CHAPTER 9
A/N – Hello my dear readers! Again, thank you so much for the kind feedback and… well, what can I say? Other than that I'm so happy you're enjoying this, it means a lot to me. I finally put together a plan of the chapters to come, because things were getting a bit chaotic around here, but now said chaos has been tamed. So hopefully I will be able to update faster… or something. I really wish to finish this story before Christmas ;)
Tsvetan sat on the edge of the bed, face buried in his hands. He'd fucked up royally this time, there was no question about it, because it had been a really bad timing and his temper had gotten in the way again. Fucking Vargas just had to waltz in and make a show in front of everyone! He knew that he should have kept Alin away from his 'workplace' and in hindsight Tsvetan was aware that his boyfriend's reaction had not been that much out of line, he was right to be scared - especially after what he'd been through – and all those harsh words… he couldn't have meant them. No, Alin was just frightened and in desperate need of keeping himself safe. And then, just because he was unable to fucking control his anger, he had gone and plainly shown this gorgeous, lovely boy that he wanted in his life so much that he couldn't be trusted at all and that he had all the reasons in the world to fucking ditch him instantly.
The Romanian was still out cold under the covers – Tsvetan had decided that taking him to the hospital wasn't such a great idea unless absolutely necessary at the time and had asked his 'private' doctor to check him up instead. It turned out he'd been just knocked out by the blow and had gotten only a few minor concussions. There was still to be seen how he would feel when he woke up.
A ringing tone resounded brusquely in the quiet room, making the Bulgarian jump to his feet and glance around startled, until he identified the source of the unexpected noise – fishing Alin's phone out of his discarded jeans pocket. Frowning, he stared at the lit up screen, displaying the last called ID he wanted to see right now – 'Mom'. The green-eyed young man scrubbed a hand over his face and ran it through his hair, not knowing what to do. Back on the bed Alin didn't even stir at the sound and fat chance he would have been able to talk much as it was. But his mother must have been worried…
With a hesitating finger he pressed the answer key and held the device to his ear. "Hello?"
"Who is this?!" The woman at the other end of the line sounded both suspicious and alerted at not recognizing the familiar voice she was expecting to hear and Tsvetan sighed in anticipation.
"Hello madam, this is Tsvetan, I'm one of Alin's friends… The thing is we had a bit of a party last night and we've slept in. He is still sleeping…"
There was an ominous pause in reply which made him hold his breath for a bit, then she spoke. "He was supposed to come by today and it's very late! Tell him to call me immediately, the moment he wakes up!" the woman nearly shrieked, barely holding back her annoyance, before she hung up.
Shit, he thought.
Elizaveta dropped back limply in her chair, tossing the phone onto a pile of papers and then slammed her fist into her desk with all her strength. She was still refusing to believe what she'd just heard, than Borisov had actually answered Alin's cell phone. Her gut feeling was overwhelming to the point it was making the brunette sick – something bad must have happened to the rifleman, the Bulgarian must have done something to him! Fuck! Fuck, she knew this would happen, eventually! Was he…? God!
A pained groan left his lips as the strawberry blond opened his eyes, squinting at the bright light in the room. His head was absolutely pounding, forcing his eyelids back shut and he curled up to the side, under the blankets, breathing slowly as he gradually woke up. Something stirred behind him on the bed and Alin flinched, intuiting who it was and where he was currently (the scent of Borisov's cologne lingering on the pillows made it beyond doubt). Some hazy, vague memories of the previous night popped into his mind, guiding trembling fingers to feel the bruised cheekbone. And now the only question was – was more of that coming?
"Hey… Alin. Are you okay? How are you feeling? Just… just tell me if we need to take you to the hospital!"
Gentle hands rolled him face up and pushed the ruffled hair away from his face. He stared upwards into the concerned green eyes glancing down at him – at least Borisov looked calm now. Thank goodness, because he wasn't up for a fight, no fucking way. The rifleman instinctively curled up again, shrugging away from the unwanted touch. He ached and didn't feel like opening his mouth at all. Did he really have to answer? And Borisov spoke so nicely, what was he, fucking bipolar? Could he possibly regret what he'd done? Was he going to fucking apologize or something?
"Alin, you mother called earlier," the Bulgarian insisted, his tone still soft and gentle. "I told her you were asleep after a party last night, but she wasn't very happy… You were supposed to go see her today and, well, she wants you to call her right away."
