“Tell me when you first saw me,” I demand. Tell me when did all this hell begin.
We’ve swung a full circle around the island now, but neither of us are showing any signs of slowing.
“It is not important. The past made a bad decision for the future, and you were a poor, poor decision, Ada. A little girl in a red and white school uniform who came with big problems as a woman. Perhaps that is why I like them so young. They are much less…complicated.”
“No, Kirill,” I say, swallowing down my disgust. “The past is made up of missed chances and excuses. It’s up to us to define the future away from the ruin of sick, depraved men like you.”
“And you think your future is with a dead man?” He chuckles darkly. “O’Sullivan is at his casino right now with enough firepower to end this war before it has begun.”
“You won’t win,” I taunt, forcing myself to believe my own words. Knowing that Frankie won’t go down without the mother of all fights for me. We have a life in the making now. We have so many others to mourn.
“We already have, meelaya. It is pathetic of you to think otherwise.”
“You’re scared of him. You and O’Sullivan. I saw it in your faces at the racecourse. The moment the shot rang out that killed Guido Rossi, you shared a look, and that’s when I knew. I think you’ve been running scared ever since you found out he’d killed Zaccaria.”
“I do not fear anything,” he snarls back, his pace increasing.
“How did you know he was back in London?”
“He was betrayed by one of his own.”
“Who?”
He switches direction suddenly and smirks at my soft cry of surprise. “There is no point in interrogating me, Ada. Whatever information you may or may not receive here is heading to a dark basement. Cian O’Sullivan satisfies a means for money, control, and…other things,” he adds nastily. “You think I like, or even respect the man? He is a durak. A fool. Drunk on his own importance. I could take him down any time I wanted, and I probably will soon enough.” He tilts his head to the side and scrapes his gaze down my body. “How are your legs? Do you think of that basement when they hurt? It was such a satisfying noise when your kneecaps shattered.”
“Did it make you feel like a man doing those things to a teenage girl?”
“I do not feel, Ada,” he scoffs. “I do not waste my time on stupid emotions.”
There’s only me and him left in this house now. I think of Frankie’s knife and gun hidden under my mattress upstairs. My only chance is to run for them, but I can’t move quickly enough. My knees don’t work that way anymore, and he’d catch me in no time.
Distraction.
“I know about Alex,” I blurt out, twisting the knife in my heart by mentioning him in his presence.
His smirk fades. “What about Alex?”
“I know he’s not mine.” I hold his gaze, filling the space between us with hatred. Using all he’s done to me over the years to fuel it. “My real son died in childbirth because of you. I blame you!” My voice starts to rise.
“You think I would have let you keep his child? I knew it was his right from the beginning.” He falls silent for a moment as we continue to circle, predator and prey. “You are such a stupid woman, Ada. You were so easy to fool.”
“What kind of monster steals a child to pass off as his own?” I’m close to the doorway now. From there, it’s the stairs, and then…
I have to get to Frankie. If I’m going to die, I’m doing so in his arms, not in O’Sullivan’s basement of nightmares.
Just then, Kirill’s phone starts ringing. His eyes stray from mine momentarily, and that’s when I make my move—darting across the kitchen and slamming the door behind me while he’s still a good ten metres away.
I hear his roar of anger, and now he’s chasing after me. The door bangs open again, and his heavy footsteps sound like thunder on the wooden floorboards. By then, I’ve already stumbled across the hallway and I’m halfway up the stairs.
“Come back, suka,” I hear him snarl. “There is nowhere left to run.”
My heart is juddering against the walls of my chest. Fear is chasing me as hard as my husband is. I’m nearly at the top stair, when my feet get swept out from under me, and I go down hard, gasping in pain and surprise as the carpet makes mincemeat out of my elbows, and my knees explode into agony again.
No. No. No.
On instinct, I kick out hard and my foot connects with Kirill’s face. An ugly crack arises from the breathless pants and curses, and a beat later, he’s driving his fist down into the base of my spine, sending shockwaves of pain around my body.
“You broke my fucking nose, suka!”
Another fist drives down into my thigh as I try to crawl away, sobbing in terror as I urge every bone and muscle in my body to move. A hand clamps around my ankle, and I kick out again with all my strength, connecting with another part of his face.
“Fuck what O’Sullivan wants. You better crawl as fast as you can, Ada, because when I catch up with you, I am going to beat you to death for this.”
I’m going to die. I’m going to die.
Every movement takes precision and concentration to stop me passing out from the pain. I’m leaving a trail of blood behind from the deep scrapes on my elbows.
Where is he? Why isn’t he following?
I hear his footsteps fade back downstairs, and then they’re louder again. I’ve crawled all the way to my bedroom door when his mocking voice rings out.
“You ran right past my weapon of choice in the hallway, Ada. Seems only right I break the rest of you with it.”
My blood turns to ice again.
He has a baseball bat.
I can hear him trailing it along the wall behind me now, a sinister scrape that makes me crawl faster.
He’s only a few metres away.
Tearing through my lip with my teeth, I force myself onto my hands and knees, jerking sideways with all my strength as he takes a swing and the metal bites into the door frame, splintering wood in all directions.
Throwing myself across the bed, I duck just in time before another swing destroys my bedside table and shatters my lamp, pelting me with shards of ceramic and glass.
“You want to know how we knew about Lastra, Ada?” he taunts. “You should not leave notes from your lover in your pillowcase for your housekeeper to find!”
Valeriya.
Watchful silent eyes waiting to ruin me.
I don’t roll away from his next swing quick enough and the tip of the baseball bat catches my hip.
“Shit!” I scream.
“Like that, did you?”
He swings again as I scramble to the other side of the bed and tumble to the floor.
Where’s the gun? Please don’t tell me Valeriya found the gun, too.
Ramming my hand under the mattress, I search frantically for the weapon as Kirill circles the bed, lifting his baseball bat for another swing. His nose is bleeding freely now, and his face is a red mess because of it.
“You were so pretty when you were a child,” he murmurs, as my fingers connect with cold steel. “And now you are so ugly and damaged.”
Not to Frankie.
Not to the only man who matters.