you.”
“I don’t know who he is,” Kastrati sobs like a fucking baby.
“My wife didn’t cry once while your men tortured her. In fact, she fucking killed them.” Stepping off his wrist, I gesture for Viktor to let him go.
Kastrati has zero strength to get up as his blood seeps into the grass and sand beneath his body.
“I don’t know… I don’t know,” he weeps.
No one fucking knows anything about Tinaj.
“How did you come to the agreement that whoever takes me down gets Europe?”
“I met him… at St. Monarch’s… during… training.”
My eyes flick to Viktor. “Make the call to Uncle Carson.”
“When did you attend training?” I ask.
“Last… year,” he gasps. His eyes are fixed on me, his last breath creeping closer. “He was the… best...”
Aww fuck.
I watch as the life drains from the fucker before he can complete his sentence.
Viktor kicks at the corpse of the Albanian. “Your fucking timing sucks!” Then he says, “Hi, Uncle Carson. Missed me?”
I stare at the dead man as I try to remember the results of last year’s auction.
Every year the best men and women are trained as custodians and assassins, and the highest bidder gets to hire their services. It’s been an ongoing tradition for close to a hundred years. Uncle Alexei bought St. Monarch’s from Madame Keller, the previous owner, and Uncle Carson, his younger brother, has been running it in his stead.
It's where I received my training in arms, smuggling, and hand-to-hand combat before I took over from my father as the head of the Italian mafia.
“Who was the best last year?” I hear Viktor ask, then he frowns, his eyes locking with mine. “Bojan Pavlovic? Who is he?”
Viktor puts his phone on speaker, so I can hear as Uncle Carson says, “Pavlovic is Serbian. He joined a Hungarian syndicate in his late teens, grew bored of living hand to mouth, and enrolled here. He trained as a custodian and showed great potential. He’s intelligent, so don’t underestimate him. Although there was a bid for twenty million on him, he declined and walked away, which surprised me. I haven’t heard from him again.”
“Thanks, Uncle Carson,” Viktor says. “We’ll see you at Mariya and Luca’s wedding, right?”
“Yeah. I’m looking forward to it.”
The call ends, and Viktor lifts an eyebrow at me. “At least now we know who we’re dealing with.”
“Yes.” I actually feel relieved and chuckle, “Got to hand it to the man, it was a clever move.”
“What was a clever move?” Viktor asks, giving me a confused look.
“Pavlovic’s been laying low, letting Kastrati keep me busy and tire me out. He probably roped the fucker in to distract me.”
“Why the fuck do you look happy about this?” Viktor asks.
“If Pavlovic is as good as Uncle Carson says, then he’s a worthy opponent and not just some snot-nose kid in over his head.” I pat Viktor on the shoulder. “I’m taking it as a compliment.”
I toss the drill into the car, then signal for Marco to set the vehicle and body on fire.
As Viktor and I walk to the SUV that will take us to the airport where my private jet is waiting, I say, “At least you have the right name to search for now.”
“I’m actually curious about what I’ll find out.”
“You know what they say about curiosity,” I chuckle.
“Fuck, now I’m thinking of pussy.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “Not surprised.”
We climb into the SUV, Viktor sliding behind the steering wheel, and as he drives us to the airfield, I pull out my phone and dial Lorenzo’s number.