The temptation to back down and take the safer route hums low in my chest, dark and dangerous.
War has a clarity to it. There is no mistaking who stands with you and who’s against you when the streets are painted red. When bullets fly and chaos strips away pretense and leaves only truth.
But war also has a cost. It does not discriminate. It takes men who never asked to bleed for a name. And in the end, it leaves an empire cracked down the middle, no matter who claims victory.
I cannot afford an empire in ruins. Yet in the same breath, Lev is right. We have worked too hard to get to where we are just to roll over at the first sign of a gun being held to our heads.
A soft rumble escapes me. “We will need soldiers. Many of them if we’re to go up against our old allies.”
Katya exhales sharply, her shoulders still rigid with unease. “You mean to make the meet a trap, then?”
I turn my head slowly, eyes narrowing on her. “I mean to make them meet his grave.”
Roman leans forward, elbows braced on the table. His gaze flicks to mine, steady and unflinching. “Then we’ll get everything in place before you step foot anywhere near Anton. Surveillance, eyes on every exit, snipers where he won’t expect them.”
“And scouts sweeping for his men, taking them out as we move in,” Lev adds, falling back into his usual stoniness. “He’ll flood the streets with soldiers to exhaust us before we get to him. You’ll be walking into an army.”
“Then we’ll bring two,” I say simply. “We’ll meet him where he’s cowering instead. There’s no reason to trouble ourselves with negotiations. When Matvey finds their location, we’ll go.”
Katya’s lips curve in a slow, dangerous smile, cigarette burning forgotten between her fingers. “It seems ourPakhanhas returned to his senses after all.”
I let a soft scoff leave me.
Anton thinks he has me cornered. What he has dug is his own open grave waiting to be filled.
22
IVY
The slap snaps my head sideways, the metallic tang of blood instantly coating my tongue. My cheek burns, skin stinging where his ring cuts deep as it wakes me from my dreamless sleep.
I bite down on the sound clawing up my throat. I won’t give them the satisfaction of hearing me cry out.
One of Anton’s men grips my hair, jerking my head back until my scalp screams. My eyes are forced up to meet his sneer. “Pakhan’slittle toy. Not so pretty now, are you?”
Another blow follows, a fist in my ribs this time, hard enough to blur my vision. My wrists strain uselessly against the ties biting into them, my shoulders aching from still being bound behind the chair.
Every breath rattles through my body, shallow pulls that hurt more than they help. My body is trembling, but I clamp my jaw shut, hold his gaze, refusing to let him see me shatter because I know that’s exactly what he wants.
Because if I do, I know I’ll never make it out of this alive.
There’s a large metal table next to where I’m sitting. On the surface of it are tools laid out in a macabre display. The glint in the light overhead is taunting me.
The only reason I haven’t been chopped into little bits and sent back to Maksim in a box is because they need me alive. They need me as a pressure point to force Maksim to cave to their whims. It’s sickening, being stuck in a room with these men—thesecowards.
Who double-crosses their leader?
Anton watches from the corner, perfectly composed, swirling liquor in his glass like I’m nothing more than a stage play for his amusement. He hasn’t laid a finger on me, and for some reason, that makes all of this worse.
He’s saving himself for the finale, and every second of anticipation drags like barbed wire through my veins.
“Your man will crawl,” Anton’s soldier grins at me. He’s missing a front tooth, the others decaying and blackened. His breath stinks of liquor and rot. “He’ll beg. And when he does, we’ll make him kneel in front of you as we slit your throat. He’ll be soaked in your blood as you die in his arms. How fun will that be?”
I close my eyes. Maksim’s face rises in my mind unbidden, stern and steady, that calm, dangerous focus he wears like armor pinching his features. My stomach twists with terror that I’ll never see him again, or when I do, it really will be at my death site.
At least this confirms he’s really alive.
The door behind Anton rattles.
