Precious Legacy (The Notorious Legacy #1)

Chapter 36

THIRTY-SIX

I had every intention of staying out of Alanis’ business when it came to Prescott. She can handle herself, and while I was pissed about the turn of events, I knew she was right. I’ve already taken vengeance from her and I know she needs to manage her situation at the academy her way.

Unfortunately, when Cillian came to me earlier today with information from our mole about a certain training officer getting paid under the table by the Russians, I couldn’t keep my promise to Presh anymore.

Gracie has been tracking the Russians’ movements through the city. Impressively, yet not surprisingly, she was able to hack into the city’s surveillance software, ClearView. Now she has eyes on them and we’ll be notified if they so much as breathe in the wrong direction. Unfortunately, we still don’t have much on Milo Kyrovsky, and that’s the part that is eating at not only me, but Varo, too.

If Milo is undercover, then our problem is a hell of a lot bigger than just the Russians. Navigating things with them has been challenging enough, but if we find out we have a cop sniffing around, there’s only so much we can do. The Five have managed to pay their way out of most situations when it comes to the NYPD. Whoever Milo is really working for could be bigger than that, and there’s no escaping the potential disaster it could bring.

Slowly, the pieces are starting to come together, and I don’t like the picture it’s presenting. Prescott was at the raid last week, which confirms my suspicions about the cops being paid by someone else to take down the fight club. It almost felt too coincidental that the night we set a new agreement with the Russians, the cops raided my place.

I’d be impressed if it weren’t for the fact the Russians never covered up their tracks, and now I’m facing a pretty badly beat up Prescott, bound to the metal chair in the middle of the basement of The Ravenite. Apparently, he put up a bit of a fight when Cillian grabbed him this morning. He already had a black eye, so I’m not to blame for that, but the fact that he was already sporting some injuries suggests his employer isn’t too happy with him, either.

As much as my fingers itch to put a bullet between his eyes, I refrain. I need to be methodical about this because he’s still Lani’s training officer and I agreed to let her dole out her own vengeance. But I need to send a message to the Russians to let them know that we’re the ones who own the city, not them.

Varo stands in the back corner, watching with a sadistic smile on his face as I slide my steel knuckles over my fingers.

“You know you’re a dead man,” Prescott sneers through a bloodied mouth. His attempt at a threat is child’s play. When you have a family like mine, torture becomes second nature. I’m not saying I’m untouchable, but I’ve gotten good at being in my position and not Prescott’s, so his words don’t land as they’re intended.

I laugh incredulously, examining the steel decorating my fingers. “We’re all dead men. Some just meet their demise sooner than others.”

Before he can register my movement, I swing my arm forward, my fist slamming into the center of his face. His nose explodes seamlessly, blood spraying up and outward. It’s a beautiful display of premeditated chaos, the delicious sound of his nose crushing beneath a torturous force.

Prescott screams out, the sound echoing around us. I’d feel sorry for the guy if he wasn’t such a prick. Aside from working for our enemies, he made the mistake of going after Lani. While it’s part of our lives to have our families in the line of fire, I’ll live and die by the rule that anyone who touches her will meet the same fate or worse.

I’m still undecided what his fate will be right now, but taking some of my pent-up rage out on him will definitely help.

“All this because of your stupid girlfriend?” he hisses at me, a stunning crimson flow cascading from his nose. His eyes are dark, with what, I’m not sure, and I don’t think I want to. There’s intent behind that glazed-over glare, though, which only spurs my fury on.

Grabbing him by his hair, I yank his head back. “That’s where you’re wrong. Believe it or not, she’s the only reason you’re still breathing. No, this is about you and the Russians. You think we wouldn’t find out that you’re being paid by them? We run this city, not them!”

His eyes widen, and I know I’ve got him right where I want him.

“You might as well kill me, Genovese. I don’t know anything.” His words seem certain, but his voice trembles. I have no doubt he’s telling the truth because we trust cops as much as we trust our enemies do. There’s no way the Russians would involve the likes of Prescott in their plans. He’s just a tool, a fucking pawn to sacrifice to the slaughter.

A distraction.

I stand to my full height, overshadowing his bloodied figure. “That’s where you’re in luck,” I explain boredly. “You see, my girl won’t be too happy if I kill you. But I need to send a message…” I pace back and forth in front of him, pretending I’m actually thinking about my options. The truth is, I’ve already decided what I want to do with him, but watching him squirm like the fucking snake he is, that’s priceless.

“It doesn’t matter what you do to me,” he warns. “One way or another, the Russians will take everything from you.”

His threat has the opposite effect, because when it comes to The Five, he’s severely underestimating us. Yes, the body count is less, but we have an entire generation backing us, Lucchese and Colombo included.

I stare down at Prescott— who looks far too smug for my liking— and all I can think about is wiping that look off his face. Or destroying it.

My knuckles crunch under the weight of the metal adorning them. I can feel the blood on my fingers, dry and crisp. “Thanks for the message,” I bite back, leaning down to curl my fist in his shirt. With my other hand, I pull my knife from my pocket, flicking the blade out. The metal shimmers under the light hanging defeatedly above Prescott. It’s only a small blade, but it’ll do enough damage. Running the blade down his temple, I trace his eye-socket with the point, the skin going white under the slight pressure. “For now, I’m focusing on those who wronged me. And that includes you. What’s the saying again?”

