Impenitent Claim (Vlasov Bratva #4)

Chapter 42 – Ilya

A s the fashionable guests left the ball early, I watched my siren depart with her jailers for the last time. I disappeared into the night to walk amongst the ghouls and goblins roaming the earth. When the appointed hour struck, the grim reaper followed me through the dark and urged me onward as I infiltrated the home of my next target. A trail of dead bodies marked my path into the interior.

Isabella said she had a bad feeling about the underboss’s son on multiple occasions, and tonight, she’d been ready to end him. My beautiful rusalka—I should have let her.

Unfortunately, the son wasn’t home yet, or he would already be dead. No matter. I would hunt him as soon as I ended the father.

During the induction training for the mafia, I discovered some interesting bits of information about both father and son from my handler. It seemed Christophoro wasn’t Tullio’s biggest fan. The older soldier had been extremely loyal to the late don, and only remained in town to watch over the true heir, as he called the brother Giovanni. Isabella was right to worry about the Fabrizis.

Pushing into the bedroom, I whispered about the room, making short work of my preparations. As I worked, I smiled knowing that Isabella wouldn’t have to worry about this rotten soul again. Once I was good and ready, precautions in place, I ripped back the covers.

“Time to settle your accounts, Signor Fabrizi,” I growled, tapping him on the side of the cheek. The accent I so carefully suppressed now came out to conceal my identity. It didn’t matter if the underboss knew it was me, his prized cage fighter, but I would be the one to choose when to reveal myself. Ideally, the moment before Tullio drew his last breath. Perhaps, I enjoyed the role of monster in the dark a little too much.

Head thick with wine, he was slow to crawl from the dreams that filled his night. He blinked at me, trying and failing to grasp reality. It was said that the hour between three and four was cursed. For the obnoxious Italian man, it certainly seemed that way.

When he finally realized this wasn’t the land of nod, Tullio sat up in bed with a hoarse bellow. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?!”

I smirked, cocking my head to the side. “Do you remember, about this time last year, staging a coup with your son and seven now conveniently dead mafia soldiers?”

Tulio bellowed, diving under his pillow for his gun. He brandished it with a flourish. “Put your hands in the air, whoever you are.”

Sighing, I obliged. “You don’t deserve the courtesy after what you did to Signor and Signora Rinaldi, but tell you what, I’m in a good mood tonight. So I’ll give you one chance to escape. Make it a fair fight.” It was messed up that these same words were a parroted memory of my old commander in Russia. “How fast are you, old man? I suggest you start running.”

“The fuck?” he wheezed, brandishing his weapon. “Who the hell sent you? No one knows that shit.”

“Because you killed your lackeys who helped pull the coup,” I said dryly. “So much for loyalty in the mafia. But you’re not liked, are you, Tullio? That’s why they passed over you for Aldo Bruno. They might not be able to confirm you ended the Rinaldis, but they suspect. That plus your lack of popularity means you’ll never be don.”

“Who’s been talking?” Tullio flourished the gun. “Hmm? Give me a name, and I’ll make your death quick.”

I took a step forward, enjoying the older man's flinch. “And you’re wasting precious time on theatrics. I said run , signore.”

“Theatrics?” he hissed, aiming at my knee and pulling the trigger.

The firing pin released dry, the sound of the empty chamber echoing through the room.

“Happy now?” I swept my arm, the bullets jingling in my pocket. “Door’s that way.”

Tullio blinked. Idiot that he was, he still wasn’t running. No…he was trying to see through the mask on my face. “Who are you?”

“The man who disabled your security, broke into your house, killed your guards, and now is offering you one chance to run,” I said irritably. “Tick-tock, old man.”

He still didn’t move!

“Why?” he stammered. “Who sent you?”

“You’re responsible for all the misery Signorina Rinaldi has suffered. No one hurts that woman and lives. So! It’s time for you to die,” I stated matter-of-factly.

The magnitude of the situation must have finally rattled through his thick skull. Tullio scrambled backward, nearly falling from the bed.

“Now we’re finally getting somewhere,” I sighed, uncrossing my arms and taking a step forward. “Let’s play a child’s game, shall we? Tag. I’m it. If you reach the front gate, I’ll let you walk away freely. Ready?”

The grown man whimpered. “Please! I have money.”

“On your mark,” I drawled. Anticipation crawled over my skin, begging to be unleashed.

From the doorway, the underboss shouted, “You’ll regret this. Take my money, it’s more than my enemies are paying you.”

“Get set!” I shook my frame loose, rolling my neck until the satisfying crack of bone popped.

The underboss tripped down the hall.

“Run,” I called out, tugging a pillowcase free. I took both the freed cover and pillow as I began to stalk my prey.

The sound of rapid footfall echoed. For lacking in obvious athleticism, he could move. It was always that way. Throw any creature in the pen of a beast and watch their survival instinct give them the strength and the speed they could never fathom. How many times had I seen bored soldiers toss prey into the pens of the wolves or bears they kept as pets? There was little else for entertainment during the long winters. Well, unlike the wild animals of the war camp, I was a beast far more fearsome. Having killed the bear I faced when they tossed my sorry lump of flesh and bone over that fence, I’d been forged into a monster capable of absolute destruction. Which was exactly what was needed now to complete this quest for vengeance. While he might not have physically touched my woman, Tullio and his son hurt her. Badly. And after murdering her parents, the underboss summoned her back here to become his prisoner, separating us and making me believe the worst of her. I should have listened to my heart, because deep down, I knew she wasn’t some heartless temptress who’d used and discarded me.

