Perfect.
I pointed upward, and the four of us ascended the double staircase from opposite sides.
I hurried to the corner of a wall with Kirill sticking to my back, and Yury shadowed Maksim on the other side of the landing.
I peered around the corner into a hallway just as another guard began his rotation toward us. As soon as he caught a glimpse, he came rushing forward. I met him halfway, but he landed a glancing blow to my ribs. Kirill didn’t bother to intervene when I spun around, and the guard grabbed hold of me.
A snarl painted across my face. I wasn’t going to let this fuck get the best of me.
Backing down the hall and yanking him with me, I wedged my body against a wall.
Gripping both sides of his head, I brought his face down on my upthrust knee over and over again.
Blood spouted.
Bones crunched.
He didn’t even get a chance to howl.
I felt the struggle drain out of him and pushed him down to the floor.
I must have shoved the bridge of his nose up into his brain.
Shame about my trousers though.
There were other almost silent whumps from Maksim’s side of the top floor as he took down more of the enemy.
Kirill and I joined up with him and Yury with one last corridor to infiltrate.
Taking a quick look down the hallway, I spotted what appeared to be one final guard. He sat perched on a chair outside of a closed door.
Wordlessly, I held out my hand to Kirill, and he handed over his blade.
Hunkered down, I hurried to the sole remaining soldier, and he looked up. He blinked and jumped to his feet just as I reached him.
I made quick work with the knife’s incredibly sharp blade, cutting his Achilles tendons before severing the ligaments behind his knees.
Before he could scream in hellish pain, I slammed my bloodied hand over his mouth.
I put him on the floor where he flopped like a dying fish. Kneeling on top of him, I slammed his head back, opening a straight shot to his neck. And I slit his throat from ear to ear.
I cleaned off the blade and my hands, using his shirt.
The other three joined me as I rose to my feet, and the bastard bled out all over the expensive rug.
Oops.
I straightened my shirt, holstered my gun, put away my bolas.
Then I opened the door.
I found Marco Leone in bed reading a book and drinking cognac like all was right with his world despite the fact he’d literally just sold off his daughter.
He didn’t even look up as he said, “I didn’t call for you, Beppe.”
I took the greatest pleasure in saying, “No. You sure as hell didn’t.”
The crystal glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor beside his bed. “Arkady.”
“Isn’t this cozy?” I leaned against the doorjamb while Kirill, Maksim, and Yury entered the bedroom too.
Don Marco swung his legs off the bed, recognition flying across his hook-nosed face when he saw my papa. “Yury Zolotov.”
“Da.” The pakhan moved to him like a big Siberian bear, long arms already swinging.
He wrenched the smaller man to his feet with one big fist curled in the top of his pajamas.
“Arkady needs a word with you,” Yury said darkly.
22
Arkady Part Two
MY PAKHAN THRUST THE Italian papa toward me.
I captured Marco . . . with my fist flying up to connect with his jaw.
His head snapped back from the force of my blow, and he howled out some sort of garbled Italian.
I chuckled, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder.
A shoulder I then patted condescendingly. “All of your soldiers are dead just so you know exactly what you’re up against with me . . . and mine.”
Suddenly Lucia’s father looked very scared. He licked his lips nervously while gingerly touching his jaw. His gaze flitted from me and my brothers to our papa.
“No need to get dramatic though. Just tell me where Lucia is, you fucking lowlife.” My voice lowered to a menacing growl at the end.
“I don’t know. How would I know?” His words quivered and quaked.
So Yury took over interrogating him . . . with his fists.
And Yury was a big, battle-hardened man.
The first blast landed in Marco’s stomach, probably hard enough to make a stronger man cough up his lungs.
I guessed that was why the don began wheezing.
“Do I get a turn?” Maksim asked, shouldering his sniper rifle and wearing the meanest, most devious grin.
Don Marco Leone should change his name to Done Marco Leone.
I smirked because he looked like he was about to piss himself in his pressed pjs after gleaning Maksim’s deadly intent.
“Nyet,” Yury answered.
He threw his heavy fist into the other man’s kidney next, laughing when Marco barked in pain.
“Too much fun for me,” Yury said.
Who were we to disagree with our pakhan?
He smashed into the other kidney then glanced at me with a sinister grin. “This also reminds me of my youth.”
Lucia’s father all but crumpled under Papa’s brute force yet he didn’t talk.
“My turn,” I ordered in a steely voice.
Normally I’d never go against Yury, but Lucia was my woman.
The pakhan shrugged then dropped the man who collapsed in a gasping heap on the floor.
His organs had probably already been rearranged within his skinbag.
Oh well.
I crouched next to him and shook my head in disappointment.
Then I squeezed on his cheeks until his mouth opened.
“Please,” he whispered, tears leaking from his eyes.
I snorted. “I think I heard your daughter say the same thing to you, but you know how that went down.”
My knee fell to his sternum, and he gasped.
With his mouth wide open, I wrapped my boleadoras around one hand. Then, with limitless patience, I stuffed the stone-filled bags into his mouth.
His eyes bugged out.
When it seemed like he would pass out from the pressure, I gave him a slight reprieve. But really, that was just to toy with him. Before he could catch his breath, I forced one small bag then another into his esophagus as he tried to retch them out.
He gargled, gagging, eyes wide open and watering.
“Interesting,” Yury commented. “Have never seen this before. Almost like lightbulb torture from old days. Why did you not bring me back a bolas from your honeymoon, Kirill?”
Clearly he was enjoying his night out with the boys.
When I sank the third bag inside, Don Marco’s throat bulged.
“Next time I will get you a bolas, Papa,” Kirill answered
Lucia’s father heaved upward, clawing at his neck.
I brought my face closer to his. “Where is she?”
He nodded frantically, and I slowly eased the saliva-wet bags back out of his esophagus but left them in his mouth.
One slam of my fist to his chin, and I’d shatter his jawbone to pieces.
“Where?” I snarled as he sucked in as much air as he could.
“Airport. Tomorrow. Flight to Italy.” He spoke as if around a mouthful of marbles, which made sense considering.
“What fucking time?” I primed my fist, making my intentions clear.
“Nine thirty. Tomorrow night. Alitalia.”
“Good.” I patted his bulging cheeks then removed the stones all the way.