The Enforcer (Chicago Bratva #3) - Renee Rose Page 0,56

down. “You never used it. Just a few thousand dollars to get to America.”

I shrug.

“The rest of it is still sitting in a bank in your name. Untouched.”

I don’t respond.

He gets up and starts pacing, hands clasped behind his back.

I turn and check out who’s on the plane. I see the two men in the back who put me on the plane. A third, skinny, more secretarial-looking guy with a mustache. He’s the one who brought the water.

The door to the pilot’s cabin is closed.

Skal’pel’ goes on with his monologue. My being mute now hardly makes a difference. The man always preferred to hear himself talk. Not like Ravil, who listens.

But he’s just as smart as Ravil. He strategizes just as well. He reads and understands people like Ravil does. At least, I always felt like he knew me better than I knew myself. That’s what makes him a master manipulator.

“You joined the bratva. A surprising choice although perhaps not, considering the friends you’d made in prison.”

I’m sickened by how closely he followed my life after he mutilated my body and ruined my life. I don’t know what I’d thought he would do. I hadn’t wanted to think about him. What had become of him. Where he was or what he was doing.

But I certainly never imagined he was tracking and following me. My life.

It turns my stomach.

Or maybe that’s just the aftereffects of the tranquilizer.

“I realized that my gift to you wasn’t the consolation I’d hoped it would be. You didn’t crave cash. You craved a master to serve. And you found one with your new bratva cell. Ravil Baranov, smuggler and self-made real estate mogul of downtown Chicago.”

Now I want to kill him.

It’s all I can do not to flex my hands against the zip ties. I don’t like him talking about Ravil. And I especially don’t like his assessment of me, however true it may be.

I could snap his neck. Right here, right now. He’s within my reach. But I might get shot in the back of the head before I finished the job. Would it be worth it?

The world would be safe from this maniac.

Story would be safe.

Oh fuck, Story.

Just thinking of her brings on a wave of grief so heavy it nearly drowns me.

I left her. My sweet lastochka.

And probably like Skal’pel’s payment to me, that bag of cash I bequeathed to her won’t be any kind of consolation for my death. She doesn’t seem to care much about money, anyway.

I didn’t think this through. I just blindly followed the path Skal’pel’ laid for me, just like I always have. I’d thought I was doing this for Story. Sacrificing myself, so she could live. Being the honorable, trustworthy man I’ve always considered myself to be.

But this isn’t honoring Story. And sure as hell isn’t honoring myself. This is the first time in my life I really have something worth living for, and I chose not to fight for it? Not to even try to find a solution other than the one Skal’pel’ picked for me?

Am I really going to let him continue to write the script of my life?

“I don’t know who figured out your connection with me, but when I saw a reward had been put up for your safe capture, I had to come for you.” Now he turns an indulgent gaze on me. Like I’m the wayward child he’s taking back into his fold, instead of the psychopath who thought cutting out my tongue and putting me in prison was the best way to reward me for my loyal service.

“I couldn’t let them capture you, even though you probably hold little knowledge of value in that glorious, big head of yours.” He drops back into his seat and crosses one ankle over his knee.

“I could have just sent an executioner.” He stands again to pace away from me. “It would’ve been safer for me. Far easier. Definitely simpler.” He turns and looks at me. “But the truth is, I’ve missed your service, Oleg.” He flicks a glance at the American thugs. “No one takes care of business the way you used to. Without complaint or interjections. You never did speak much, even when you had a tongue.”

He paces back. “So I came myself for you. And your obedient response to my message showed me you’re still as reliable as ever.” He passes by me and places a hand on my shoulder in the way he used to show his approval or affection.