It was a damn mercy my obsession drove me here to take her despite what happened last November.

I whispered down the corridor, keeping my own breaths short and soft. This scum was predictable. He’d gone first to his office for the landline that didn’t work, having forgotten about his cell on the nightstand—the broken cell that would never make another call. The pop of a semi-automatic being chambered made me smile. I’d anticipated as much.

Keeping my arm behind the doorframe, I extended the pillow.

Gunfire burst into the night. The pillow went flying.

I shook out the case and waited.

Sure enough, my prey, thinking he had the upper hand, crept to the door. He lit a flashlight, pointing it into the shadows. When he didn’t immediately see my body, he took a step forward.

I dropped the pillowcase over his head and swatted the gun. It loosened from his grip for a second, which was long enough for me to disarm him.

“That’s not how this is played, signore,” I tsked.

Bone snapped, once…twice. His scream rang through the night. I stepped back, letting him struggle and wheeze. Two broken wrists meant his hands hung limp and useless. He managed to push the pillowcase from his head.

The thick Russian accent made my words rasp as I pointed out the obvious. “You’re still not running. The front gate, signore, I suggest you try to reach it before I break something else.”

“It’s you,” he stammered, recognition finally breaking through the terror. “What the fuck, Elijah?! I sponsored you. I was good to you!”

A deep laugh rumbled through my chest.

“The thing about wild animals, Signor Fabrizi, is that we’re never truly tamed,” I said with a grin. “Now…run.”

His breath, ragged and uneven, gave away how much pain he was in as he turned, tripped, and tried to run. I chased after him, the thrill of the hunt surging in my veins. The wooden floorboards groaned beneath my feet, every step a pulse of excitement. The air inside was thick, stale—like priceless, forgotten things left to stand silent sentinels in the corners. It smelled of metal and gunfire, with the faintest hint of fear trickling through the air.

The foyer loomed ahead, its grand staircase jagged in the shadows of the night, a treacherous promise yawning before us.

With a bound, I surged forward, giving the underboss a hard shove.

Tullio’s yell rang out, rebounding in desperate clangs along the walls to float higher where the ceiling trapped it. For all the extra poundage, his body didn’t bounce as it tumbled down the steps.

“The front door, signore,” I sang out. “It’s a straight shot from there.”

Broken, and fast coming to the realization that this could be his end, the man struggled to rise. The fall hadn’t broken anything. Pity. I would have to remedy that.

As he scrambled to his feet, I clattered down the steps until halfway down the curve. I gripped the rail and effortlessly launched myself over. The feeling of weightlessness lasted no more than a handful of seconds as gravity pulled me downward.

I landed, stepped rapidly to brace myself, and then pulled myself straight.

The mafioso yelped and quickly retreated.

I cocked my head to the side, considering him. “Looks like the front door’s not your best option.”

Lunging forward, I unsheathed the tactical knife from my side and drew the serrated side horizontally across his chest. The vicious cut instantly began to leak down his shirt.

It was a whimper that wobbled on his lips. “Elijah! Please, I’ll pay—”

Swiping my hand through the air, but resisting the urge to cut him again, I silenced his pleas for me to stop. “I don’t want your money, and you have no power here.”

Tullio ran.

That’s more like it. I shifted my shoulders and stretched the muscles in my neck.

The Italian was finally playing the game correctly. He stopped his blubbering as he raced for a back door, trying to escape the monster stalking him. My identity was still a secret, one I would reveal right before I ended him. Relishing that sweet thought, I took a step forward. The eerie sound of creaking house and distant whispers—just the forced air, or maybe something more—filled the halls. My heart beat in time with the thudding of my feet as I followed him deeper into the mansion, past garish abstract portraits with twisted shapes that seemed to follow my every move. Flickering light from outside cast long, dancing shadows that bent and warped on the wallpaper, making the room feel alive.

Ahead, I saw him dart into a room, trying desperately to find a place to hide. He was panicked—I could almost taste his fear in the air, sharp and bitter, like copper on the back of my tongue. His breaths were loud, uneven, as he crouched behind an old armchair. But he didn’t know how loud his breathing was, or how easily it gave him away. His fear made him sloppy. I slowed my steps, letting the darkness of the hallway swallow me up as I approached, the cold, clammy air brushing against my skin like the touch of a ghost.

The tension built like a string pulled tight, ready to snap. My fingers gripped the knife blade tight as I crept closer, the surge of bloodlust heightening with every step. Most bears had five claws, and when they swiped across flesh, it made a hideous gash. Twisting my blade, I whispered forward, ready to strike. I stopped just outside the door, listening, grinning to myself. He had no idea how close I was.

The supernatural force at my back panted eagerly for me to finish this. But my vengeance wouldn’t be rushed, no matter how loudly my inner beast roared. I stepped into the room, my shadow stretching out long and jagged across the floor. The underboss gasped, trying to stay hidden, but it was too late. The hunt was over. I’d found him.