The crude shift in his tone makes my skin crawl. All pretense of civility is evaporating.
“Gentlemen,” Renato says. “Let’s give her a moment.”
"No more delays," Kozlov snarls, his patience finally snapping completely. "I'm done with games."
He suddenly lunges toward me, grabbing the skirt of my dress and yanking it upward with brutal force. He wraps his arm tight around my waist while his other hand forces its way between my legs.
"What the hell!" Renato yells.
Al-Rashid shoves Kozlov aside. "You have no right! She's not yours yet!"
"She's not yours either!" Kozlov spins me around. His hand yanks my panties aside, fingers probing roughly. "Let's see what we're really buying."
I gasp and try to pull away, but his grip is iron. "Stop!"
From the corner of my eye, I see Renato's face contort with rage, his body tensing like he's about to explode into violence.
But I act first.
My hand closes around the fountain pen I've kept hidden in my bra. As Kozlov forces his fingers deep inside me, grunting with satisfaction at his "examination," I drive the sharpened metal nib into the side of his throat.
The pen punctures his carotid artery with a wet, terrible sound.
Blood explodes across my dress as Kozlov staggers backward, hands flying to his neck. His eyes are wide with shock.
"Fuck!" he chokes, arterial blood spraying between his fingers.
Everything erupts into chaos.
Al-Rashid lunges toward me—whether to help or attack, I'll never know.
Renato's gun is already in his hand. The shot cracks through the salon.
Al-Rashid drops, a neat hole in his forehead, his body crumpling against an overturned chair.
Torretti moves the instant the gun fires. He's fast, crossing the distance between us before Renato can pivot. His arm locks around my throat from behind, yanking me against his chest as a shield. His other hand produces a knife, the blade pressing cold against my skin.
"Drop it!" Torretti shouts, already backing toward the door, dragging me with him. The knife digs into me just enough to draw blood. "Drop the fucking gun or I open her throat!"
Renato's weapon tracks us, but he has no clean shot. Torretti keeps me positioned perfectly, his body completely hidden behind mine, the knife at an angle where any bullet that hit him would go through me first.
"Let her go." Renato's voice is deadly calm, but I can see the fury and desperation warring in his eyes. His gun hand is steady, waiting for an opening that won't come.
"Not a chance." Torretti continues backing toward the door, his movements controlled, professional. "This merchandise just became a lot more valuable."
“You don’t need to do this,” Renato says. “Let her go and you walk out of here unharmed.”
“No way in hell,” Torretti replies. “Do you take me for an idiot?”
"Then you're a dead man, Torretti." Renato takes a step forward, trying to angle for a shot. "If you hurt her—"
"Stay back!" The knife presses harder. I feel the sting as it breaks skin. "One more step and she bleeds out before you can pull the trigger."
Renato freezes.
His eyes lock with mine across the room—anguished, desperate.
Kozlov collapses to his knees, still gurgling, blood pooling beneath him on the Persian rug.
