Indebted to the Mafia King
Brigadier

Dante

I walk up to a shuttered bodega. Pieces of the paper sign flap in the wind, declaring that I can get "sacks" and "dinks" inside. New York City flows around this abandoned piece of itself, not even glancing at it.

Perfect.

I slide into the alley beside it, unlock the chain on the back door, and step inside. Tony and Cal Duncan stand in the flickering light of the ex-backroom, now lined with knives, cattle prods, ropes, and any other torture instrument a Saint has come up with in the last decade.

"I was wondering if you'd ever show your fine face." Cal smiles. "I called you as soon as I heard."

"I had other business," I answer crisply. "What did you catch?"

"A tuna, if I do say so myself."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Brigadier. No sign of Fyodor, but the place was obviously important to them."

Someone grunts just past the thin door that separates us from the main room. I smile. Brigadier means decent information.

"Who has him?" I ask.

"One of my boys wanted first touch." Cal grins. "Simply a softening job, nary a question asked. Don't you worry." He winks.

There are a lot of things I'd rather die than trust an Irish King with. Torture isn't one of them. I nod easily.

"And our cousin?" I ask Tony.

Cal's smile fades a degree. "Now, there's no need for secrets between friends."

"Safe with Uncle Patterson," Tony replies.

Which means Teo not only survived whatever encounter Cal had with the Russians but has already been squirreled back to Patterson with Mikey. I crack my knuckles. "Then let's get to work."

The three of us stride into the main abandoned bodega space. Over the newspapers that look to be covering the windows from the front, thick mats of ridged foam dampen any sound that could escape to the outside. Cal's boys have all the lights blaring, giving the middle-aged man tied to the chair in the middle of the room nowhere to hide. His pale, bare chest shows thick lines of red between a tapestry of tattoos, and a wild-eyed redhead in the middle of the room holds an equally crimson knife.

"Just one more," the redhead says, not looking away from his prey. "He's gas for yelling."

Cal clicks his tongue. "Really? I'm not one minute through the door, and you ask this?"

The redhead jumps as if snapping back into himself, sets the knife down on the counter, and backs up to stand with a few other Kings along the walls. Thankfully, they're matched one for one by Saints' men. With me, we have the numbers.

"All yours." Cal bows dramatically.

I pull off my jacket and pull on the heavy butcher's apron that's hung here for as long as I can remember. "Brigadier have a name?"

"Khuy tebe," he hisses.

"Wordy." I wander over to the counter and survey the implements. At least a dozen different knives. Creativity, the Kings seem to lack. I select a solid iron pipe. "Can I call you Teb?" "Nye "

I swing the pipe into his shredded chest, and Teb chokes on his answer.

"No isn't an option for you any longer." I smile. "Forgot to mention that."

He spits blood on the floor and mutters something in Russian I don't catch.

"I'm looking for a friend of mine." I twirl the pipe. "You may have heard of him. Fyodor?"

Teb starts to laugh, and I crack the pipe into his shoulder. Something breaks, and he shouts in pain.

"Where is he?"

Tony sets his hands on Teb's shoulders, massaging the destroyed one. I smile.

Teb grits his teeth. "Hit me, cut me, I will not talk."

"We'll see about that." I wander away from him. Russians tend to be tough, but that only means I need something unique. I pluck an electrified cattle prod off the counter and keep my body between it and him. Time to see how he likes a little surprise. "Fyodor," I repeat. "Where can I replace him?"

Tony shifts out of the way, anticipating my move.

Teb spits. "You know so little. You do not even know what you had, when you had Camila. You will fail."

"I will?" I jab the cattle prod into his back, right where the electricity should reach his kidneys.

He spasms with another yell. I pull the prod back after long seconds of twitching muscles. He slumps against the chair, and Tony laughs.

I hum thoughtfully. "I thought Camila was a bitch who'd fuck her way to the top at a moment's notice. Was I wrong?"

Teb laughs breathlessly. "That, she is. But she was Fyodor's bitch, until she wasn't."

"And that's why she wanted me so bad." I run the prod softly across his bare back, setting off a series of miniature shocks. "See, talking isn't so bad."

"About dead bitches? No." He bares his teeth. "Nothing more."

El's class is only two hours long. I'd love to take my time with this bastard, break him down piece by piece, but I can't be late. I can't break a promise to her. So I look to Tony, and then to Cal.

"Well?" I ask. "You want a piece, or what?"

I swear to God, Cal drools.

***

An hour and a half later, Teb lays on the floor, his chair broken. The zip cuffs holding him in place are barely attached to anything anymore, but he doesn't have the strength to move his head away from the slowly spreading puddle of his own puke, much less get up and run out.

I squat next to him. "Hey. Remember me?"

His swollen eyelids flutter.

"I'll take that as a yes. You want to die?"

For that, he manages a nod.

"Impressive." I grin. "We'll kill you if you answer a couple simple questions. That sound good?"

Another nod.

"Where is Fyodor?"

"Don't...know...." Teb mumbles through bloody lips and several broken teeth.

Cal rears back with the claw hammer he apparently favors, but I put up a hand. Teb's got maybe one hit left in him before unconsciousness, and I'm not wasting it on Cal Duncan's temper. Or my own. I'm cutting it very close to being late.

"What do you know about him?" I ask.

"His movements," Tony adds. "His plans. Who he started spending time with after Camila."

A gob of blood drizzles out of Teb's mouth. For a moment, I think we've lost him. Then, he coughs, and another tooth shard scatters across the floor.

"His plans are...you," Teb says. "You have...krysa."

I glance up at Cal, Tony. Both of them look equally confused.

"Translate that," I bark.

Nothing. I nudge Teb with my foot. His eyelids don't even move. Fuck.

"Wrap him up," I tell Tony. "Keep him alive somewhere. I don't give a shit where."

Then, I begin furiously yanking off the gloves I donned when things got messy. I need my fucking phone, I need to figure out what he said before I forget it. The thick, black rubber slaps to the wet floor.

My fingers fumble over the screen. English sounds don't translate well to Cyrillic, but I get there with a flash of ice over my skin.

"Rat," I whisper. "He said we have a goddamn rat!"

I storm out of the room without looking behind me, ripping off the apron as I go. His plans are me, and I have a fucking rat. That means it doesn't matter how many guards I have on Eleni, I won't be able to breathe until I'm looking at her again.