“What the hell?” He taps the screen frantically then looks up at the dead cameras. His face contorts with rage. “What did you do?”
“Leveled the playing field.” I meet his gaze calmly. “You’re not the only one who can plan an ambush, Lorenzo.”
He crosses to me in two strides, his hand raised to strike. I brace for the blow, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, he grabs my arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he searches me roughly.
His hand finds the jammer taped to my thigh, and he rips it free with a snarl.
“Clever little bitch.” He crushes the device under his heel. “But ultimately pointless. The cameras are just for show. Mikhail’s still coming, and you’re still going to die.”
“Maybe.” I watch as he pulls out a knife, the blade catching the dim warehouse light. “But at least he won’t have to watch.”
Lorenzo presses the knife against my throat, the edge cold and sharp. “I don’t need cameras to make him suffer. I’ll just make sure there’s enough of you left for him to recognize.”
My pulse hammers against the blade, but I force myself to breathe slowly.
In through my nose, out through my mouth.
The technique Mikhail taught me during our weapons training.
Stay calm.
Wait for your opening.
“You know what’s funny?” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “You spent all this time trying to break Mikhail, trying to turn him into a monster. But you succeeded. And now you’re going to find out exactly what kind of monster you created.”
Lorenzo’s hand trembles slightly. Just a fraction, but I feel it. “He’s not coming to save you. He’s coming to die.”
“No.” I smile, and I know it must look slightly unhinged because Lorenzo actually takes a step back. “He’s coming to end you. And I’m going to help him do it.”
The knife lowers slightly. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just learned from the best.” I rattle my chain deliberately. “You taught me something important, Lorenzo. You taught me that sometimes the only way to win is to become the thing you fear most.”
Before he can respond, I hear it.
The distant rumble of engines.
Multiple vehicles approaching fast.
Lorenzo hears it too.
His head snaps toward the warehouse entrance.
For the first time, I see genuine uncertainty cross his face.
“Right on time,” I murmur.
Lorenzo spins back to me, the knife rising again. “You think he can save you? I have twenty men in this building. Twenty trained killers who will cut him down the moment he walks through that door.”
“I’m counting on it.” I lean forward as far as the chain allows. “Because while they’re focused on him, they won’t be watching me.”
His eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I close my eyes and count. Five. Four. Three. Two.
The warehouse doors explode inward with a deafening crash.
