Reign of a Billionaire : A Dark Mafia Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

Chapter 5Liana

Loud music drummed through the floor of our shitty motel as I navigated the hallway with red walls, red carpets, and even red doors. The only thing that wasn’t red was the ceiling.

With one last deep breath, I focused on the task at hand. I had to get to my target—the weak link in Perez Cortes and my mother’s plan. My plan was simple: knock on the door, pretend to be lost, isolate him, then inject him with a syringe full of poison.

Simple.

“I’m keeping my promise,” I whispered to the empty hallway, my throat tightening.

Blinking away tears that stung the backs of my eyes, I hinged my jaw. I proceeded down the musky, worn-out carpet, my five-inch heels silent in my stalking. A door suddenly opened and a six-foot-five giant stepped out, leaving the door ajar.

Target in sight.

The muffled thump of the bass coming from the bedroom matched the manic beating of my heart. His gaze swept down my body, lingering on my bare legs. Pervert. This was exactly the reason this man was the easiest target of those who were present at the restaurant. He couldn’t resist his urges and had a reputation among the Brazilian cartel for sampling women.

So tonight, I wore a white minidress, my pink bra and panties clearly showing underneath. Of course, my clutch matched my outfit, but it served to contain everything I needed to finish this job. I looked like an underage slut, going for the jugular. Just for him. He’d sing a tune, tell me everything, and then I’d kill him.

For every woman he’d ever hurt. For my sister.

“Are you lost, baby?” Men were such pigs. I forced a smile, despite the goosebumps breaking across my arms.

“Maybe.” I fluttered my eyelashes.

“You didn’t seem so friendly at the restaurant.” A medal for his observation skills.

“My mother’s very protective,” was all I said.

He smiled lazily. Predatorily. “She’s not here now, baby.”

If he called me baby one more time, I’d have to promptly stab him, to hell with my plan. Inhaling a deep breath, I forced myself not to lose my shit. The lives of innocent women depended on it.

“She isn’t.” I just needed to find out the day and time when the women would be shipped so that I could intercept them. “Is this your room?” I asked, batting my lashes and smiling flirtatiously while swallowing the bile rising in my throat.

“It is,” he purred, opening the door wider. “Want to come in and check it out?”

I glanced around him as if dying to see farther into his shitty room. The dim yellow light bathed the room in a sickly glow as I made eye contact with him.

“What’s your name?” I knew every organization in the underworld, every name running within them, but I never bothered learning soldiers’ names. They expired too frequently.

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”

“My mama always tells me not to talk to strangers,” I said sweetly. “But if you tell me your name, you won’t be a stranger anymore.”

My voice was steady and unwavering, but my hands trembled. I’d done this plenty of times by now; I really shouldn’t be so nervous. Maybe it was adding one more tally to my list of sins. Or maybe it was the fear of something going wrong.

“I’m Pedro, baby,” he answered, visibly relaxing. “But tonight you can call me Papi.”

My lips tightened, barely tamping down my cringe. Sicko. I couldn’t wait to kill this asshole.

If my mother learned of my extracurricular activities, she’d kill me without batting an eyelash. But I couldn’t stand by and allow those poor women to have their lives destroyed. If I did nothing, then wasn’t I just as guilty?

This way, I could at least hope for a quick death once Sofia Volkov learned what her daughter did. What she had been doing for years now.

As I took a step into the room, I swiftly extracted the syringe that was safely tucked in my bra. I removed the cap while observing the space. The room was dark, and the stench of urine was so strong it had a physical presence. The door to the yellow tiled bathroom was wide open, revealing a bathtub.

Bingo.

The door shut with a thud, followed by the click of the lock. My stomach roiled, but I kept myself in check as I scoped out every inch of the room.

“Shitty room,” I said in a bored tone. “Your boss must not value your services too much to put you in a cockroach motel.” Or was it a roach motel? American slang wasn’t my forte. Russian was my first language, Gaelic a close second. My formal English was perfect, but that was about where it ended.

His tall frame was in my personal space in the next breath, and I anticipated it.

He loomed over me, and sucking in a sharp breath, I twisted the syringe around in my fingers and stabbed its pointed end into his neck, pressing the plunger.

“Bitch⁠—”

He reared back with a roar, raised his fist, and slammed it into my face.

