Chapter 5 Enemy Within

• ADRIKO’S POV
• I lit my cigar and took a deep puff. I always love Cubans. They tend to calm me down.
• They brought him.
• The predator (betrayer) who thought he could get away with working with my enemies.
• Matvei was my head of security; he had been at my side for five years. I’d trusted him to guard my life and family, but he has betrayed that trust.
• I pondered on the best way to punish him that would send a clear message to the other members of my bratva. I don't want these people to think I'm getting soft.
• I pointed to my men. “Take him down to the basement and tie him up. I’ll be there shortly.”
• They drag him away as he screams for mercy. By the time I’m done, he won't be screaming. I take my time and finish my cigar, then make my way towards the basement in quick steps.
• The room is cold, its stone walls damp, illuminated by a single bulb swaying slightly from the ceiling.
• Sergei has my tools lined up and waiting. Pliers, a blowtorch, a hammer, and an assortment of blades.
• I proceed to roll up my sleeves. It’s about to get messy.
• I pick up the pliers as I circle him. He’s chained to the basement ceiling, legs up, head down.
• “It's funny how you thought you could dine with my enemies and get away with it.” I pause behind him and click the button for the lever, and it immediately descends, dropping him to the floor.
• I gesture to my men, and they proceed to strap him to the chair. “Do you know the difference between bravery and stupidity?” I asked in a low, sharp tone.
• He didn't answer, his burst-up lips trembling as he stared at me like a cornered animal. I crouched down, my face now level with his.
• “Bravery,” I said quietly, “is knowing when to speak.” I let my words hang in the air before leaning in closer. “Stupidity is thinking you can lie to me.”
• I grip his chin, forcing him to look me in the eye. “So tell me,” I murmured, “which one are you?”
• He shakes his head vigorously, the fabric on his mouth preventing him from speaking, fear evident in his eyes. Coward. I straighten up and clamp my hand around the pliers, testing their grip.
• “Let’s find out which you are.”
• I grab his hand and clamp the pliers on his left pinky and, in one deft movement, sever it from his hand. His muffled screams tear through the gag, and a wet patch is immediately visible on his thighs. The idiot wet himself.
• I tore off the restraint, and his tortured screams enveloped the room. “Are you ready to talk now?” I demand.
• “P-please,” he wheezed, struggling for air. “I’ll talk!”
• I took a step back, watching him sag in on himself. “Good,” I said, my voice ice cold. “Then start with this: Who were you meeting with?” The CCTV hadn't properly captured the face of the other man. He had been calculative enough to avoid the cameras.
• Matvei hesitated, his gaze darting to Sergei as if looking for salvation. He wouldn't find it.
• “Every second you waste is another piece of you I take,” I warned, glancing at the table behind me.
• The blowtorch looks tempting. I reached for it before turning back to him. His breathing grew ragged.
• “Last chance,” I snarl. He screams in agony as I turn it on and face the full force of the flames on his thighs.
• “It was Oda!” He blurted, his words tumbling out in a panicked rush. “An enforcer in the Yakuza!”
• “They paid me to give them intel! Please, I told you what you wanted—”
• I put on the blowtorch while ripping out another finger. His screams echoed off the walls. “You think that's enough?” I asked, tossing the pliers onto the table with a clatter. Blood dripped from my hands onto the cold floor.
• “What did they promise you?” "I question," my voice dripping in contempt. He looks up at me in helplessness.
• “Your position.” He breathes in a shaky voice. “They promised that I’ll be the new Pakhan once you are eliminated.”
• “They promised you my position?!” I laughed as I leaned closer, my eyes narrowing. “You couldn't even protect your own. What made you think you could handle mine?”
• “I want names. Every contact. Every place you’ve been,” my voice drops to a deadly whisper. “Don't make me ask twice.”
• His chest heaved as he sobbed, his sweat and tears mixing with blood. “Pozhaluysta” (please), he begged. “It was just Oda and a few men. I don't know their names, but we met at the warehouse on Pier 19! That's all I know, I swear!” he rushed out.
• I straightened, staring at Sergei. “Verify it.”
• He nodded, pulling out his phone and stepping out of the room. I turned back to Matvei. His head hung low, blood dripping onto the concrete floor.
• “You know what happens to anyone that breaks Vorovskoy Zakon, right?” I ask, grabbing a fistful of his hair so he’s forced to look at me. (The code of thieves)
• “Please,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “I have a family—”
• “So did the people that died in that explosion,” I snapped, picking the knife from the table. “And they didn't get a choice either.”
• The blade was sharp, slicing cleanly across his throat. His body jerked once, then sagged against the restraints as blood pooled beneath the chair.
• The door creaked open, and Sergei stepped back in. “Pier 19 checks out,” he reports. “What do we do now, boss?”
• I wiped the blade on the dead man’s shirt before slipping it back into its sheath. “We send a message,” I said. My voice was cold and firm. “Burn the warehouse. Leave no survivors. “Make sure they know who did it.” Sergei nodded, already pulling out his phone to relay the message.
• A commotion breaks out outside, and Dima barges in, panic evident on his face.
• “There’s a situation, boss,” he rushes out. “Your wife is in the hospital; she’s not breathing.”