Chapter 41
GABBY
Afew minutes later, I’m tied to a metal chair in what used to be an office overlooking the warehouse floor. Half the blinds are broken and hanging at angles, stripes of sickly light cutting through the space. The air smells stale, with blood and the faint tinge of gunpowder mixing with it all.
Ruth is seated across from me, legs crossed, totally composed.
Down below, I watch as the men flip the bodies onto blue tarps.
They take them out one at a time, likely to dump them unceremoniously into some ditch.
Then their blood will be power-washed off the concrete, and it’ll be like they never existed.
And there’s a very good chance I’ll be joining them once I’ve outlived my usefulness.
It’s all so surreal. I’m possibly minutes away from losing not only my life, but the lives of my babies. I can’t think about it. I just have to focus on finding some way to get out of this mess.
“Comfortable?” she asks sweetly.
“Sure, it’s like I’m getting the deluxe death package, instead of the standard.”
Her smile sharpens. “There’s that little tongue of yours. You really are your mother’s daughter.”
The words hit like a slap to the face. I stiffen. “You knew my mother?”
“Not well.” She studies her manicure. “But I knew enough to know that she was a problem. Louisa always thought she could play in our world and not suffer the consequences. And when it all became too much, she thought she could simply slip out at her pleasure. Really, when you think about it, everything we’re dealing with now all comes back to her stupidly selfish decision to leave.
” She smiles again, as if realizing something humorous.
“And now her daughter is going to die because of her decisions.”
I shift in my seat. “You think you’ve got it all figured out. But you don’t know a goddamn thing.”
She laughs. “Don’t I? You’re just scared.”
“Not in the slightest.”
Another wry smile. “Denial always ran in your family. Your father has it in spades.”
“Well, when you’re pregnant, worry comes with the territory. Not that you’d know about loving anything more than yourself.”
“Oh, you think you’ve figured me out, hm?” Her eyes flick to my belly and back up. “Those babies. Such a lovely little complication.”
Her mention of the babies causes a fresh wave of nausea to roll through me. “If you think you can use them to make me beg, you’re wasting your goddamn time.”
“Oh, Gabriella.” She leans forward, a faux gentleness in her tone. “I’m not trying to make you beg.” She leans forward with a smile, as if we’re sharing gossip over brunch. “Let’s be very clear, love—I’m going to kill you. Don’t doubt that. That part’s settled.”
The words land cold and heavy between us. My heart skips a beat, but I try to remain as cool and composed as I possibly can. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me crack.
“Okay, so why are you talking my damn ear off? Bored? Or just a narcissist who can’t resist a captive audience?”
“No, this is more about legacy. I want you to die knowing what you’re about to start here, love.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor behind it. “You mean what you’re about to start. Take some responsibility for it.”
She ignores my comment. “Here’s how it goes,” she says. “You die. Clean, staged, and oh-so tragic. I’ll be sure to make it look like Peter ordered it.”
“You’re going to frame Peter.” Peter. My father.
“That’s exactly right, my dear.” Her tone takes on a chipper tone that makes me sick. “Sasha won’t just be mad—he’ll go on the goddamn warpath. The woman carrying his children killed by the Morozovs? He’ll burn down half of Chicago in revenge.”
“And Peter?”
“That’s the best part,” she says, her eyes gleaming. “Once you’re gone, I slip your father the truth, that Gabriella Resse is actually Gabriella Morozova. And that you were pregnant with his grandchildren when you died.”
My mouth is as dry as the desert. She doesn’t need to tell me what will happen next.
Her smile is low and terrible. “He’ll never forgive Sasha for hiding you. Never forgive him for letting you die. His pride, his grief… all of it turned into a terrible weapon.
“And Johan,” she goes on, waving a hand. “Once he learns that you were his sister and that Sasha kept it from him, he’ll feel betrayed.”
My head is starting to spin. “You don’t know Johan. He hates this shit. He’s not going to—”
“He hates chaos and he hates lies,” she cuts in. “And this is both. Father and son, united at last—the righteous Morozovs against the deceitful Orlovs. The war will be…” She exhales, practically orgasmic at the thought. “Brutal.”
I can see it. I can see it in horrible, horrible clarity. “You’re insane,” I whisper.
She smiles wider, showing off those perfect teeth. “No, I’m smart.”
