He’s going to kill me.
And then he’s going to kill Paige, and everyone else in this house—everyone who has ever meant anything to me. Mallorie, my mother…
“This isn’t just about the deal is it?” I ask in a raised voice, trying to stall him until someone—anyone—realizes he’s here and can distract him for just a second so I can lock Paige’s door somehow. “You must spin these deals all the time. This one is no different to any other.”
He cocks his head, seemingly appeased by my estimation of him.
“You’re not just a dumb blond, are you?” he sneers. “I warned Gerard not to underestimate you, but he never listened.”
“So,” I continue, “what is this about? Really?”
“It’s about sending a message,” he answers, easily.
“What kind of message?”
His grip tightens around the blade. “That the Russians are not to be fucked with.”
“Who needs to receive the message?” I know the answer but I need to draw this ‘conversation’ out.
“The Italians of course.”
“Why? They never bothered you before?” I have no idea if they did or not but something tells me I need to let him think I know more than I do.
“You are correct. But they have greasy fucking hands that hold tight to things I want.”
“Like what?” I try to contain the tremor in my voice.
“Like Manhattan.”
My head swarms with confusion. The Di Santo’s own Manhattan. Not officially, of course, but everyone knows their influence is far greater than that of our governing and law enforcement bodies combined. That means the Russians tried to take control of Manhattan, but the Di Santo’s didn’t back down.
Augusto is a Di Santo. And there’s every chance he’s dead. So, what’s left to do? Send a very stark, brutal, over-the-top message. Anyone who gets in the way of Russian business pays. And so does anyone remotely close.
Morozov is here to kill us.
All of us.
He watches the realization infuse my face.
I take a breath, but he moves fast.
There’s no time to react before his hand closes around my throat and slams me back into the wall. Pain explodes through my shoulder, and my vision blacks out for a second.
Mindlessly, I claw at his wrist, kicking him wherever I can reach, fighting for everything I’ve got and everyone in my life. But nothing touches him. I’m too weak and ineffective—everything Gerard told me I am.
He laughs softly.
“Brave,” he says. “Useless. But brave.”
I stare at him for a moment, both of us still, and a quiet voice in my head whispers.
Now.
With all my might, I ram a knee up into his groin. His hold on me loosens enough that I can twist out of his grip. But in the corner of my eye the knife comes up. I don’t feel a thing because I’m falling against Paige’s door, pushing it open.
A gunshot makes me turn, and freeze. Morozov turns too.
Male voices fill the entrance. Morozov spins around and grabs my arm, yanking me back, fury flashing across his face now.
