Chapter 56 Precipice
Precipice
Isla
"When you shoot, point exactly where you want the bullet to go through. And hold the gun with both hands. Try." Sergei barked out instructions, and I listened intently.
I pressed the trigger, and my hands went numb from the violent recoil. “Not bad for your first time; try again.” He spoke coldly, and I did as he told me. "Remember, bullets fly fast, so don't try to dodge it. That’s how you get one in the chest.”
Sergei's eye was starting to lightly bruise from my punch, and I fucking loved it. He had a number of other injuries on his face, and I wondered what the hell happened to him.
"You will fucking stay away, Isla. Do not fucking argue with me.” He withdrew the gun from my hands, pointing it down. “This is just in case it all goes to shit and everyone starts dying. At least you'll be able to extend your life for a few minutes if you know how to shoot."
"Okay, sure." I watched him load the gun, aiming it where I’d just sent the bullet.
Earlier, on the plane, Sergei called his contacts in Russia. I didn't know how any of it was possible, but we were waiting for something like a mercenary army to arrive, consisting of ten men.
They were on their way, and in the meantime, Sergei drove me to the middle of nowhere, insisting that I learn how to shoot.
"How much are you paying these guys?" I dared ask.
"A fucking shit ton.” He barely looked at me. “But they’re professionals, so…they're worth it." He stopped shouting, finally.
"Why didn't you just do this before? Why did you have to make me beg?" This seemed obvious now if he had access to this kind of strength.
He flicked his eyes to me, away from the weapon in his hands.
Like a match being lit, he was annoyed and angry immediately.
"Because Isla.” He tilted his head in frustration.
“Because Roman made me promise to get you out, okay?
! He didn't want to consider storming Giovanni's place because he didn't want to put you in danger. In fact! We may all fucking die tonight.” He splayed his hands in the cold air, as if the answer was obvious.
“Because I'm sure he has the whole fucking place buzzing with explosives. Let’s go.”
In silence, he drove us back to the private jet, and once on board, he pulled out a duffel bag from underneath a seat and withdrew my coat. Couldn't have done that before, could he? Then, he approached a tiny closet and pulled out a bullet-proof vest, throwing it at me just like the coat.
"Put it on. This is non-negotiable."
Not wanting to get into another argument, I took my sweater off and picked up the vest, having no fucking clue which way was front or back. Sergei watched me for a beat and then let out an annoyed tsk and yanked it out of my hands.
“Put your hands up.” With rough, impatient movements, he tugged it on me and then spun me around to adjust it.
"What the fuck is on your neck?" He spoke from behind me, his voice drenched in something akin to concern. I realized the whip marks must have caught his attention. I didn’t respond, but he probed again. "What happened? These look fresh."
"John whipped me one day. When I refused to say what he wanted.
On the video." The memory infiltrated my mind once more—John raising his arm to bring the leather down on my back, again and again. I shook on the floor, my teeth chattered from the pain, but he didn’t even blink.
He just stood there, calm, waiting it out.
Sergei turned me back around to face him, disgust and disbelief shining in his eyes. “He whipped you? Like…with a whip?"
Yes, obviously. What else do you whip someone with?
"No, man, with a feather." I couldn't stop the sarcasm spilling out of me. "Yes, with a whip. Are you also fucking stupid, besides being violent and aggressive?"
Once again, annoyance and anger settled on his face. "Fuck, you really are a fucking brat, aren't you?" Sergei spat back with irritation. He huffed and turned away, choosing to ignore my existence. I put on my sweater and jacket and slumped into a seat, finally feeling some semblance of warmth.
I sat silently and merely waited, staring at nothing. Where was Roman? What was happening to him? He could already be dead for all we knew, and this was just us all walking to our deaths.
Time ticked by, and dusk began to settle on the surrounding Italian landscape. After hours of silence, I noticed a few cars pull up outside the jet and spoke up. "Who are these people?"
"Rental cars.” Sergei didn’t look up from his phone. “There are ten guys coming; we're going to have to get there somehow. I take it you're not really a military mastermind." Every chance he got, he tried to put me down, but the joke was on him because I didn’t give a fuck how he felt.
