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“I’m fine,” I say, shaking my head to clear the cobwebs. My temples ache in response. “How long was I out?”
“Maybe an hour?” she guesses. “I didn’t want to wake you at first, and then I was too scared I wouldn’t be able to if I tried.” Her eyes are wide as they meet mine. “What’s going on out there?”
I turn my attention to the door and the two guards standing silently sentinel there. Neither looks the least bit at ease, their shoulders tense and their knuckles white as they grip their firearms with intensity. Their eyes still scan the middle distance outside the window, but now with far more deliberation.
I listen for several seconds, trying to make sense of the scattered shots echoing around the estate. “I don’t know,” I say finally.
It must be Ilya and his men. That’s the only reasonable answer I can think of, but the tactical strategy is one I’m unfamiliar with, making me question the Russian rules of engagement. I hope it’s not because Ilya and his men got caught unaware.
Not to mention, I hadn’t really expected a rescue mission. Not after I got Bianka to safety. Lucca and Bianka must have been pretty convincing to get a bunch of Bratva men to put their lives on the line for some Italian mobster’s son and a random friend, who the other Italian happens to be dating.
Loud, resounding steps approach down the hallway, the quieter scuffling of rubber-soled shoes accompanying the sound. And then the office doors fly open as our designated guards step out of the way just in time.
The Matron strides formidably into the room. Though stress is etched deep into her face, her dark French roll doesn’t have a hair out of place.
Six armed guards follow her into the room, guns raised to eye level, ready for anything. A few look familiar from my brief interval among them on the plane, though they’ve traded out their formal wear for dark fatigues.
“Get him out of that chair, and bind his hands behind him,” she commands, pointing to me with a thin knife that glints cruelly as it moves.
Two men move to do as she says, lowering their guns and flicking open pocket knives to cut me free. They start with my legs, then wrists, and as the last of my bindings fall away, I jerk forward out of my chair, ready to fight free and escape.
But I don’t have a chance in hell. Two strong sets of hands grab me, swiftly wrenching my arms behind my back as they force me to my knees. My shoulder joints scream, and I can’t bite back the cry of pain. I’m too bruised and broken to put up the necessary resistance now.
They lash my wrists and elbows deftly, immobilizing my arms in an instant before hauling me back to my feet. One buries his fist in my stomach, doubling me over as I wheeze.
“Don’t try any funny business,” the man warns. “Or I’ll chop you into little pieces.”
Then the Matron is beside me, her long-nailed fingers combing into my hair with a surprising gentleness that makes my skin crawl. Her fist tightens, making her soft touch suddenly violent as her nails rake my scalp and her fingers yank at the roots of my hair.
While I’m still incapacitated from the blow to my stomach and breathing heavily, she jerks my head back, forcing me to bend back until my head finds her shoulder and my cheek comes dangerously close to hers.
My ribs throb in the awkward position, and my bruised back muscles spasm from the exertion of keeping me on my feet, but I don’t dare fight back as she lightly rests her sharp blade against my throat.
“Sh-sh-shhhhh,” she calms, slowly guiding me behind her desk until she’s fortified in the corner of the office, walls at her back and me as her shield.
If I’d had any doubts before, I’m fully confident now that someone’s coming for Ellie and me.Why else would she be using me as her last line of defense?The Matron’s got me in the perfect position to use against whoever’s infiltrating her home.
And they are coming. That’s a guarantee. From the way the men haul Ellie’s chair behind them and create a defensive line between us and the doorway, they’re readying for an attack.
The gunfire outside seems to have dissipated. In its place are the distinct sounds of combat being waged in the hallway. Scattered cracks of single gunshots intersperse with the grunts and crashes of men battling each other physically.
I shift my feet and swallow hard as my muscles cramp from all the abuse they’ve endured lately.
“Don’t make a sound,” the Matron murmurs by my ear, the whisper of her breath against my skin giving me the heebie-jeebies.
I suspect, by some, she might be considered beautiful even if I would wager that she’s old enough to be my mother. She has the bone structure of a classic Russian beauty. But her cold brutality has drained any possibility of me thinking of her in any way but creepy.
The commotion grows louder as the fight ensues, moving closer down the hall. And then the doors slam open once again as utter chaos fills the room. Three men are locked in mortal combat, and my heart stutters painfully as I realize it’s Ilya and Lucca–but Nico’s here too.
Two more men follow them in, sticking close to Ilya, weapons in hand. And the Matron’s men drop their guns in exchange for their knives since the room is so densely packed that a bullet could just as easily hurt as it could help them.
The Matron’s grip tightens in my hair, reminding me to stay still as I watch my brothers battling it out against the oversized Bratva men. Nicolo’s adversary drops to the floor with a scream, my brother’s knife buried deep in the soft spot between his neck and shoulder. Nicolo draws his handgun in one smooth motion, finishing the guy with a bullet to the brain.
The sound is still painfully loud in this enclosed space, but with all the commotion and bodies, it’s not nearly as painful as when I shot someone. In another instant, he aims at one of the Matron’s waiting guards and drops him in an instant with another headshot right between the eyes.
Ilya’s opponent falls next, his death far more brutal as Bianka’s massive brother lifts the guy bodily off his feet and slams him headfirst into the wood floor, snapping his neck with a nauseating crunch.
“Shoot them!” the Matron shouts to the final two men standing between her and my brothers.
