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Romy
I emerge from darkness and wake up somewhere even darker. A black void, so damp and dirty that I can taste the dust on my tongue.
My stuttering heartbeat tells me I’m in trouble before my foggy brain can catch up.
Where the hell am I?
Limbs heavy, I stagger to my feet, tripping further into the abyss. The echo of footsteps makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I immediately curl my hands into sweaty, weak fists.
Wherever I am, I’m not alone.
“Who’s there?” My throat is dry; my desperate question nothing more than a croak.
More footsteps, closer this time. When a light breeze flutters across my shoulder, I shiver.
“Donnacha? Is that you?”
“Oh, it’s me all right.” His strangled voice tickles my ear, but when I whip around and shoot my hands out, he’s gone.
“What’s going on? Where am I?”
His voice comes from the other side of me this time, ice-cold calmness running through it. “You’re on the fourteenth floor of my building, where henchmen-in-training take their final test before they can be initiated into the army. You know, two people come in here, but only one ever leaves. So who’s going to get out of here today? Me or you?”
I’m going to be sick. I take a few steps to nowhere, disorientating myself even more.
“Please, Donnacha, I—”
“Come on, sweetheart.” His voice is close again, so close that it creeps down the back of my top. But when I whip around and stumble toward the direction of the noise, my hands clutch at air. “You came here to kill me, so let’s fucking dance.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest. “I can explain.”
A thunderous clap reverberates around the cavernous space. It’s followed by Donnacha’s signature laugh, and I can’t help but taunt myself by closing my eyes and remembering all the times I felt that noise on my cheek as I laid my head on his chest.
“A dying declaration? How delightful. I should have brought some popcorn.”
Sucking in a lungful of damp air, I dig my nails into my palms, and say, “My name isn’t Romy Daniels. It’s Romashka Bratnov.”
Donnacha’s strong arm anchors around my neck from behind, pulling me into his hard chest. I can smell liquor on his breath as he whispers coldly, “Bratnov?”
I stare up into the darkness above me. No point in lying anymore. “Yes. My father is Igor Bratnov. I was a product of an affair and—”
Something cold and sharp presses against my neck. “Your father was the head of the Russian Mafia. I should kill you for that alone. I killed your father. Did you know that, sweetheart? And it felt fucking good.”
Gritting my teeth, I press into the blade, feeling the tension on the surface of my skin. “I don’t care. I had never met the man, let alone had any loyalty to him. He dumped me on the steps of an orphanage and never thought about me again.” Feeling dangerous, I lick my lips and add, “And your own father? How did it feel to kill him?”
He hisses out a laugh of disbelief. “I suppose we are spilling all the secrets today.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He tightens his forearm around my neck. “It felt like the right thing to do. He’d been shot in a drive-by. I arrived on the scene, and I’d seen enough bullet wounds in my life to know it wasn’t one he’d bounce back from. Instead of letting him bleed out undignified, I put a bullet in his head.”
Emotion chokes in his throat, and I have the sudden urge to spin around and hug him. But I don’t dare move.
“I am not the only one with secrets.”
“But yours are far deadlier than mine. They could have killed my family.” The blade presses harder into my skin. Against the crown of my head, I feel Donnacha’s Adam’s apple bob. “So, tell me all of your secrets, sweetheart, or I’ll slit your throat and let them bleed out of you.”
I swallow. “You’ve found out everything you need to know.”