“No, you’re delusional.” My anger is finally cutting through the fear. “You think you’re, what, going to just clear the chessboard and take over when the dust settles? These aren’t toddlers playing around, Ruth. They’ll kill you.”
“No, they won’t. The Morozovs and Orlovs are very evenly matched. I’m not sure how familiar with military history you are, but when two evenly matched armies meet each other on the field of battle, the results can be quite grim.”
“You’re sick. You’re talking about people’s lives.”
“And when they’ve finished tearing each other apart,” she continues, as if I hadn’t spoken, “there won’t be much of either of them left. Just lots and lots of very valuable scraps. And who better to collect what’s left and make good use of it?” She taps her chest lightly. “Moi, of course.”
I narrow my eyes at her, but the sly look on her face suggests she’s getting to the good part.
“I’m not going to let these two Bratvas beat each other into oblivion, of course. When they’ve reduced each other to a shadow of their former selves, that’s when I’ll step in from the sidelines on none other than Sasha’s side.”
“What?”
“That’s right. I’ll bring the O’Donnell forces to bear on the side of Orlov, and together we’ll wipe out the Morozovs.
That means goodbye to your family line. And I’ll let Sasha join me, as long as he knows his place as my little attack dog.
Hell, between his baby mama kicking the bucket and his Bratva being ground into the dirt, I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to take his rightful place. ”
Rage boils inside me. I want to reach over and rip out her throat. But getting pissed is exactly what she wants. I push the anger down, replace it with sarcasm and disgust.
“Oh, wow,” I say. “You really practiced that monologue in the mirror, didn’t you?”
Her eyes flash with anger.
“You almost had it. But you lost me at consoling Sasha in his grief. He’s not going to sob on your shoulder,” I scoff. “Are you serious? He’s going to know it was you behind it all. You won’t even get 10 percent of that plan in motion before he puts you in the trunk of a car.”
Her mouth forms into a flat line. “Careful, bitch.”
“What, are you going to kill me if I mouth off too much? Don’t you already have that penciled in?”
One of the guys who’d come into the room with her chuckles under his breath. Ruth shoots him a hard look, and the smile disappears.
“You think you’re special?” she snarls. “You think he’ll give a damn about you after you’re gone, and I’m offering him the chance to serve at my side? He’ll be glad that you and all the trouble you’ve brought are long gone.”
“Wrong. He’ll never choose you. He’d die first.”
Her mouth curls into a horrible little smirk. “I suppose we’ll find out.”
Though it’s risky, I continue to push. “You had your shot,” I say.
“What was it, a summer you had with him? That’s all?
And now he’s got a plus-sized nobody that he can’t let go of, and it’s driving you crazy.
You’re going to start a goddamn war just for a chance at what I have right now. A little desperate, isn’t it?”
Color floods her cheeks, and her eyes narrow into hateful little slits. “Shut her up.”
One of the goons behind me moves in to clamp his hand on my mouth. But his finger slips, putting him right in the perfect biting range. I go for it, chomping down with my front teeth hard. He lets out a yelp and pulls it back.
“Fuckin’ hell—” He raises his hand, ready to hit me with the back of it. My stomach flips.
“No,” Ruth says. “Don’t touch her face. I need it recognizable.”
After a moment, she tells him, “Bring me a gun.”
This is it.
One of the other men obliges, yanking a mean-looking black pistol out of his waistband and handing it to Ruth. She takes it with total ease, checking the ammo and clicking the slide back into place. She’s done this before.
She raises the gun. From this distance, she can’t miss. My heart slams against my ribcage.
“Any last words, love?” she asks.
“Yeah. You’re boring.”
She snorts, shakes her head. Then she flicks off the safety, but before she can pull the trigger a voice rings out.
“Ruth!”
Ruth cocks her head in confusion and more than a little annoyance. She looks down at the man below who shouted her name.
“What the hell is it?” she rises, moving over to the office window overlooking the warehouse floor. “No goddamn way.”
The other goons move with her. I can only scooch a bit in my chair, but I move as much as I can, enough to see what everyone’s looking at—who everyone is looking at.
Down in the entryway to the warehouse is Peter Morozov.
I glance at Ruth. Her eyes flare. For the first time since this started, she looks genuinely shook.
“Ruth!” he calls out. “Get down here before you do anything stupid. We need to talk.”
I realize in that moment, for all of Ruth’s careful planning, everything just went sideways.
And I don’t know if it makes any difference for me.