I blink at her. “Okay.”
“Wait. Right. Here,” she orders through gritted teeth. “Inside the bathroom.”
Her heels click on the marble floor as she steps into the separate toilet area behind the door made of frosted glass.
I scan the bathroom, searching for something that doesn’t involve stabbing her with a tiny piece of metal.
Maybe I could knock her out with a perfume bottle?
I grab a heavy glass one from the counter and hide it behind my back just as she reemerges.
She narrows her eyes, suspicious. She’ll see me coming in the mirror. How do I do this?
I could turn off the lights and take advantage of her confusion. But what if I miss?
I have to take the risk.
As she washes her hands at the sink, I flick off the light and charge at her, doing my best to aim for the spot where her head connects with her neck. Vita told me that's the best place to strike during one of our lessons.
She yelps, but the bottle in my hand connects with something solid, and the sound dies in her throat. My free hand fumbles to find her, and I bring the bottle down two more times, aiming for the back of her head.
A heavy weight collapses against me, pulling me down to the ground. I try to catch myself, but I end up falling on my elbow. The pain is sharp, and I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop from crying out. The taste of blood fills my mouth as I wriggle out from under Ekaterina’s limp body and turn the light back on.
She lies sprawled on the floor, her eyes closed, a thin trail of blood seeping from the back of her head. She’s out cold, but I know it won’t last long. I have to move. Now.
Keeping as quiet as possible, I hurry to the front door, straining to catch any sounds from the living room. The conversation is still ongoing—Maksim’s bark of a laugh echoes through the hall.
Ten steps. Five. Here.
I hover my thumb above the biometric lock, nerves stretched so taut I feel like I might snap. I need to time this perfectly. The lock’s beep and click will be loud enough to draw attention if they hear it.
Maksim says something in Russian, and then a burst of laughter erupts from the room. I press my thumb to the sensor, holding my breath.
The lock beeps softly, and I hear the faint click as it disengages. I pull the door open just an inch, praying the noise was masked by the laughter and conversation.
Gino’s men are already waiting outside.
The leader presses his finger to his lips and silently signals for me to step out of the way.
For a brief moment, I’m torn between following Gino’s instructions and staying close to Nero. I know that if he sees me, he’ll get distracted, and he needs to stay focused on protecting himself.
So I run.
The moment I reach my bedroom and slam the door shut behind me, the first shots ring out.
Fear grips me, freezing me in place as my emotions threaten to overwhelm me. Somehow, I pull myself back to reality. I grab the gun Vita gave me all those weeks ago from its hiding spot in the nightstand, tuck it into my waistband, and rush into the bathroom. I close the door behind me and wedge a chair under the handle.
Just then, Ekaterina begins to stir.
Damn it.
I watch her as she blinks against the harsh overhead light, her hands instinctively moving to her head. She’s sluggish, disoriented. When she pulls her fingers back and sees the blood, she moans. “What did you do to me?”
More gunshots echo through the apartment.
“You’d better stay down,” I warn, my voice tense.
Her bloodshot eyes narrow as they lock onto mine. Slowly, she pushes herself off the floor, wobbling unsteadily on her feet. “I’m going to throw up.”
