Sinthetica Read Online Free Page A

would follow. 
    And what followed was brutal and bloody, and it didn’t end until the tortured man had passed out. 
    Molenski wasn’t done yet though.
    “Wake him up; I want to see his eyes when he leaves us.”
    Ivan let go and moved away, and Marco followed his lead, his blood spattered face pale with shock at what he had just witnessed.
    Andre threw a bucket of water over Kittinger’s head, and the poor bastard spluttered awake.
    “Knife!”
    Andre pulled out his flick knife and opened it before handing it to the boss.
    Molenski stepped forward and gripped Kittinger’s hair before pulling his head back sharply and resting the blade against the right side of his neck. He looked into his victim’s eyes.
    “Time to die Mr. Kittinger.”
    True to his word, after nicking his carotid artery, Molenski looked into the man’s eyes as his heart emptied his body of its atrial blood, in bright, spectacular spurts. When the gouts had finally diminished to a trickle, he let the man’s head drop.
    “Get this mess cleaned up,” he said to Andre and headed for the door.
    Ivan rushed to make it through the door first, relieved he wouldn’t have to stay in the slaughterhouse any longer than necessary. He paused to allow his boss to take the lead as they walked back to the basement to the stairs.
    Molenski would head upstairs to shower and change. As he had learned to do so many times, the bodyguard put the horror he had just witnessed out of his mind, determined more than ever that within a year, he would be out of the Russian’s poisonous sphere of influence.

 
     
    4
     
    While he waited for Molenski to finish showering, Ivan began to think about the delivery. He was curious to find out what it was. No matter how clever his boss was at hiding his emotions, Ivan had known the Russian long enough to realize that whatever it was, he was more excited about it than he had been about anything in a long time.
    After dressing again, Molenski and Ivan went down to the first floor, what Ivan thought of as the main level of the huge home. It contained entertaining and dining areas, offices, servant’s bedrooms and a galley style kitchen. It also contained a receiving dock, located behind the kitchen.
    Ostensibly the dock was for deliveries of fresh produce and groceries, but, unsurprisingly given its owner, it was also used for the discreet delivery of contraband, both large and small.
    Even before they were down the stairs, the delicious aroma of freshly baked pumpkin pie wafted up to them, and for the first time since he had awoken that morning, Dimitri Molenski thought of his wife.
    The night before, he had ordered Isabella, his cook, to bake Tatiana a pumpkin pie as a welcome home from her trip to New York.
    Tatiana, twenty years younger than Molenski and only freshly arrived from Russia, had certainly embraced her new American lifestyle. Strangely, pumpkin pie was her American dish of choice, although, being fickle, it was more than possible his wife had decided she hated it while she was away visiting her cousins.
    “Good morning,” said the pretty Hispanic woman, as they entered the gleaming kitchen.
    Ivan smiled and nodded at Isabella, but Molenski ignored her as he looked at his TAG Heuer. 11:23 am, Tatiana was flying in at 2:30 that afternoon.
    That would give him plenty of time to check out his new toy, but he would probably have to wait until later tonight before he played with it. It crossed his mind that perhaps Tatiana, who was much more open to his more sinister pastimes, would be interested in playing with it too. No. There was no way. This was something personal to him, and he intended to enjoy it all by himself. 
    “Pumpkin pie, dah?” asked Ivan, who had quite a liking for the cook. “Perhaps save me a slice?”
    “Perhaps,” she said, noncommittally but smiling.
    “Come, Ivan,” Molenski said, over his shoulder as he headed into the dining room and towards the balcony that looked over the rear of the