Chapter Sixteen #2
I try to convince myself that they’re patrolling, except the camera covering the adjacent walkway is showing no movement either. Not a single guard is in sight. Not even a patrol vehicle.
The unease in my chest grows heavier. I grab the mouse and begin cycling through additional feeds, and the deeper I look, the worse it gets.
A camera near the service entrance freezes for three seconds before resuming. Another skips forward, and one briefly goes black before reconnecting.
Air drains from my lungs when the realization hits me. Someone has been tampering with the system, and whoever it is behind it did it in a way that wouldn’t trigger immediate suspicion.
A chill runs through me.
Before I can decide what to do, a notification flashes in the corner of another monitor. It’s on Leonid’s secure messaging window. I know I shouldn’t look, but given the obviously breeched security system, my curiosity gets the best of me.
The message vanishes almost as quickly as it appears, but luckily I read most of it before it goes.
THE DEBT REMAINS UNPAID.
LAST WARNING.
My pulse thunders in my ears. A mix of panic, fear, and curiosity courses through me. The message was obviously a warning, but from who?
Mr. Petrov mentioned that being in the bratva came with having a lot of enemies. To the best of my knowledge, Leonid’s security system is tight as hell, so whoever managed to breech it must be someone powerful and with enough of a grudge to not mind the risk.
I glance at the clock. It’s almost ten p.m. now. Leonid’s probably still in a meeting, but I have to call him and let him know what’s—
A floorboard creaks outside the office, and I freeze.
The sound is slow, like whoever’s out there is carefully scanning his surroundings to make sure it’s safe to come in.
It doesn’t sound like Leonid’s heavy steps, plus I didn’t hear the sound of his car drive in. It’s not Tatiana’s energetic stride, either. Mr. Petrov is the only one inside the mansion tonight, but the old man usually shuffles his feet when he walks, so that’s definitely not him.
The sound comes from the hallway, heading toward the office. It’s unhurried, as if whoever it is, despite needing to be careful, already knows exactly where they’re going.
My chest constricts with fear, my blood curdling. Reaching for my phone, I duck under the desk and snap my head toward the door. I’m flooded with an intense wave of anxiety as I anticipate whatever unwelcome visitor is out there.
I hold my breath and wait.
The handle doesn’t move, but the footsteps stop directly outside the door.
The lights.
Only the people who live here can find their way around the house with the lights off. I need to turn them off.
Fortunately, the house is fully automated, so I reach for my phone, unlock it, and open the home’s automation app Tatiana like showed me.
A floor plan of the mansion appears on the screen. I tap the office controls and the lights go dark instantly. I quickly send a text to Leonid before muting the phone and pressing it tightly to my pounding chest.
The noises outside cease completely, which means whoever stopped outside the door is still right there, even though for some reason, they haven’t come in yet. I can’t just sit around and wait. I need to think of something. A way to make it out of here.
Leonid’s office is on the second floor, and daring to jump out of the window would mean my immediate death. The only other option is facing the intruder head-on, without a weapon, which would also mean I’d get killed tonight.
For a moment, I think of Leonid coming home to see my lifeless body, the rage he’d feel over someone daring to hurt what is his.
Then I think of my parents and Audrey receiving the news of my death. They’d be devastated.
I can’t die here tonight, but I can’t think of a possible escape from this.
Tears prickle my eyes as I clutch my phone tighter and say a silent prayer, hoping Leonid or someone, anyone at all, comes to protect me.
Finally, the handle moves, and every ounce of blood drains from my face. I stare at it, unable to look away as it slowly turns downward.
No. No. No.
The office suddenly feels too dark. Too isolated. I wonder where Petrov is. Is he even alive?
Maybe I should’ve jumped out the window when I had the chance, because from what I’ve heard about the mafia, jumping to my death would be a lot more merciful than whatever hell is about to be unleashed if they find me.
The door creaks open by a fraction, the moonlight spilling in from the floor-to-ceiling glass walls framing a large silhouette in the doorway.
My heart slams painfully against my ribs as the gap widens. The silence stretches so long that my lungs start to burn.
After a moment, he takes a step forward, but before he can take another, a gunshot explodes somewhere downstairs. The sound is so sudden and loud that I gasp before clamping a hand over my mouth to keep myself from making another sound.
A second shot follows almost immediately, then more shots and shouting. I hear the sound of vases breaking, and for a moment, I just sit under the desk, completely frozen.
My brain refuses to focus on what’s happening downstairs because all my focus is on the man stationed by the door.
He reacts first, pulling his leg back and cursing in Russian, and then the door jerks shut. His footsteps are hurried as they thunder down the hallway.
He’s gone.
Without a thought or hesitation, I scramble to my feet and run out of the home office. More gunshots erupt downstairs, and I run straight into them. My ears ring from the banging sounds and I choke from the smell of gunpowder polluting the air.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, the sight in front of me draws a scream from my throat. My legs give out completely.
Dead bodies.
The white marble floor has disappeared beneath blood, shattered glass, and motionless men dressed in black tactical gear. Bullet holes scar the walls. A chandelier hangs crookedly overhead, pieces of crystal glittering among the carnage.
My stomach lurches, and for a horrifying second, I think I’m going to throw up. I clamp a hand over my mouth and stumble backward. I’ve only ever seen a scene this gruesome in movies.
But this isn’t a movie.
This isn’t one of the crime documentaries Audrey and I used to watch while eating chicken wings, French fries, and canned beer.
These are real people. Real bodies.
Another gunshot cracks somewhere deeper in the mansion. I flinch so hard my shoulder slams into the banister as panic claws its way up my throat. Whatever the hell is happening here isn’t over yet.
I need to hide.
I need to—
A burst of automatic gunfire erupts from the east corridor, followed by cursing and yelling in Russian. I don’t know what the words mean, but I can hear the anger behind them, the animosity and spite in each one.