Undercover in His bed

Axel.

The basement reeked of fear, piss, and the coppery tang of blood. Shadows clung to the corners like cobwebs, thick and oppressive. In the center of the room, Sergey was strapped to a chair, his face a mess of bruises and cuts.

I circled him slowly, the rage inside me a living, breathing thing. The poker in my hand glowed a dull orange, wisps of heat shimmering off the tip.

"I trusted you, Sergei," I said, my voice a low rasp. "And you betrayed me."

Sergey made a noise halfway between a whimper and a groan. "Boss, please... I can explain-"

I backhanded him across the face, splitting his lip. "Explain? What's there to fucking explain? You went behind my back, you piece of shit. Tried to sell me out to the highest bidder."

His eyes widened, bulging slightly. Blood and spittle flew from his mouth as he shook his head frantically. "No, no, it wasn't like that! I swear, I never-"

"Don't fucking lie to me!" I roared. The poker hovered an inch from his face, and the stink of his fear ratcheted up a notch. "You know what the price is for betrayal, Sergey. You knew, and you did it anyway."

He broke then, sobbing and pleading. But I was long past the point of mercy. The animal in me hungered for blood, and it would have it.

I pressed the searing metal to his chest, the sizzle of flesh and his high, agonized scream a twisted kind of music. The shadows in the room deepened, drawn to the violence like moths to a flame.

My men watched in grim silence, their faces carved from stone. They knew not to interfere, not to question. I was judge, jury, and executioner. The only law that mattered.

Until Roman stepped forward, his eyes hard as flint. "You just fucking got out of jail, bratan!" he snapped, ripping the poker from my hand. "Is this really how you want to spend your first day of freedom?"

I rounded on him, seeing red. He was the only one with the balls to challenge me like this, and it was only because of our history that I didn't rip his fucking throat out.

"I'll stop when he's suffered enough," I snarled.

But Roman didn't back down. He knew the darkness in me, had seen it up close too many times to count. And yet here he was, still trying to pull me back from the brink.

He was my opposite: fair to my dark, with pale gray eyes instead of blue. But our bodies were built for battle, covered in tattoos that told our stories. His showed his loyalty and courage to our cause, even when it pushed me to the brink of anger.

"Go after Viktor," he said, his voice hard. "That's where your real anger should be directed."

I took a step toward him, fists bunched. But he didn't back down. He'd been my stand-in for far too long, and he knew me better. In that moment, I realized just how lucky I was to have him by my side. But that thought alone didn't ease the scorching rage in my chest.

"Don't you dare mention that name under my roof again, mudak," I glared at him.

He glared right back, completely uncowed.

"It's not even been twenty-four hours, and you're already at each other's throats," a voice cut through the tension, causing a frown to rest on my face. That voice...

The stocky shape of the third member of our triumvirate emerged through the door that led to the basement. Nikolai Orlov had a frown etched on his face, not one of anger, I knew him well enough to know that was perpetual.

"Don't you start on me too, Nikolai," I growled; it was a clear warning, yet he ignored it.

"I don't know what started this standoff, but listen to Roman, Axel. You know he's the only one of us who ever makes sense."

Nikolai's presence filled the room as he entered it. Hardly surprising; at 6'5", he was a monster of a man. Cold blue eyes stared out from a face that might have been too pretty if it wasn't for the scars that marred it. One of the hazards of his job as an enforcer.

"He's not making sense now," I muttered dryly. Nearby, I could hear Sergey squirming in the bonds, obviously in pain. He was a traitor, after all.

"Roman kept the business afloat for four years." Nikolai didn't need to remind me, but of course, he did anyway. "You don't know how much of a shit show it was when you weren't here-"

"And you think I was sipping wine in jail?" I snapped, not letting him finish. "My father's body had barely begun to grow cold in the grave before my uncle started plotting with my men to take over. I couldn't even grieve properly."

"You shouldn't dwell in the past, Axel," Roman said, and I glared at him again.

"What do you know of grief?" I barked.

"Focus on the good," Roman continued, "you have a roof over your head and a business to call your own. Everything you see here belongs to you now, bought with the profits of your own business. This is your legacy we've been building while you've been away, Axel. Viktor can never have a claim to it."

I stared at him for a moment. "What is this nonsense you're spewing? I have a legacy already, and it was stolen from me. I will not rest till I have reclaimed the entire Yakov fortune from that thieving pig. The entire Chicago underworld is mine; that is my legacy. I will not settle for the fucking crumbs that are left over," I snarled.

Roman shook his head. "The last time Viktor came at us, you ended up in jail, bratok."