“I’m not doubting your ability to do what you’re doing. I do doubt their ability to keep you safe when something they fuck up on blows back on you. This isn’t some little thing, that you’ll just be sent back to Langley in disgrace should it all go crazy. The Atanasovs will kill you, Vivian. And not slowly, they’ll make you scream the very last seconds of your life away.”
“You know what they’ve done, what they’re capable of. Danail and Ilia both were directly responsible for Yuri Todorov. As in, hands-on.”
A man foolish enough to try stealing from the Atanasovs. The year before I’d come to Sofia, he’d been found tied to a chair in his own kitchen, his lips, tongue, ears, eyelids, nose and fingers all sawed off, finally bleeding to death when his feet were roughly amputated. Kradets, Bulgarian for thief, had been scrawled on the wall in his blood. And he’d just been stealing money, God only knew what they’d do to someone who stole their way into the heart and soul of the Atanasov family.
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