The strawberry blond reached out for the phone the other held to him and scowled at the screen, squinting while checking the call log. Elizaveta… Fuck, she would not be thrilled by that. "W-what the fuck….?" He sat up slowly, groaning, dropping the phone on the covers as he held his head in his hands. It was awful, awful! All he wanted was to go back to sleep, not face this bullshit.
"Are you okay? How do you feel?"
"I'm tired, Tsvetan… Oww!" He winced and cursed when the green-eyed man moved to cup his cheek and hold his chin up. "Just… don't touch me…"
"Look, I know you have all the reasons to hate me right now and I can't blame you… I have no excuse for losing my temper like that, but it was because I was so angry that bastard pulled out the gun and then you said you'd just dump me and… "Tsvetan sighed, shaking his head rapidly, "I found I couldn't take it! I just… guess you grew on me more than I'd ever thought possible."
The guy was fucking crazy. He'd grown on him? Alin cringed – this 'love justifying violence' thing was really nothing new to him, as neither was having his head banged into a hard surface and being knocked unconscious. Before he knew it both his hands were clamped over his mouth and he sobbed, or maybe it was more like a deep exhale because by now he'd exhausted all ability to cry over the subject. Or so he thought.
"So what are you saying?"
Borisov looked thoughtful, struggling, somewhat shy even, like for once he didn't have a smart answer at the ready. "I'm saying that… I know this is fucked up. Everything. I lied to you about my job, about my business, but you can realize there was no way I could have told you the truth, just like that. And I really fucked it up even worse afterwards because I couldn't handle it, I panicked when you said that you didn't want this anymore, that you didn't want me anymore. But I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear! I truly care about you."
The Romanian bit his bottom lip fighting back a snort, still scowling and looking away. It's just a role, none of this is real. I don't give a fuck about this man, who cares if he's lying to me without any shame, or if he really is fucking screwed in the head. No, the only point is that perhaps… just perhaps there still is a way to continue this. After all, we can't only half-fuck him, now can we?
"I… I don't know what to say, there are a lot of things..." The younger looked Tsvetan in the eye this time. "How do I know you won't have a rage fit and hit me again? And even if you don't, how do I know that… well that guy or some other fuck won't fire a gun at you in the future? How do I know you won't get me killed, Tsvetan?"
The dark-haired man nodded slowly, looking defeated. "You're right – about everything. I can only promise you that I'll change. I'll be honest and not keep stuff from you anymore. I will not betray your trust again, I swear. And I'll keep you away from that shit club, we'll only go to safe places and stuff. I'll take care of you, Alin, I won't let anything bad happen to you!"
Red eyes bore into green with a hint of skepticism, but the blond allowed Tsvetan to lean his forehead against his and tangle his fingers into his hair. "Just forgive me, okay?"
"Okay…"
Just wait and see how I'll take care of you.
Eager lips were pressed against his before he had to say anything else in reply and Alin was relieved. It would have been much simpler if he hadn't been triggered in all the wrong ways by the situation, if Borisov hadn't been so much like the worst person in his life. But fuck, he wasn't going to lose this game, he was going to win and Borisov wasn't going to hurt anyone ever again. He breathed out, moaning slightly into the kiss as he pulled the other closer and leaned back on the pillows.
The Bulgarian wasted no time – instantly getting on top of him, lips hungrily attacking his throat and hands rapidly disposing of the pieces of clothing which got in the way the most – namely his boxers and the blond's. He let out a low, pleased growl as he nibbled at the soft, sensitive spot on Alin's neck.
"Mmm… delicious," the green-eyed young man complimented in earnest, guiding the other's legs around his waist as he blindly fumbled in the nightstand drawer for the bottle of lube. The younger's fingers clawed impatiently at his back and soon he buried himself in the tight, welcoming heat of his lover's body, doing his best to preserve some gentleness to his movements despite impatience. Alin threw his head back, eyes closed and his whole body arching against the mattress as he moved his hips in rhythm with his lover's thrusts, capturing his mouth in a sloppy kiss. A few thrusts later they were both spent, panting in each other's arms.
The hurried make-up sex had only made things worse for the rifleman's already bruised and aching body, but he decided he could handle it, he'd handled worse. It was a huge relief to be able to walk out the door of Borisov's apartment in the warehouse in one piece, after assuring the man he could find his way out on his own. It was a fantastic opportunity and he wouldn't waste it, Alin thought as he strolled almost casually, in no hurry among the shelves laden with boxes – some big, others small – meant to be delivered to Lovino Vargas's restaurant, "La Bella Vita" or whatever the fuck it was called.
