“He’s mine.”
“He’ll be dealt with,” I pointed out. “That’s what matters.”
Rafe’s expression hardened, grief bleeding into anger. Ever since what happened in that warehouse, revenge had been one of the only things driving Rafe to keep going.
“He took Gia.”
“I know.”
“He broke Cara. She’ll never be the same…not after what those pieces of shit….” Rafe’s tirade was cut short when he started to cough violently.
“I know, Rafe. Just sit down, you stubborn prick,” I told him as I all but forced him down to the bed. He grabbed a bottle of water and fumbled it open, taking a deep drink that seemed to calm the episode.
“He deserves a very slow, very painful and bloody end,” Rafe gasped.
“I’ll do my best,” I assured him.
“I can’t just sit here and not handle this,” he grumbled, and I saw the pain in his face. He had wanted to deal with Kozlov. Revenge was the only thing that he could give Gia, and now he was unable to do that.
“Yes, you can,” I told him flatly. “Because if you come…,” I continued, “….you risk everything for something that’s already decided.”
Rafe stared at me for a long moment, then sank back into his pillows with a sharp exhale. He rubbed a shaking hand over his pale face and finally seemed to let something go.
“Don’t make it quick, if you can help it,” he requested.
I held his gaze and gave him my word with one look. If there was anyway Mikhail Kozlov could die slowly, knowing even a fraction of the pain he caused my girl, he damn well would.
“Maybe we can bring back what’s left of him to play wi’,” Arran jovially suggested.
“I wouldn’t mine some time with him in holding,” Rafe nodded.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I assured him.
***
The estate loomed out of the dark like something rotting from the inside out. It was enclosed with tall walls, and imposing gates. Arran and I had three teams with us, and they had already scouted the place. Three exits. Two cars in the long winding drive. No one guarding externally and no signs of camerasor any kind of security system. Kozlov had obviously become complacent and over confident in his ability to hide. Worked for us.
“Wee bit clichéd, is it no’? The Russian Pakhan hidin’ out in the old, abandoned mansion?” Arran said, and I turned to him with a shake of my head.
“Let’s just get this fucker,” I sighed.
Arran and I moved in from the front, two teams at our back. The other went in from the rear. Fast and controlled. We were all armed and ready for a fight. Arran and I were spoiling for one actually. We both wanted to make Kozlov pay for what he put Cara through. She was ours. Any man who ever laid unwanted touch on her again would lose their fucking hands. That was a promise.
The first shots came before we even reached the front door. Gunfire cracked through the night, sharp and immediate. My men returned fire up above instantly. They weren’t just hired muscle. They were carefully chosen, highly skilled, and knew what the fuck they were doing. That was a part of why Rafe ran the family so much more successfully than his arse wipe of a father ever did.
One of Kozlov’s men – the one who fired at us - dropped from a window above, rifle in hand. He didn’t even get a second shot off before we had put him down.
“Move,” I ordered loudly and we pushed inside, smashing the doors open with a battering ram two of our men had brought from the car.
Inside was silent. It was likely grand once, with marble floors, high ceilings, and gaudy, gold touches dotted around, but now itwas gutted, stripped down of anything of value and left to dust and rot. Footsteps thundered as we moved through it, clearing rooms, exchanging fire in tight corridors. We moved as one, every man knowing his role, efficient and vigilant.
Two more of Kozlov’s men appeared around a corner in the wide hallway upstairs, shooting blindly. I lifted my gun and took out one, then the other was picked off fast by my men, at my back.
“One down in the kitchen,” Dom came over the comms.
“Two more upstairs,” Arran spoke up. “Couldnae shoot for shit,” he added like he was disappointed they went down so quickly. I knew he loved a fight, preferably with fists and blades over guns. I just hoped he wouldn’t get one that night. I couldn’t stand the thought of him getting bust up and Cara seeing it. She had been subjected to enough violence in her life.
By the time we cleared the first hallway, the air stank of gunpowder and blood – a smell so familiar to me it almost felt like my comfort zone.
