Chapter 139

Nial. The warehouse smelled like blood. It clung to the concrete, soaked into the rusted metal, crept into the cracks in the walls. It was inescapable, thick and suffocating, and yet, I breathed it in without flinching. Sokolov had been here for two days. Two days since we’d dragged his broken body into this room, tied him up, and left him at the mercy of Sofia’s brothers. Two days, and he was still alive. Disappointing. I stood near the entrance, my fingers wrapped around the hilt of my knife, watching as Valentino worked. He had always been the worst of the four when it came to things like this—where Luca was calculated, Renzo was efficient, and Aurelio was ruthless, Valentino enjoyed it. There was no cold detachment in his actions, no professional distance. He liked the suffering, liked the way men broke apart under his hands. And Sokolov was breaking. The Russian was barely recognizable. His face was swollen, split open in more places than I could count, one of his eyes too damaged