Tall. Broad. Blond hair cropped short. Ice-blue eyes that scan the room with predatory calm.
Russian.
One of Dmitri's men.
He sees Alejandro.
Raises his weapon.
Fires.
The bullet catches Alejandro in the leg.
He screams. Drops.
His gun clatters across the floor.
I move.
My foot connects with the weapon. Sends it spinning out of reach.
Alejandro tries to stand. His leg buckles. Blood pools beneath him.
"You—" He looks up at me. Understanding dawns in his eyes. "You fucking?—"
I put my foot on his throat.
Press down.
He chokes. Claws at my ankle. His fingers scrape uselessly against my shoe.
I lean forward.
Let him see my face.
Let him see the truth.
"Lorenzo sends his regards," I say.
His eyes go wide.
"He's—"
"Alive." I press harder. Watch his face turn red. "Very much alive. And very eager to meet you."
Alejandro's mouth opens. Closes. No sound comes out.
I ease the pressure. Just enough to let him breathe.
"You thought you were so clever," I continue. "Thought you had me figured out. The broken orphan. The loyal dog. So desperate for family he'd betray the only one he's ever known."
I crouch down. Keep my foot on his throat.
"You were half right."
His chest heaves. Blood soaks through his pants. Spreads across the marble floor.
"I am desperate for family," I say. "But you're not my family. You're the man who murdered them."