Prescott gulps, and when I slide my gaze to my best friend, Varo smirks in approval.

“I believe the saying is, an eye for an eye,” he supplies.

“What?” Prescott’s eyes widen. The sweat trickling down his temple is the only sign I need to know he’s realized just how fucked he is. “Wait!” he pleads as I reposition the knife. His eyes dart between Varo and I, and it’s almost entertaining to see him so terrified.

Almost.

I prefer to get my satisfaction from the act of torture itself. Hearing a grown man being brought to his knees and begging for his life has its advantages, but there’s no better feeling than the warmth of blood, fresh from the body, slipping between your fingers.

Varo stands with his back against the wall, silently observing as I step behind Prescott, pinning him down with my palm to his forehead as I dig the knife into his flesh. The blade slices the skin of the eye-socket seamlessly, and I relish the screams that leave Prescott’s throat. He fights and fights, but my uncle’s binds are so tight that only his head has any wriggle room. It’s not much either, and with my weight holding his head back, it makes it easy to lodge the blade behind his eyeball.

Blood flows warm and slick between my fingers. Prescott’s cries fill the room in a symphony that would make my dad proud. I smile as the squelching sound of my blade slicing through tendons becomes the melody. The resounding pop is the crescendo I need before the screams of a tortured man die out.

Pacing around Prescott’s limp body, I drop his eyeball into his lap. The empty socket left behind is morbidly satisfying.

“Well, that’s a message, for sure,” Varo comments with a smile.

“Let’s hope the Russians understand it, then,” I growl.

Rage starts to tighten my muscles. I know this is going to be a declaration of war—if one hasn’t started already—but the Russians are pushing through our territory and we’ve been too lax. We need to be firm on setting boundaries.

Footsteps slow behind me and the creak of the door has me turning around, my heart rate skyrocketing as my eyes land on pristine green ones.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I grumble, stepping forward and caging Lani’s face between my palms so she can’t see what I’ve done. She’s going to find out soon enough, but I don’t want her to see it here, not now. She can’t be a part of this; that’s the one promise I made to myself.

Lani’s eyes fight me, drifting over my torso before she swallows thickly. “We need to talk.” Her voice shakes with the weight of whatever she’s harboring, but now is not the time or place.

“Not now.”

The sound of Prescott waking up is signified by a wheezing cough that rattles through his chest. Before I can stop Alanis, she’s sidestepping me. Defiant as ever, she ignores my directive and gazes at Prescott’s bound body. There’s fear in her eyes, a kind I’ve never seen before, and I don’t like it. Alanis isn’t one to scare easily, but her horror is unmistakable.

“What did you do?” she whispers through apparent shock.

“You don’t need to see this,” I urge her, trying to steer her away from the center of the room.

She spins around, anger flaring her nostrils. “You said you would stay out of it!”

Her accusation of betrayal stings, like our twenty years of friendship and more were less than skin deep. “Lani,” I bite out. “As much as I wish this was about you, it’s not.”

Another cough and splutter from Prescott disturbs the conversation, making Alanis flinch. “Then what is it about?”

“Prescott is working for the Russians,” Varo interjects, something I’m grateful for because we all know how turbulent things between Lani and I can get.

A choked groan fills the room. I spin around, my eyes landing on Prescott who croaks out a laugh. “I’m not the only one,” he sneers, glancing at Varo. “You need to be more careful who you’re sticking your dick in.”

The room falls into an eerie, cryptic silence that has us all gaping at one another.

“The fuck did you just say?” Varo barks, stepping towards him. He already has his fists clenched and the snarl curling his lips is feral. He towers over our captive, the shadow of Varo’s rage overpowering any torture I thought I could inflict. But then again, he’s always had that air about him.

Prescott recoils ever so slightly, an attempt to mask his fear that he swiftly fails at.

Varo has his forehead pressing against his. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll make your death quick.”

“No,” Alanis croaks, stepping forward. “You won’t. You’ll let him go, Varo.”

“This fucker has information.”

I tangle my hand with Alanis’, tugging her back to me. I know how hard this’ll be on her. She’s determined to prove that this life isn’t a part of her, and while it will always be in her blood, I’ll support her choice. But this overlap has become problematic, and even though this puts her in a tough situation, I have to put our rivalry first.

“You need to turn around and walk back out of that door,” I tell her. “You weren’t?—”

“Get off me!” She shrugs out of my grip, snatching the knife from my hands and moving behind Prescott, working at the binds holding him in place while I resist the urge to stop her. Varo must have the same thought, because he doesn’t fight his sister’s motions to free our captive.

Stepping aside, Varo lets her march past once she’s freed Prescott, dropping the knife into her brother’s hand. She glares at me with such ferocity that I feel my insides boil. “You’ve fucked up royally,” she grinds out, pointing a finger at me.

“Lani—”

She barges past me, making a beeline for the door. I feel every ripple of furious energy as she stalks away from us, parting us with one final glare that speaks a thousand words. It’s a glare that could rival the sun’s intensity. Alanis is as fiery as they come, and even I recognize the tumultuous situation this has put us both in.