“My mother used to say that happens when a spirit enters a room.”
A gust of wind barrels through the door, blowing a leaf inside.
“It’s just the wind, darling. I left the door open.”
Not seeming convinced, she bites her lip.
I chuckle at her superstitiousness. It’s not a side of her I know. It’s cute, though.
Turning my attention back to the box, I hold my breath and grip the edge of the cloth.
This is it, the moment I’ve waited years for. Now that the time has come, it feels unreal. But Tatiana’s shallow breathing assures me this is as real as it gets. So do the shadows that shift over the floor as, behind the windows, clouds move in front of the moon.
When I flick back the cloth, I almost expect a dirty trick like a jack-in-the-box jumping out. Instead, hundreds of diamonds set in an intricate necklace lie before me, glittering like stars against a black sky.
The sight is too much to process. My brain battles to believe what my eyes are seeing. Needing to reassure myself that it’s not a wicked illusion, a cruel trick of my mind, I lift the necklace from the box. I’ve forgotten how heavy it is, how, when I slip the stones between my fingers, they flow like droplets of cool water over my skin.
Magnificent.
A king’s gift for his most beloved conquest.
The moment is huge, the victory so damn sweet.
This is for you, Lee.
Ingenious.
Not just the theft but also the hiding place. Milena left the necklace where no one would’ve thought to look for it. I imagined it tucked away safely under lock and key and the most sophisticated alarm system in the world. How long did it take Milena to loosen a tile and dig out the hole? Is that what she was doing here at night? Of course, she never planned on leaving the necklace here for so long, hidden behind an altar where several feet passed multiple times per day. She always meant to come get it and sell it on the black market when she escaped with her daughter.
I’m so fixated on the sight and feel of the necklace in my hands, so drunk on the elation, that I don’t register the movement in the shadows of the alcove until it’s almost too late.
“Tatiana! Get down!”
Curling the fingers of one hand around the necklace, I reach for my gun with the other. A shot echoes in the acoustic space, the sound bouncing off the walls. Before I can pinpoint from where it’s been fired, a man bursts from the darkness and tackles me to the floor.
From somewhere behind me, Tatiana’s scream reaches my ears.
We roll over the floor, my grip on the necklace loosening as we fight for our lives. His face is obscured by a ski mask. He wears a dark hoodie and sweatpants. Black sneakers. The guy is a professional. He knows how to blend into the night.
When he pins my arm down with a knee, immobilizing the hand in which I hold the gun, I drop the necklace and grab his wrist. He fights my hold, pressing his barrel between my eyes. I force his hand up before he can shoot me in the head and, putting all my strength behind the movement, use the momentum to whack him on the forehead with the shaft of his own gun.
He grunts but doesn’t let up. He’s got some bulk on his body. His weight is an advantage, but I have more muscle strength. He’s an experienced fighter, though, blocking the knee I bring up and putting a good effort into wrestling himself from the iron grip of the fingers I’ve got locked around his wrist. He tries to pry my fingers open with his free hand. Seeing that it’s useless, he claws at my face. He stabs a thumb at my eye, but having expected that move, I jerk my face to the side. The knee he grinds into my forearm where he’s still pinning it on the floor hurts like a fucking bitch.
I squeeze his wrist hard enough to crack the bones. Finally, he drops the gun. When I try to rip off the mask, he rolls us around and presses me on the floor. I attempt to lift my gun, but I can’t feel my arm. My muscles don’t respond to the command of my brain. Pins and needles shoot up the limb as the blood flow returns. It’s going to take a couple of seconds before I regain functionality.
The fist he slams into my face swings my head sideways. The crunch that follows as he decks me again is my nose breaking.
Using the moment to his advantage, he jumps to his feet and kicks the gun from my hand. It slides over the floor, stopping at the edge of the steps. Tatiana is crouched behind the altar, screaming at the top of her lungs. If my men aren’t reacting to those screams, it can only mean they’re dead. The motherfucker must’ve surprised them.
When he aims a kick at my ribs, I grasp his ankle in both hands and yank hard. He lands on his tailbone, grunting from the impact. Diving for him, I grab him around the neck and drive my knee into his gut as I cut off his airflow. Yeah, a fistfight is much fairer. I’m looking forward to turning his face into pulp.
He slams his fists into my ribs, trying to loosen my hold on his neck. When that doesn’t work, he bucks like a bull and slaps his palms hard on my ears. Ignoring the pressure that explodes with sickening pain in my skull, I squeeze harder. Already, veins are popping in his bulging eyes.
I take stock of the situation with a single glance. My gun lies a few steps away. His is within reach, lying not far from the necklace that looks like a heap of shiny teardrops on the floor.
My assailant puts up a decent fight, but eventually, he goes slack. The moment he does, I reach for his gun. Just as I’m about to lock my fingers around the barrel, he brings his fist down on my temple. Blackness invades my vision. My eyes go out of focus. I blink, forcing myself not to give in to the haziness that threatens to overtake me.
The man pushes me off of him and uses the corner of the altar to pull himself up.