"How did you figure out his name was Giovanni?" I remembered he called him that out of nowhere. He looked up for a brief second but didn’t answer. "Who told you?"
"No one told me. I knew who he was before Roman ordered a hit on your dad, I just didn't tell him.” Of course he didn’t. What a piece of shit. “I also didn't fucking know you were Dave's daughter until like a week ago. And then it hit me—who he was."
Sergei’s answer made my blood boil, and it threw me back into a flashback that had nothing to do with the situation we found ourselves in. "Did you call those girls to Roman's apartment when we were dating? In August?"
Sergei was silent for a mere few seconds before he confirmed it with a laugh. "Yeah!" My face flushed red at his lighthearted answer.
"Why would you do that? What were you trying to achieve?" The memory still made me angry as fuck—the way they barged in, touched Roman’s arm, and treated me like garbage.
Once again, Sergei’s response was accompanied by a chuckle. "I dunno.” He shrugged without any interest. “Just thought it would be funny. Were you shocked when they came?"
What a sick and twisted psycho. But the sound of an airplane engine somewhere nearby broke through all my anger.
“Let’s go.” Sergei motioned for me to follow him, and we stepped out into the brisk March evening.
The cold air nipped away at my cheeks as we both stood on the pavement and watched absolute giants exit the private jet. Dressed in black, they looked like they were ready for combat. Automatic weapons hung off their shoulders, their heavy boots pounding the pavement with every step.
Sergei approached one of them, and they shook hands, greeting each other in Russian while the others looked at me curiously, like I was some weird zoo attraction.
The man Sergei was speaking with tilted his head and jutted his chin out at me, asking Sergei something in Russian. Miraculously, I understood the two words. Kto ona? Who is she?
Sergei launched into an explanation, but the man shook his head, responding with what I guessed were words of discouragement about me coming along.
I didn't even wait for Sergei to translate. "I'm coming with; that is non-negotiable." I threw Sergei's words back at him as soon as he turned to me. He rolled his eyes and waved me off, continuing his conversation with the man who looked me over in contemplation.
"We don't have all fucking night. Let's go." I was losing all patience, but the unknown Russian man turned to me, gracing me with the thickest Russian accent I’d ever heard.
"When you hurry, you only make people laugh. You have that expression?" he asked me, amused, but I was fucking done with everyone's bullshit.
"No,” I deadpanned. “We have another expression—time is money. Ever heard of that one? You want to get paid? Let's fucking go."
That shut both of them up, but then Sergei grabbed my arm and quickly led me away to a waiting car. "You need to shut your big fucking mouth, you hear me?" He threw a warning my way, oblivious to the fact that his words meant nothing to me.
I yanked my arm out of his hand and finally stood up to him.
"Don't fucking talk to me like that.” I got right in his face, ready to punch him again.
“Why are you delaying? Are you fucking scared?
Then fucking grow a pair. I have bigger balls than you.
We're getting Roman out, and we have no more time to wait.
I'll stay away, just like you told me." I finished sweetly, and before he could serve me a comeback, I swung the passenger seat door open and hopped inside.
Huffing and puffing, he rounded the car and climbed into the driver’s seat just as all the other men made their way to the other vehicles. We picked up two heavyweights from the plane and set off.
Fuck. I had no clue what the fuck we were supposed to do. Storm a house? A villa? A hotel room? Were we even sure John brought Roman to the same place I had been at?
"How do we even know where they are?" I asked, my voice sounding a lot less confident than before.
"I placed a tracker in his phone and in the heel of his shoe because I had a sneaky suspicion you were going to be a complete fucking nightmare and make me risk my life for him.” Sergei sped down an almost pitch-black road toward the unknown.
“It wasn’t easy. We had a big argument about him wearing those specific shoes before we left.
Like a married couple,” he explained, full of vitriol.
Wow. Maybe he wasn’t rotten to the core.
Panic surged through me with every passing minute until Sergei pulled into a small town, navigating through narrow streets and past beautiful homes.
He drove further until the properties became larger and the lights scarcer.
Finally, he turned off the headlights of the car and stopped in what looked like a courtyard of an old church.
