“It’s not as simple as—”
“Words are very simple, Konstantin.”
Pav knew his place, and he knew it well. He preferred to stay in his place because then, no one could say a thing to him one way or another about the things he did. He was quite aware that Konstantin’s place was not like his at all. The man sat far higher on the totem pole than Pav, and he didn’t owe him anything. He didn’t get to make demands of a Bratva boss, and just expect to get an answer simply because he asked for it.
That’s not how it worked.
Still, he risked it.
Something was wrong here.
Pav needed to know what.
“His name is Boris,” Konstantin said. “Boris Antipov.”
“First I’ve heard his name.”
“Yes, I understand you were never told their names.”
“It wasn’t required for me to do my job.”
“No, it wouldn’t be.” Konstantin sighed heavily and cleared his throat again. Turning just enough to look at the man, Pav watched as Konstantin waved a hand quickly, and the other men in the darkened, musty hallway scattered. It was only once it was just the two of them, alone in the doorway of the cell, that he started speaking again. “Boris was close to my father … almost a right hand, if you will. His position was never very clear, but he’d earned his stars, Vadim found him likable … perhaps because of his nature and the way he handled business, who knows? He often treated him better than he did us—his sons.”
Pav’s gaze narrowed, and he turned back to look at the cell again. “How does that relate to this?”
“Boris is volatile. I imagine you’ve noticed that during his time here, he still remained violent, and unpredictable. Now, imagine that when he was free, and allowed to do whatever he pleased because he answered only to Vadim.”
“Hmm.”
“As I said, he didn’t have a proper position, but the rest of us considered him a bull of sorts for the boss … if there was an issue, or someone needed to have a lesson beat into them, Boris was often the one who showed up. He had more run-ins with Kolya and myself than I care to admit, but that wasn’t what brought him here to you.”
“What was?”
“Viktoria, actually.”
Pav couldn’t hide the very visceral way that admission affected him. Ice had been poured into his spine while pure heat—rage—danced in his heart. He’d thought that organ was long dead. Somedays, it didn’t even feel like it beat. But there it was, and he could feel it now.
“And what did he do to her?” Pav asked.
“He was picked by our father for her,” Konstantin said. “An approved man, basically handed to her. Vadim might as well have spoon-fed Viktoria to a wolf, but he was never willing to admit that was what he’d done. Either he trusted Boris too much, knowing what he was like and the things he had done to others, or he simply didn’t care because he figured the man would stay in line because of who Viktoria was.”
“But what did he do to her?”
Because nothing Konstantin said answered his question, and Pav greatly needed to know and understand. He had a feeling he did know—Viktoria’s constant fear was a good indication that trauma was ever-present in her mind. Terror followed her around like an old friend, and she used her cold demeanor and disinterested attitude as a way to hide it. Better for her to build those walls up than to dare let someone over them, he supposed.
“It was an … arranged agreement for them to be married,” Konstantin muttered, “and my sister was willing to go along with it. Perhaps she liked Boris at first, and maybe a part of her simply wanted to please our father. She always did see Vadim as a … god.”
“You’re not telling me what I want to—”
“A month before they were to be married … I don’t know the details of what led into it, just what happened, and what came after.” Konstantin’s voice roughened, thick with emotion. Anger, guilt, and more. Pav heard it all. “He held her for several days—we didn’t think anything of her being silent because she did that sometimes. But this time, it was because he had locked her in the bedroom of the house Vadim had bought for them. He raped her often … every hour on the hour, as my sister once told me. He beat her when she fought back and he taunted her.”
Pav’s jaw ached. How hard was he clenching his teeth? His fingernails broke the skin of his palms when he clenched his hands into tight fists. The rage simmered into a slow boil.
“How did he taunt her?” Pav asked.
“He made calls to us … to my father, and to me. One to Kolya, although he always hung up on Boris—he never cared to listen to the man talk. She would be at his feet, gagged and unable to ask for help while he talked to us like there was nothing wrong. As though it was just another day, and we had business to discuss. Other times, he would be actively assaulting her when he made the calls.”
Now, Konstantin’s voice was faint—oh, the anger was present, but something else was far clearer. Pain. The guilt. The regret. Pav understood, but what was done was now done. It had happened, and it couldn’t be taken away because someone wished it was so. The event was already over, and it left scars that couldn’t be ignored or hidden.
Guilt fixed nothing.
The regret came too late.
“How many days?” Pav asked.
“Five.”
Fuck.
“And that was his punishment once she had gotten free, and we went after him. Ten years for every day he held