Was Vargas still alive? Alin believed so – not that he actually gave a flying fuck about that sort of scum - but there was so much stuff waiting to be bought by him and Georgiev probably knew better than to let one crazy Italian's tantrums to get in the way of his business. No, they might have put him to chill, but he was well enough to continue to bring them profit. He glanced fleetingly at one small package, labeled 'fine cutlery' and snorted. Fine cutlery his ass!
There was one thing the strawberry blond had noticed from the very first time he'd been invited inside the warehouse slash private residence - stupid Borisov had done a shit job installing the surveillance cameras, they had plenty of dead angles. And he wouldn't notice one tiny, missing box, now would he? A skilled hand shot out and grabbed the desired item, quickly stuffing it inside the rifleman's black denim jacket.
Elizaveta wheeled around from where she'd been standing perfectly still in front of the dirty, stuck window of her office and faced her rifleman with a murderous expression while secretly blinking back tears of relief.
"You useless little fuck, tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now! Do you have any idea what I've been through since this morning?! Since fucking Borisov answered your phone?!" she all but yelled. "And look at you, look at you! What the fuck happened to you?!"
Alin blinked, a little cautious as he closed the door behind him, then dug inside his jacket and took out a small cardboard box with a flyer stapled on the side. He laid it carefully on the detective's desk and sighed.
"Look, last night Lovino Vargas waltzed into Georgiev's nightclub out of the blue and yelled at Borisov, accusing him of having brought the police on his head, then pulled out a gun and stuck it in the man's face. Things got a little crazy, the club was crowded, I got pushed around, fell onto some heavy furniture and eventually bumped my head on a chair. And I blacked out." He paused, shaking his head. "Borisov picked me up and carried me to his apartment. It was just a fucking accident, he didn't want to hurt me."
The brunette plopped down in her chair, pursing her mouth. "Fuck..! Is that asshole Vargas still alive?"
The rifleman shrugged. "One of the bouncers hit him with a baseball bat and he fell on his face, dropping the gun. And the fake mustache."
Elizaveta buried her face in her hands. "Honestly? Fuck his fake mustache, he was all we fucking had, Alin! Just… what the fuck was he thinking?! And now we'll probably find him lying dead in some ditch…" She couldn't believe it! If Vargas had still been alive, maybe they would have found a way to make him talk, get something out to bury the Bulgarians with…
"Hey, have someone check if he's back at the restaurant, by any chance - if he is, let's 'invite' him over again. And in the meantime, why don't you open your present? I risked a lot to get it for you."
Scowling, the Hungarian lifted her head and glanced at the previously unnoticed box, briefly scanning the label. It said 'fine cutlery'. What the hell? She dragged it closer unenthusiastically, until the paper attached to it came into view – another delivery note bearing the name of Lovino Vargas. Involuntarily, green eyes widened in surprise and the detective's hand shot down automatically to pick up a pair of plastic gloves from a drawer. Careful as to where she was applying pressure, the brunette used a cutter to slice through the duct tape and opened it, almost holding her breath. And there it was, almost unbelievably real – a plastic, translucent bag, filled with white powder.
"No fucking way!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "No fucking way! And you just took it… how the fuck did you know? Did he tell you?!"
The strawberry blond shrugged. "No, but I thought it that must be something… or rather, that it had better be something. No way they were delivering so much cutlery to one single restaurant. And now we know why Georgiev needed a chemist."
Elizaveta fought back a smile, not yet daring to be hopeful. It didn't mean much, after all Vargas – if he was still functional – could very well deny everything and claim his name had been falsely used by the Bulgarians on a fake delivery note and that the boxes were never meant for him. Of course, the possession of drugs already incriminated Borisov beyond doubt, but they needed some solid grounds on which to request a search warrant for his warehouse.
"He still won't give us shit, you know that. The macaroni fucker will deny everything," she grumbled somewhat deflated.
Alin bit his lip thoughtful. "I thought you didn't mind this getting dirty, detective," he pointed with a smirk that – if she hadn't known any better – the Hungarian could have almost interpreted as flirty.
"And how dirty will it get?"
"Very."
Lovino Vargas – against all odds still alive but rather impaired and sans mustache – was sulking in a corner of the interrogation room. A grimace made its way on Elizaveta's face at the thought of having to face the man, after she'd been told he'd made a consistent fuss upon being brought in again. Only this time Alin had decided to go in with her and partially do the talking. Was that a good thing? Probably not… At least now Gilbert Beilschmidt was standing guard behind his chair, to make sure the feisty man wouldn't jump and tear anyone to shreds.
