His gaze lands on me.
For a split second, his eyes lock onto mine. He sees the blood. The ropes.
Yet, he doesn't flinch.
"Konstantin," Moretti calls out, arms wide. "Welcome to the slaughterhouse."
Konstantin walks forward. His boots echo on the concrete.
He doesn't have a gun drawn, but the way he carries himself makes every sniper shift their weight. They aren't looking at a target; they're looking at a monster.
He stops five yards from Moretti. Stands tall, his shoulders broad, dominating the space. Even surrounded by guns, he looks like the most dangerous thing in the room.
"Where’s the tablet?" Moretti asks.
Konstantin reaches into his jacket and pulls out the thin slate of black glass.
The tablet.
My heart stops. He's giving it away.
Those weapons were his guaranteed victory, the raw firepower he needed to annihilate Moretti and the Italians for the blood they spilled. He's throwing away years of planning and the crown he bled for, all for a woman who betrayed him.
He’s trading his long-awaited blood-debt for me.
"Arthur," Konstantin says. He doesn't look at my father, but his voice cracks like a whip. "I see you finally picked a side. I always knew you were a whore. I didn't know you were a cheap one."
Arthur bristles, face reddening. "You’re finished, boy. Hand it over."
Konstantin holds the tablet out.
"The tablet," he says. "You have what you wanted. Now give me my wife."
Moretti steps forward, snatching the device from Konstantin's hand. He looks at it like it's the Holy Grail, running his thumb over the glass.
"Beautiful," Moretti whispers. "The keys to the city."
Konstantin doesn't move. He doesn't even look at the device he gave away. His eyes are fixed on mine, burning with a quiet promise.
"Untie her. Now."
Moretti looks up, eyes dancing with malice. He tucks the tablet into his pocket.
He signals his men. They raise their rifles.
The air shifts. Violence is about to erupt.
"I could kill you right here," Moretti says. "I have guns pointed at your heart. I could end the great Konstantin with a snap of my fingers."
Konstantin doesn't blink or reach for a weapon. He stares with bored indifference. "Then do it."
Moretti laughs, shaking his head. "No. That would be too easy. Too quick." He steps closer, invading his space. "I want youto suffer, Russian. Soon, I’ll have your weapons. Your shipment. I’m going to take your missiles. Your explosives."
Moretti grins, his eyes dancing with a sick sort of joy.
"I’m not going to shoot you tonight," he says. "Death is too easy. I want you to wake up tomorrow with nothing. Want you to sit in your empty penthouse and watch the horizon. I want you to feel the exact moment my men use this tablet to unlock those crates. I want you to hear the ghost of your mother's scream when your own missiles level your territory."
Moretti leans in, searching for a crack in the mask. He wants a flinch. He wants the satisfaction of seeing the great Russian bear bleed.