Pain exploded in my cheek, but I persisted. The price for any errors made tonight was too steep. He pulled his fist back again, but this time I caught it and twisted it behind him. I heaved my foot on his ass, my heel digging into it with force, then pushed him forward. Losing his balance, he collapsed face-first into the filthy carpet.

He flopped like a fish, gasping for air and clawing at his throat.

“Don’t bother expending your energy, suka blyat,” I drawled lazily, cursing him in Russian. Son of a bitch. “You’ll only die faster.” He stilled, and suddenly I had his attention. I dug my heel into his back. “You’ve been poisoned. And only I have the antidote for it.” I didn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “Tell me where and when the next shipment will happen, and I’ll administer it.”

He tried to speak but the words that came out were garbled. Suka blyat, did I give him too high a dose? The dude was a mountain, so I’d added an extra ounce just to be sure.

I spotted a gun holster on the armchair and casually made my way to it. “Not that I’m rushing you, but the poison will kill you in exactly”—I glanced at the clock, red digits blinking angrily—“ten minutes.”

I picked up the gun and turned around, finding my latest victim’s eyes on me. Seconds passed, and I watched him with a cold expression until he finally broke.

“Tomorrow,” he gurgled. “Ten p.m.”

I flashed him a smile—more like a grimace. “Thank you.”

“Anti—” His every syllable was labored. “An… An⁠—”

“Antidote?” I finished for him, and he struggled to nod. More like an eye twitch. I smiled with menace. “Didn’t I tell you, baby?” I accentuated the word while sneering. “I don’t have it on me.”

Moving around him, I reached for my clutch and pulled out a knife.

“Did you know a lady never leaves the house without a clutch?” I said quietly, eerily. “And a paintbrush.”

His eyes grew wide and he paled as I ran my finger along the blade.

“No, no,” he cried. “Don’t⁠—”

I leaned over him. “Don’t what?” I asked, raising one eyebrow in mock-interest. “Hurt you? Tell me something, Pedro. How many women have you spared when they begged not to be hurt?”

His pupils dilated, understanding sinking in that there was no escaping this. I sliced his gut, and he opened his mouth to scream. The only thing that came out was a small whimper. The drug was working.

I reveled in his helplessness. Let them have a taste of their own medicine, I thought bitterly.

My hand still holding the knife buried in his gut, I twisted it as I reached for the paintbrush in my clutch.

Then I dipped it in his blood, soaking in his pained moans, his terrified eyes on me as I started my process. I preferred to sketch, but blood was sure to get my point across.

Five minutes to draw a sketch of a faceless man all over the wall in my victim’s blood. Admittedly, it was a creepy thing to do, but it was about the only thing that made me feel alive anymore. In the darkest recesses of my mind lived the notion that my sister was here with me when I committed these atrocities. She might be disgusted, but she’d be proud.

So I sketched with their blood for me, my sister, and every woman who’d been wronged by men like this one.

I stood over my victim like an avenging angel, watching him struggle until the life drained out of his eyes.

“Another one bites the dust,” I muttered under my breath. “Bathtime, asshole.”

Dragging his dead weight into the bathroom, I grunted and cursed as I pushed his body, limb by limb, into the filthy, ancient tub.

Once in there, I used the fire escape to fetch my supplies.

It took me exactly five hours to dispose of the body. A sodium hydroxide mixture with boiling water made Pedro disappear down the rusted drain. The stench—pungent, sharp, and acrid—was welcomed. I’d take it over being touched any day.

My heart thrashed with memories of my own sister. They always seemed to reach me at the worst times. I pulled out my phone and retrieved my secret folder, then pressed Play. I’d seen the recording a million times—could recite every detail of it word for word, move for move. That didn’t stop my chest from fracturing with the same intensity.

The gloved and masked men tortured her. She fought them tooth and nail, yanking the chain off one’s neck. I wished there was a way to zero in on the necklace. I needed clues, anything to hunt those responsible down.

In the next moment, they dunked her head into a tub filled with a clear solution, and I watched my twin’s body dissolve into nothing. Pain surged across my chest, the way it did every time I thought of her.

The cartel—specifically the Tijuana cartel, who had close ties to the Cortes cartel—took something valuable from me. In return, I would take it all from them. When I was done with them, there’d be nothing left but ash.

Even if it included my own mother and me.