“Drop your weapons,” I say to the guards. “It’ll only take a little pressure to make him bleed out like a pig.”
“Shoot him,” Stefanov yells.
The guards aim their guns, undecided. If they shoot at my hand, they’ll put a bullet in his neck. They can’t shoot at my head without going through his skull. They’ve been trained to protect Stefanov, and that training won’t allow them to take an uncalculated risk.
“Shoot the woman,” Stefanov says, gurgling as I tighten my grip.
“You shoot her,” I say, “and your wife is dead.”
On cue, a woman’s shrill voice sounds from the top of the stairs. “Don’t shoot, Vlad! It’s Galina. Please. They have me.”
Stefanov curses as footsteps fall on the stairs. A group of men filter through the door. They’re armed to the teeth, carrying grenades, combat knives, and AK-47s. Dimitri follows with Galina, pointing a gun at the back of her head. Igor comes in behind them, wiping his brow with his sleeve when he spots me.
“Yob tvoyu mat’,” Stefanov mumbles.
I address Igor. “Take Katerina. Get her out of here.”
“I’m not leaving you,” she says as Igor rushes over.
She’s too brave for her own good.
“You heard Alex,” Igor says. “Let’s go, Kate.”
“Let’s fight it out,” Stefanov says defiantly. “Man to man.”
“Don’t do it,” Katerina cries out when Igor takes her arm and drags her to the door. “He’ll fight dirty. Come with me, Alex. Don’t let revenge muddle your decisions.”
Her voice washes over me, the sweet sound grounding instead of distracting me. I’ve never been more present in the moment. My mind has never been clearer.
“I love you,” I say.
She stills at that. Momentarily, so does Igor. It’s not the place or time, but I owed her those words. I needed to say them before things got even uglier.
Giving up her struggling, she nods. With that single gesture, she offers me acceptance. Her trust warms my chest with pride. I came here expecting many reactions. At the top of my list was blame. It’s my fault she’s in this mess. But when she follows Igor past me, her soft hazel eyes are like mirrors, reflecting what I feel in my heart. Her lashes lower and lift. In one blink, she tells me everything I want to know. She tells me that she’s mine, and that she’ll love me regardless.
The hatred dissipates, turning into icy calmness. I’m cool and collected. The power I’ve given Stefanov by hating him vanishes. Just like that, he doesn’t count any longer. His actions don’t touch me. He’s just a bag of filth that needs to be dealt with. A loose end that needs tying.
Even though I’ve acquired all this power and wealth, I’ve never felt truly happy or free. My past has always hovered like an invisible sword over my head. I’ve blamed myself for my parents’ deaths. I’ve lain awake at night, thinking that I should’ve smelled the gas leak, that I should’ve told my father not to smoke in the apartment. I’ve beaten myself up for reading my comic books and not paying attention to a faulty stove that was right under my nose. Now, for the first time since my parents’ death, I taste the sweetness of freedom as the shackles of my past fall away.
Dimitri pushes Galina to the center of the floor. “The house is surrounded. Stefanov’s men surrendered.” He gives Galina a nudge. “Tell him.”
“It’s true,” she says through her tears. “They’ve taken away all the weapons and locked everyone in the lounge.”
“Casualties?” I ask.
“Two of Stefanov’s men,” Dimitri says. “We caught them by surprise.”
Squeezing Stefanov’s neck, I say to his men, “No one else needs to die. Lower your weapons.”
Stefanov chokes out, “They’ll kill you.”
“You’re outnumbered,” I continue, ignoring him. “Don’t be foolish. Put your weapons down. Unlike your ex-boss, we don’t shoot unarmed men. I’ll offer any man who pledges his loyalty to me a job.”
Spit flies from Stefanov’s mouth. “He’s lying.”
I press the point of the shard hard enough to break his skin. “Pavlov’s family wants revenge. Not to mention Ivan Besov, on whose back you’ve slapped a target.”
He goes quiet.
My chuckle is condescending. “By now, Pavlov’s family has already retrieved Oleg’s head from your freezer. You know that as well as I do.”
He drags in a labored breath. “Kill me, and you’re nothing but a cold-blooded murderer too.”
I laugh coldly. “Which of us isn’t? We all have blood on our hands. Still, no one wants to support a traitor.” I turn to my men. “Take his guards upstairs and lock them up with the others.”
Stefanov’s guards don’t argue. They walk from the room like a flock of sheep following their new shepherd.
When only Dimitri, Stefanov, and his wife are left, I address her. “Do you want to die with him?”
She shakes her head, making her blond hair fly to the sides. “No. Please, no.”
“Piece of shit,” Stefanov says under his breath. “Some wife you are.”
She spits at his feet. “Damn you to hell, Vladimir Stefanov. May you burn there.”
I nod toward the stairs. “Take her.”
As Dimitri turns with his charge, Stefanov moves with startling agility for a man his size. Pulling back an arm, he slams an elbow into my stomach. The blow knocks the air from my lungs. The moment my grip loosens, he twists in my hold and plants a fist into my jaw. The force makes me stumble. Off balance, I barely have time to ward off the next punch he aims at my face.
Yanking the shard from my hand, he jabs it into my side where my coat and jacket have fallen open. The pain burns cold. It’s a sensation I’m intimately familiar with. I was assaulted with various sharpened objects while I lived on the streets. I know how to block it out and use the adrenaline to focus on my opponent’s moves.
Dimitri doesn’t fire. Our fights are always fair. Stefanov takes a wide stance, breathing hard. He’s severely overweight and unfit. He hasn’t done his own fighting in years. In the second he catches his breath, I strike. Slicing with the other shard, I cut his face from his eyebrow to his lip.
Blood spurts over his eye. It looks worse than it is—a head wound always pisses blood—but he squeals like a pig being slaughtered.
Galina screams.
Stefanov comes for me, but the blood pouring over his face blinds him. He’s stabbing at air. Grabbing his wrist, I squeeze hard enough to crack his bones. He utters a cry and splays his fingers, dropping his weapon.
“That’s better,” I croon, bending his arm behind his back.
Dimitri throws me a pistol.
I push the barrel between Stefanov’s shoulder blades. “Walk.”
We go up the stairs, following in Dimitri and Galina’s wake. I move my coat away and steal a glance at my side. Blood drips through the tear in my shirt. The cut needs stitches, but it’ll have to wait.
“Get everyone out of the house,” I tell Dimitri. “Leonid will know where to take them.”
While Dimitri and Galina go to the lounge, I shove Stefanov ahead of me to the kitchen. “Don’t move. If I shoot you in the back, you’ll finish your life in a wheelchair. I don’t imagine it’s the kind of life a bratva boss wants.”