Page 192 of Barinov

Before I can take a step, a hand cinches around my wrist. “Lex, wait,” Roman says.

Everyone stops.

He pulls out a curved, brutal blade that looks sharp enough to slice through any resistance.

“What’s this?” I ask as he lays the cold steel into my palm.

“It was your uncle’s,” he says before looking at Rez.

“Dad’s?” Rez asks.

Roman nods. “Miro used this at the Red Hour when he eliminated Luca all those years ago.”

My grip tightens around the blade.

“This is the knife that gave Luca that scar,” he adds.

“The one he would never talk about?” I ask, my smirk forming fast.

“The one and the same,” Roman confirms, his own grin widening at the thought. “Figured it’d be fitting that the same blade that took his blood and cut his chances at being a Hollow King would be the same one that guts him tonight.”

“Perfect,” I say, sliding it into the side of my tactical pants.

Roman’s eyes lock on mine. “I made a promise to my daughter earlier.” He places a hand on my shoulder and grips it tight. “Don’t make me a liar.”

“You’re not coming?”

He shakes his head, rubbing his chest slightly. “I’m trusting you to get her back for me.”

“I will.” I nod.

“Make sure he pays for this, Lex.”

“They’re all gonna pay for this.” I cock my gun and slide it into the holster. “Every last one of them.”

♥♥♥

Rez and I stay in the shadows as we approach Luca’s hellhole.

I mean yeah, it’s nice. Victorian bones, white pillars, and manicured gardens full of roses that probably cost more than most people’s mortgage.

But it’s still a hellhole.

I’d level it. Give me steel and glass. Clean lines and sharp edges. Give me something built to withstand a war, not host a fucking garden party.

“Two down by the pool,” Kenji says. “You’re up, Tex.”

“Heard,” Tex responds.

“I’m in position,” Laing says. “Once Bella makes her move.”

I suck in a deep breath, the stench of Luca’s roses literally everywhere burns my nose.

“Come on, baby,” I whisper, grip tightening around my pistol.

“Still nothing,” Knox’s voice comes through, unease in his tone. “It’s nearly two in the morning, she might be asleep.”

“Send it once more,” I grit out. “If she doesn’t, then we breach.”