Chapter 3

Zakhar's POV

“I swear I know nothing.”

Crack. 

My fist connected with his face. 

His head snapped to the side, making his chair scrape against the concrete floor. 

The room went silent. 

I flexed my fingers before lowering my hand. 

“Let's try this again.” 

“Where were you last night at exactly 10:30 PM?” 

“At one of my side pieces’ places.” 

“Doing what exactly?” 

“S-spending a n-night with her.” 

“Are you sure you didn't go anywhere else, huh?” I rested a hand against my chin, pretending to consider the bullshit Sergei was feeding me. His eyes began to sparkle with hope. 

If I had a funny bone in my body, I'd find it funny. But I don't. I find it downright pathetic. 

“So let me get this straight. You were busy in a hotel room, fucking like rabbits, exactly twenty minutes before the shipment of firearms was stolen?” 

“Y-yes.” He swallowed. 

Men like Sergei let power get to their heads. They think they're gods all because they're in the Bratva, acting tough. But they’re as important as a piece of lint and very much replaceable. I’m familiar with his type. They’re always easy to break, especially in situations like this. 

“Sergei.” 

“Y-yes,” he replied, still with that glint of hope in his eyes. 

Pity. 

I looked him square in the eyes, hands in my pockets. 

“Do you know what I find interesting about liars?” 

He swallowed. 

“They don't know when to stop. They get themselves killed in the process.” 

I paused before continuing. “Do you want to be put in an early grave, hm, Sergei?” 

His expression faltered. 

“Zakhar, please.” 

“It’s Pakhan to you.” 

Then he began to cry. “Pakhan, please. I don't want to die.” 

“Then you should have told me the truth when you had the chance.” 

With that, I pulled my gun from my waistband and fired. 

He looked like he’d pissed and shit himself in one go, staring at his newly holed leg. It almost made me laugh. 

Almost. 

“FUCK! Okay, okay. Wait, please. Just wait. Fuck.” He sputtered, sweating bullets. 

With a gun in hand, I smirked. “I'm listening.” 

“I-I-I-I—” 

“I don't have all day. Whatever you want to say, say it now.” 

“I swear I don't know anything. Please, just let me go.” Then he began to cry again. 

A grown-ass man weeping like a child. This man was the embodiment of pathetic at this point. So I shot his other leg. He yelped in pain, straining against the ropes around his wrists.

“Help me! Someone, anyone. Please help me. I don't want to die.” 

He kept screaming for help. 

I chuckled darkly, amused by his stupidity. This place had no windows. No distractions. Just a concrete floor, a single flickering ceiling light, a metal table, one chair, and enough silence to make even the most confident man question his choices. Everything was soundproof. The perfect setting for torture. 

So his cries were baseless. A waste of time. 

After several minutes, he finally got the memo. 

“What do you want to know?” 

So he’s not as dumb as he looks. 

I cut straight to it. “Who sent you?” 

He hesitated. 

“Careful with your answer. It just might save you.” 

“I honestly don't know who.” 

I raised an eyebrow. 

“I just got a call from a guy. He said he'd pay me a ton of money if I could get the firearms to him instead of our usual place. He sent me the location and instructions. Told me to leave them there, leave my phone, and take the suitcases of money. I swear, that's all I know.” 

“Did you see anyone there?” 

“No, I didn't.” 

Well, shit. 

I was still racking my brain over what to do with this new issue when Sergei interrupted me. “Since I helped you, you're going to let me go, right?” 

I wanted to laugh. 

“What made you think that?” 

“You promised to let me go if I talked,” he said, fear and rage mixing in his tone. 

“I made no such promises. You were the one who assumed you were safe.” I shrugged. 

“B-b-but—” 

“But nothing. You betrayed your mafia for some cash that's probably halfway gone by now.” 

“Please, you can't do this to me. I've been loyal to the Mikhails for years and never asked for anything. I just made one mistake. One single mistake. Please, I won't do it ever again.” He rambled on and on. 

“Proshchay, Sergei. Nadeyus', tvoy put' v ad budet takim zhe muchitel'nym, kak i tvoya smert'.” 

Translation: “Goodbye, Sergei. I hope your journey to hell is as painful as your death.”

“Wait, wait—” 

Bang. 

Bang. 

Silence. 

I adjusted my shirt and stepped out. 

“Clean this up.” 

One of my men nodded. 

I barely made it two steps down the hallway before Kirill, my best friend and right-hand man, greeted me. His hair was in a messy man bun, as usual. 

“Done already?” he asked, falling into step beside me. 

I glanced at him. “Was I meant to stay in there forever?” 

He gave me a look. “No. But I expected you to be in there for another 25 minutes.” 

“He got on my nerves.” 

He chuckled. 

We continued down the hallway, our footsteps echoing against the marble floor. 

Kirill’s phone suddenly began ringing. 

He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. 

Mrs. Zorin ❤️ 

His expression immediately softened. 

“Duty calls. I'll be right back,” he said, excusing himself. 

I still can't believe my once woman-allergic friend is now p***y-whipped and at his wife's beck and call. Now that they’re back from their honeymoon, he’s even more obsessed with her than ever. I’m glad he has Audrey. I wouldn't have asked for a better partner for him. 

When I got to my office, my thoughts drifted back to the mouthy girl I’d encountered a few days ago. 

I still remember the way those silver-gray orbs glowed at me with defiance. Challenging me. The long, jagged scar that slashed vertically from her forehead, through her right eye, and down to the middle of her cheek. Her many ear piercings. Her hoop nose ring. The tattoos on her arms that told so many stories. 

Despite the ugly scar, it only served to heighten her beauty. She looked like the goddess of war. Breathtakingly gorgeous. 

But that damn mouth of hers ruined everything.

She had a terrible temper. Really annoying. The kind that made her speak before thinking and look at people like she had nothing to lose. Simply reckless. 

And that attitude of hers? 

I hated it. 

I hated the way she challenged me. The way she got under my fucking skin. No one had ever done that. Not even my annoying-ass brother, Ilya. And trust me when I say, he’s a real piece of work. But at least I love him. 

I dropped into my chair and loosened my tie. 

But that girl was too reckless, too cocky, and too confident for my liking. 

Every single thing about her. I hated it. And her. 

I hope I never see her again. 

She may be little, but she’s wrapped in an entire bubble wrap of trouble.