“I promise. I’ll be back soon. You wait here.” I pull her into a quick but firm hug. She clings to me for a heartbeat, her arms gripping tight before she lets go and runs off to join Sophia.
As they’re hustled away, my earpiece buzzes to life. “Luka, it’s Erik.
“Status?” I can picture the scene outside these walls: Erik and Dimitri tearing through Aleks’s goons like a hot knife through butter. No doubt the floors are a mess of spent shell casings and bodies.
“Cleanup’s almost done,” Erik’s voice crackles back. “They had no time to attack; they’re scrambling like roaches in the light.”
My earpiece buzzes again as I step outside. “Luka, how’re Yulia and Sophia?” Dimitri’s voice cuts through the chatter in my ear.
“They’re safe, but Aleks – that fucker’s on the run,” I growl, gritting my teeth.
From the other end, I hear the sound of a fist meeting flesh, followed by a pained cry.
“Kill him,” Dimitri snarls.
“Ollie, where the hell did he go?” I bark into the earpiece.
“Uh, satellite’s picking up movement, boss. East wing. Your private library,” Ollie stammers.
“Pizda!”
Boots pounding on gravel, I haul ass toward the east wing. Aleks has dug his own grave; now he’s going to lie in it.
I kick open the door to my mansion, and I’m hit by a sudden wave of wrongness. What was once a lavish fairy tale for Yulia’s party is now a ghost town, the golden balloons sagging, chandeliers dimmed. All the guests have scattered – thank fuck they’re safe, but the high-class décor now looks like a sick joke.
I stomp through the marble-floored hallway, my boots thumping loudly in the emptiness. Making a beeline for the east wing, I ride the elevator up to the third floor. My private library’s up here, a fortress of knowledge and my personal sanctuary.
“He is still there,” Ollie’s voice calls out.
The elevator dings, doors slide open, and I step into a darkness that shouldn’t be. The library is a cathedral of literature, usually warmly lit, but now it’s more like a damn cave. High bookshelves stretch toward the ceiling like monoliths in a moonless night.
Where is he?
Then, a shadow moves, quick and low to the ground. I lunge toward it, but before I can even take a step, an earsplitting crash rings out. Books and whole damn shelves topple over like dominos.
I sidestep just in time, and there he is.
Aleks.
Our eyes lock, hate burning in them.
Simultaneously, we both draw guns and pull the triggers.
Click.
Click.
Empty chambers.
“Suka,” Aleks spits, echoing the curses in my own mind. Aleks sneers, his face contorted with malice. “You think you’re fit to lead the Bratva? You’re just as weak as your father.”
The venom in his voice pushes me over the edge. “You done?”
Fuck talking. We’re past that. Both of us draw knives – nasty pieces of work, serrated, designed to not just kill but mangle. My blade curves with the presence of a fucking machete. Pull this baby out, and it’ll drag your guts with it.
Our knives meet with a grating clash of metal on metal. Sparks fly, mirroring the ferocious energy between us. He lunges, aiming straight for my heart. I sidestep and swing, my blade singing as it slices through the air and cleanly severs three of Aleks’ fingers.
He screams, clutching his mangled hand to his chest. But I’m far from done. Before he can recover, I swing my knife again, slashing the blade across his legs, tearing through the fabric and flesh. He crumples to his knees, but I lift him by the collar, holding him up like a limp doll.
