Standing, I button my suit jacket back into place. "Viktor," I call out.
Viktor steps through the open doorway.
"Clean out his arm wounds and bandage them up. Keep him fed and hydrated."
I shoot one final glance back at Stanislav. "We aren't finished yet. You just bought yourself a few more days of breathing."
I walk out into the corridor. The heavy metal door slams shut behind me, but his muffled sobbing echoes down the hallway until the sound fades away.
Forty armed men, an escape tunnel, a reinforced panic room, and trained attack dogs.
Excellent. Now I know exactly what kind of trap I am walking into.
Dato
The brief phone call with Stanislav plays through my head on an endless loop. My brother. My stupid, pathetic, soft-hearted little brother. He sits trapped in Romanov’s basement, crying his eyes out. He sits there pissing his pants while spilling every single secret I ever trusted him with. An enemy raises their voice, and he folds without a fight. I hurl a crystal glass straight at the wall. It shatters into a hundred jagged pieces. One of the housekeepers flinches at the loud noise and rushes toward the hallway to escape the room.
"Get back in here right now!" I roar.
She freezes in the doorframe.
"Clean up this mess."
Hurrying back into the sitting room, she drops to her knees, gathering the broken glass with shaking hands.
"Move faster," I snap.
She rushes her movements, slicing her finger open on a sharp shard in the process. But she keeps her mouth shut, not making a single sound. She is a smart woman.
I pace the entire length of the grand sitting room. My armed guards stand rigidly against the painted walls, not a single one of them daring to look me in the eye. They all try to blend into the furniture and become invisible.
"My brother," I say with a dark laugh. The sound feels wrong even to my own ears. "My sweet little Stanislav. My own flesh and blood. I raised my baby brother on my own after our parents died. I kept a roof over his head and put food in his stomach. I guarded him from every monster in this cruel world except the one that actually mattered."
I stop my pacing to slam my heavy fist down onto the wooden table. The violent impact sends the decorations jumping into the air. "And he lets the enemy capture him without putting up a fight!" My booming voice echoes through the massive room. "Romanov snatched him right off the street. Stanislav showed zero defensive training and zero survival instinct. He has no fucking spine."
I resume my pacing with quick, agitated steps. "Oh, Stanislav," I whisper, my voice dropping to a much softer, tender tone. "My beloved brother. You are the only person in this world I would give my life for." I press my palm flat against my aching chest. "You are the only good thing left in our bloodline. You walk around wearing our mother's eyes and our father's hands."
Hot tears burn the back of my eyes. But the soft affection inside my chest turns toxic in a second.
"That weak and useless piece of shit," I snarl, kicking a heavy chair across the floor. The wood hits the plaster wall and splinters into jagged pieces. "He probably sat in that chair and spilled all our secrets. He gave up our safe houses and our hidden routes. He probably drew Romanov a map and offered a pathetic apology while handing it over. He is a spineless excuse for a Janelidze."
I round on the guard standing closest to the door. The man presses his spine flat against the wall in fear. "Answer me right now. Did I raise a coward? Did I raise a man who breaks under pressure in two days? Two days in a cell, and he becomesRomanov’s obedient pet. Two short days, and my own brother turns into a traitor."
The guard keeps his mouth shut. It is the only correct response to give, seeing my agitated state.
"Oh, Stani," I whisper, my voice breaking with grief. "What kind of torture are they putting you through right now? Are you freezing in that basement? Are you terrified? I promise I will come for you. I will burn all of Moscow to the ground and pull you safely from the ashes. I swear that promise on our mother's grave."
I wipe the tears from my face and straighten my jacket, taking one deep breath to center my thoughts. Then I grab the edge of the heavy table and flip the furniture over. It crashes onto its side. Stacks of paper scatter across the rug. A silver laptop slides onto the hardwood floor and cracks against the baseboard.
"Romanov's woman refused to speak a single word, but my own brother folds under the slightest pressure!" I scream. "I kept that bitch trapped in my house for five days. I fed her warm meals and gave her comfortable clothes. She gave me zero intelligence in return. She refused to drop a single name. And my own flesh and blood cannot even last forty-eight hours in enemy hands?"
I stand in the wreckage, screaming at the ceiling. Spit flies from my lips, and my hands shake with rage. The terrified staff vanishes from the room. My armed guards edge with nervous steps toward the heavy doors to escape my wrath.
"I should have sent him far away from this city. I should have shipped him back to Tbilisi the day I started this gang war. He was never built for this violent life. He has always been a soft boy. Our mother ruined him with her constant coddling and her endless prayers."
The sitting room doors swing open in that second, and Levan walks into the chaos. My tall, silver-haired uncle wears a calm and measured expression on his face to shield his thoughts. He takes in the sight of the broken glass and the overturned table. He stares at the splintered chair pieces on the rug. And then, finally, he looks at me standing in the center of the destruction. My chest heaves with heavy breaths, and my knuckles dripped blood from hitting a surface I can't even remember striking.
"Dato," Levan says in a level tone. "Sit down."