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“You know,” she says mildly, amusement coloring her voice, “I have to say that sending Ilya his men’s heads in a box was one of my nephew’s more creative ideas. Your brother was just so torn up over his captain’s death. What was the man’s name again? Alek, Alexei?”
“Artem,” I growl between clenched teeth. With a feral scream, I jerk forward, trying to reach the woman. What I plan on doing to her, I have no clue. All I know is that I want to kill her. But the solid, high-backed chair I’m strapped to barely budges.
The woman chuckles lightly. “I can only imagine what will happen when I start sending Ilya pieces ofyouin a box,” she purrs, her smile spreading across her lips.
Horror freezes my heart in my chest, stealing my breath away. I’d known it was a possibility. But the words ring from her mouth like a death toll.
The Matron runs her long nails down the side of my face in a gentle, deceptively soothing gesture, and I jerk away from her touch. Then, with a final sneer, she leaves. As soon as the doors close behind her, trapping me with our two guards once again, my fear fully starts to sink in. I’m terrified of what will come next.
24
CASSIO
Finding an entrance into the mansion that isn’t manned with armed guards proves painfully challenging. I waste several hours making tracks around the house as my fingers grow stiff in the frigid night air. But finally, it seems time for a change of guard.
No one’s wearing masks anymore, so slipping into the house undetected is an impossibility. Instead, I hide in the shadows of the wooden side porch, waiting for the right moment as the two guards above me speak in smooth Russian.
Two men came out, one a lean, catlike man, the other a hulking figure, and after a brief exchange, the two guards who were standing outside disappear into the house. Immediately, the lithe, catlike Russian digs into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette pack.
He lights up and leans casually against the banister farthest from me, seeming perfectly at ease. He says something to the bigger man, extending the pack of cigarettes to his partner, who waves them off with disgust. But I recognize the catlike man’s voice. He’s the one who threatened Bianka. Maksim.
Clenching my fists, I assess the situation. With one guard distracted by his cigarette, this will be my best chance. It’s the only window of opportunity I’ve glimpsed in the hours I’ve been here.
And the hulking figure has his back to me. Silently, I undo my bowtie, keeping my eyes on the guards as I do. And as soon as the smoker turns to look off into the distance, I make my move.
The porch is about five steps up, and the railing separates me from my target. I’ll have to jump, but if I can catch the big man by surprise, I might be able to incapacitate him in one move. Rising swiftly, I plant my palms on the railing and launch myself onto the large Russian’s back.
My hands are up and around his neck before he knows what’s happening, my tie a makeshift garrote that chokes him as I fall back. Using my body weight and momentum, I manage to throw the big man off balance, and he stumbles back, falling against the railing as I disappear over its edge once more.
A sickening crunch follows as the tie snaps tight around my hands, pinning the man to the banister by his throat, and his body goes limp immediately. I dare to look over my shoulder at his lifeless eyes and realize the angle and force must have been a perfect combination to break his neck.
“Kakogo khrena!” Maksim cusses as he whirls to find his partner dead.
His eyes find me in an instant, suddenly sharp and intense, and I smile darkly, silently letting him know that he’s next. Stalking around the corner of the stairs, I square up with my adversary, ready to take him now that the playing field has been evened.
As soon as I think it, a knife flashes from the lithe Russian’s pocket, glinting in the porch’s bright light.
“Care to dance,Maksim?” I taunt, lifting my hands as I take a defensive fighting stance.
For a split second, he looks thrown off by the fact that I know his name. Then he’s shrugging it off as he smiles broadly. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” he responds in his accented English. But I think you’re at the wrong house.”
He closes the distance between us in the blink of an eye, wielding his knife with expert skill as he slashes out at me. My body reacts instinctually, leaning back to avoid the blade. Then he’s sweeping low, aiming for my legs.
Utilizing all my years of martial arts and combat training my father forced upon me, I spin away, dancing out of reach once again. And before he can attack again, I move in. Grabbing his wrist that wields the knife, I slam my free hand into his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs.
Maksim cusses in Russian and jerks from my grasp, stumbling back as he grips his injured side. “You’ll pay for that, you filthy wop.”
I chuckle as I bounce lightly on my feet. “You can send me a bill.”
The Russian snarls, racing in once again, and this time, I mean business. The knife slashes out again and again, and I move to match his grueling pace, blocking, evading, occasionally landing my own blow.
For an instant, I think he might have me when he passes the knife from his right hand to his left and renews the attack without pause. But I’m not about to be bested by this asshole. He threatened to rape Bianka, and he doesn’t get to see the light of another day.
Blocking his knife hand with my forearm, I bury my fist in his stomach, and as he doubles over, I bring my knee up into his nose with a loud crunch. Blood gushes from the orifice, splashing across the white snow with shocking speed.
But I don’t slow. Gripping his wrist firmly, I wrench the knife from his grasp, and at the same time, I spin, hooking my shoulder under his armpit. With a sharp twist, I launch Maksim over my body, slamming him down on the cold hard ground.
The air leaves his lungs in a whoosh, and blood gurgles from his lips as he gasps for breath. Then I’m on top of him, my knees pinning his chest as I hold the knife to his throat.
