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Alina’s green eyes turn glossy with the threat of tears. “You’re a monster.”
“And you’re a waste of fucking oxygen!” Violetta screeches, though there is little power in it. “It would have been better if you’d never been born in the first place.”
I take a step forward, gun at the ready. I’ve heard more than enough. “You will never speak to my wife like that again.”
“What are you going to do, Pyotr? I thought you didn’t dirty your hands with Bratva business.”
I cock my pistol. “I can make an exception.”
Alina reaches out and sets her hand over my own, lowering the gun. “Don’t, Pyotr. She’s not worth it.”
“I’d let him shoot me, if I were you,” Violetta cackles. “If you don’t kill me now, I’m only going to come back and make your life a living hell. This won’t be the last you hear of the Salkovs. As long as I live and breathe, you’ll never know a moment’s rest.”
I regard Alina carefully. I can see how brave my wife is being despite everything. The anger, the hurt, the anguish I feel is all on her behalf. “She’s right, Alina,” I say softly. “If we let her live, she’ll only come back to haunt us.”
Her brows knit together into a steep frown. “I hate her, I do. But I can’t kill her, either.”
“Even after all the pain she’s put you through?”
Alina shakes her head. “Violence breeds violence, Pyotr. Let it end here. If we kill her, she wins.”
My hand falls to my wife’s belly. “Think of our future, lyubimaya. All it would cost is a bullet to ensure our family’s safety.”
“There has to be another way.”
I sigh. I can’t argue with my wife’s soft heart. Perhaps she’s right. We can’t allow Violetta to force our hand and turn us into willing murderers.
“I’m all ears, Alina. If you can think of something, then it’s up to you.”
Alina is quiet for a very long time. She disappears within herself, within her own thoughts. “I heard a rumor a long time ago,” she says slowly, staring at her mother as she speaks. “Tell me more about The Pit.”
Chapter 39
Alina
The Pit is a lot brighter and more welcoming than I imagined. Growing up, I’d heard the most horrific stories about this place. I imagined it to be a dirty, grimy, dark place with rusted metal bars for cells, rats sneaking around corners, and the constant smell of mold and damp.
Imagine my surprise when I walk into a building so clean and white it feels like I’ve walked into a high-tech facility. That’s what it is, I suppose, a fancy prison meant for the criminally insane—and the Antonovs most notorious enemies. Often, they are one and the same.
I lose count of how many floors we descend. The elevator takes us deep into the earth, far enough down there’s next to no cell phone signal. The walls are a pristine white, the floors are polished white linoleum, and the ceiling is a seemingly endless sea of fluorescent light panels. It’s abnormally quiet here, nothing but the hum of the ventilation and the dull buzz of the lights. I feel like I’ve walked into an alternate dimension, completely cut off from the outside world and where time stands perfectly still.
The Antonov brothers don’t utter a word as we take the elevator down. Mikhail and Dimitri keep their eyes forward. They managed to make it out of the battle unscathed thanks to Pyotr’s sniping efforts. Beside me, my husband has a protective hand on the small of my back. He’s rigid, a sign he’s more nervous than he lets on. I suppose I can’t blame him. It was my idea to see Violetta one last time before we fly back to New York.
I’m not here to rub it in her face or to hope for an apology. Violetta isn’t the kind of woman to ask for forgiveness, so I don’t plan to give her any. The reason I’m here is for some closure, to see her safely locked away for my own peace of mind.
We finally arrive at her floor. My ears pop due to the difference in air pressure. I can’t believe this place is even real. It makes me wonder what other tricks the Antonovs have up their sleeves. We step onto the floor and make our way down the hall. A series of cameras are mounted to the ceiling, watching and recording our every move. When we reach Violetta’s door, it takes both Mikhail and Dimitri to unlock it, each inputting their own codes into a number pad to my right.
We enter without pomp or circumstance.
A thick glass wall separates me from Violetta’s chamber. Holes are drilled into the glass, not just for air flow, but so we can speak freely. While comfortable, her cell is a far cry from the luxuries she’s so used to at home. No fancy clothes, no luxurious four-post bed, no bathtub to soak in.
Violetta’s been forced into a plain white shirt and paper-thin pants. Her bed is nothing more than a raised mattress in the corner. And her bathroom facilities are out in the open, toilet and shower visible from all angles of the room. It’s a prison cell befitting a megalomaniac like her.
“Come to gloat?” she hisses at me.
“Yes,” I answer coldly.
“I’m going to get out of here one day, you know. And when that day comes, you’re all going to regret it.”