We all sat motionless for a few seconds until he turned to me and spoke seriously, all of his previous anger gone.
"We probably have about five minutes before someone hears the commotion and calls the police. The cops will arrive in another ten. That’s fifteen minutes.
In that timeframe, we have to disarm him and his men, find Roman and get him out, and not get blown up.
That’s a lot of shit, and we’re going in blind.
” He nodded, and I did too. “Your job is to turn this car around and sit here and wait.” He leaned in and enunciated that word, staring right into my eyes.
“If I'm alive, I will bring Roman, and you will drive us all off. Understand?"
At this moment it dawned on me that Sergei was actually risking his life. He wasn't sure if he would come out of there alive. Fuck. Obviously, I had no way to imagine what would happen, but Sergei had no illusions about what we were doing.
"I understand." I nodded and assured him.
"Okay.” He agreed and placed a cross on himself with his fingers. “With God."
At this, all the men exited the car and headed into the darkness, rounding the corner of the church and disappearing from view.
There were zero guarantees tonight—I had no idea if I was going to see Roman or if I would still have my life.
Alone, in total darkness, I relaxed. I was on the precipice of something sinister and life-changing. I felt it. And something ugly reared its head inside me.
Thirst for revenge.
I wasn’t angry anymore. I was just broken. My father decided to partner with a man who was destroying my life, and I had a chance to finally end him. I didn’t want to leave that chance up to fate—I wanted to do it.
Like Sergei instructed, I turned the car around and, without much thought, grabbed the handgun he left me and stepped out. I rounded the corner of the old stone building just like I watched Sergei do a few minutes ago and set off toward a grand estate that caught my eye immediately.
It stood in the middle of a clearing, and right behind it were the green hills and tall hedges that I looked out on while trapped inside. What a beautiful and ill-omened mansion.
Everything was amplified tonight. The wind lashed against my cheeks like John’s whip. The handgun added a delectable weight. My feet pounded the soft earth, connecting me to something bigger, something way more important than I was.
My fate. My destiny.
I was alive. The closer I approached, the more pronounced it all became. Gunshots, men’s shouts, and a flicker of lights. My heart thudded faster, and my legs picked up speed.
My vision was crystal clear—the front door was open, and inside the illuminated interiors was John, standing in the middle of the hallway. Alone.
I was in a trance; there was nothing else, just him…as if waiting for me. So I walked right in, and his eyes darted to me, widening in shock for a mere second.
“Oh, Isla. You couldn’t let your man go, coul—”
“Shut the fuck up!” The words flew out of me, cutting off the hushed Russian speech somewhere around. I had no idea who was there—I didn’t fucking care.
Just like Sergei taught me a few hours ago, I pointed my gun at John. “Get on your knees,” I commanded, my voice loud, clear, and absolute like never before.
But John looked me over like a doting father again, unable to let the act go. “Are you going to shoot me, dear?” he whispered, talking to me like I was a child.
That’s fucking right.
I pressed the trigger just as I was taught, aiming right at his knee. The effect was immediate—John collapsed onto his knees, desperately clutching at his thigh where the bullet shattered him. “Argh!” He let out an animalistic sound, his whole body contorting in pain.
It was jarring. I’d just fucking shot him!
But it wasn’t enough to stop me.
He locked me up. He mutilated my back. He humiliated me and drove me insane in isolation. He played me like a pawn! He was going to kill the love of my life, and I would fucking burn the world down before I let that happen! Roman may have killed my parents, but he was my devil.
But John…John deserved to burn in hell. John deserved to feel the pain for all his actions.
"Isla…” John choked out, looking me over in shock. “You're not like Ro—" he struggled to get the words out, but I wasn't going to fucking listen to him!
"I'm not, John. I'm like my father.” I could smile kindly too! “You can't fight the blood that runs in your veins, can you, John?" I took a step closer, pressing the barrel of the gun right to his forehead.
Every single nerve ending was screaming in agony, screaming at me not to do this, but I’d never felt more in control and more confident than with a gun in my hand and John at my mercy.
His hands shook around his injury as he stood on his knees, huffing, his eyes looking into mine, pleading, begging, asking for compassion.
But tonight…I had none left.