"Hello, Mr. Vargas," she greeted. "It seems we meet again. Are you alright? You don't look too well…"
But the Italian ignored her entirely, scowling openly now as his eyes were trained on her companion. He blinked, irritated, and straightened his back, then leaned forward over the table. "I know you!" he growled. "You were with that useless fuck Borisov last night! He's trying to fuck me up, isn't he?! Make me pay for his shit?!"
"Actually I-"
"You're his fucking boyfriend!" Vargas interrupted. "You were kissing when I walked in and ruined your romantic moment! You've got some nerve showing your little faggot face in here! Da fuck do you want from me, huh?!" At this point, he looked positively murderous and the Hungarian could only conclude that Adnan's dirty worker had brought his upon himself willingly. But then the dark-haired young man suddenly froze in place when Gilbert's hand rested on his shoulder in a silent warning.
"Mr. Vargas, I'll be brief and as clear as I can," the Romanian said calmly. "I am an undercover officer and I can assure you Mr. Borisov has never intended to blame anything on you, in fact he is quite proud to take credit for his actions. That's why Mr. Tsvetan Borisov, as well as his boss Mr. Kiril Georgiev are currently our primary targets. And you will help us get them."
A stubborn grimace pursed the man's lips in reply. "Like hell I will. Why the fuck would I?! You've got nothing on me!"
Alin sighed, leaning slightly forward and bringing his hands together on the table. "Do you recognise this item, Mr. Vargas?" he asked, while the detective pulled out the incriminating box and placed it on the table, between them. "I suppose you do? Mr. Georgiev's company sells… cutlery to your restaurant, doesn't it? See, we know that because there was a delivery note with your name on it on this box."
"And?"
The Italian was impassible, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. Naturally, he would deny everything. How unexpected…
"And I think we both know what's in it, namely not cutlery. It's true that ultimately it could all be a hoax and you could claim this stuff was never intended for you, but to be honest I don't care. We may not have evidence against you for now, Mr. Vargas, but we will have, especially if you still refuse to cooperate…. I will kindly ask you to consider your position here, you already have a record and have been charged with drug possession before. And, for fuck's sake-" Alin snorted ironically. "you own a restaurant, I can't imagine anyone easier to frame than you."
Elizaveta's breath caught in her throat at hearing this, her face turning white as a sheet, while Lovino's eyes widened to the point they were about to pop out of his head. Hell, she couldn't believe that the little fuck had actually said that! The fuck, dirty was one thing, but this was… no, no, fuck no! However, on the other side of the table, Beilschmidt was completely unfazed (big surprise!).
"Y-You can't fucking do this to me!" the Italian yelled after the initial bafflement had worn off, looking up at the ceiling and then around the room, in desperate search for surveillance cameras. There were two on the sides of the room and he pointed at them victoriously. "Looks like you really shouldn't have said that, you stupid fucks!"
The strawberry blond sighed again, resting his chin on the heel of his palm with a small smile. "The cameras are muted, Mr. Vargas, a small malfunction you see… it happens. Now I tell you what – you either give us what we want and perhaps you'll be able to work out a deal for yourself eventually, or you don't and you'll go down at the deep end, while your friend Mr. Borisov remains untouched."
"Look, Mr. Vargas," the detective intervened on a softer tone, "Do you really want the man who assaulted your brother and killed your grandfather, no matter how estranged they might have been to you, go free and have nothing happen to him? Is it really worth it risking everything to protect him?"
The Italian buried his face in his hands, looking crushed. But Elizaveta knew he was only thinking of himself, even now, while his little brother was captive in his own private hell in a hospital room. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to push aside the increasing aversion she felt for the man.
"Okay… I buy the stuff from Georgiev. And I pay him protection tax for the restaurant… but I never talked and negotiated with Kiril Georgiev himself, never seen him face to face. No, there was always his man Borisov. He takes care of most business, like… a front man of sorts."
"What about your grandfather?"
"Nonno never wanted to do this drugs stuff… so he refused to make a deal and buy from the Bulgarians. And later he decided he wouldn't pay them for protection either. I don't know the details, other than that he'd gathered a few men of his own. But they were shit and the Bulgarians made quick work of them. Made an example out of grandfather too. But this was the kind of man he was – always trying to piss against the wind," Lovino said and snorted.
Alin smiled to him kindly in reply. "See? It wasn't so hard."
To be continued
