39. Dimitri
39
Dimitri
I come back to the world of consciousness with a jolt. I’m back inside my cabin, and tied to a chair with my arms behind my back. My head pounds mercilessly from where Ford hit me, and I can taste coppery blood in my mouth. Across from me, Jacob is in a similar state, but his head hangs low, and his breaths come in shallow gasps. A small pool of blood has gathered on the floor beneath him.
“Jacob?” I call to him. “Can you hear me?”
His head bobs like he heard me but makes no further movement.
Angry voices draw closer, and I shift my attention to watch Ford and Sergei walk into the living room, but neither man notices I’m awake yet.
“I’m supposed to be your partner,” Sergei growls. “How could you send a fucking agent undercover?”
“I had to protect my investment,” Ford replies nonchalantly. “Criminals can’t be trusted.”
“It seems neither can FBI directors,” Sergei snaps back.
“Oh, come now, Sergei. Don’t be like that,” Ford chastises. “Besides, did my agent not serve you well? From what I heard, he’s the most ruthless man in your Bratva. It’s why you made him your second over your own brother. Am I right? Which surprised me honestly. I thought blood was thicker than water and all that.”
“Were you ever going to tell me about your rat?” Sergei asks in a tone I’m familiar with. A tone that means someone’s about to die. “Or was your plan to eventually blackmail me?”
Ford smirks and crosses the room to help himself to my bar cart. He pours himself a double of my most expensive scotch. Fucking bastard. “Only if the situation called for it. Otherwise, I’ve been very happy with our arrangement. You find the product, and I find the buyers. You move the product, and I make sure big brother isn’t watching. It’s been a win-win for us both. Has it not?”
I assume by product they mean the innocent men and women sold to be used and abused. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
“So what now? What the hell am I supposed to do with your fucking agent? How do I cover up his disappearance?”
Great. It doesn’t take a genius to read between his words. They plan on killing me and then covering it up somehow.
Ford shrugs. “I don’t care. Spin whatever story you want.”
“And then what?”
Ford sighs, like he’s exhausted from the conversation. “And then we continue on, like nothing’s happened.”
“What about the DiAngelos?”
“What about them?”
“You promised me Dante’s head seat at the High Table. Everything I’ve done has been for that! Bribing the fertility doctor, supporting the Triads, everything! And I’m no closer than I was last year. I lost my fucking brother because of those Italian bastards.”
Ford taps his finger against his glass as he thinks. “Yes, the DiAngelos are becoming more of a problem. Ever since they found that O’Leary girl at one of our auctions, they’ve been poking their nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“They’re the reason Xiao’s dead too.”
Ford snorts. “Xiao’s dead because he was a stupid man controlled by some cunt’s pussy. Good riddance if you ask me. He was a wild card from the start.” He tips his head back and finishes his drink in one swallow. “Alright then. Let’s finish up here and—”
“And the DiAngelos?” Sergei interrupts. “I want them dead.”
“All in good time, my friend,” Ford says.
“I lost my brother,” Sergei repeats.
“Yes, as you’ve already said, and I’ll remind you again, his death was his own fault.” Ford twists to place his glass down. As he does, Sergei draws his gun and points it at Ford.
The director turns back around and freezes. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“You were right,” Sergei answers. “You should never trust criminals.”
And then he fires. Ford drops to the ground, with a smoking hole in the center of his forehead.
Jacob groans, when the piercing sound of the gunshot pulls him awake. “Wha-what? What's going on?”
Sergei turns to us. His dark eyes sweep over Jacob before landing on me. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the rat trapped in a cage.”
“Sergei,” I greet him.
“I have to say, you’ve looked better.”
“Well, being chased down and ran off a bridge will do that to a guy.” I need to keep him talking. Throughout his argument with Ford, I discreetly focused on loosening the ropes that bound my arms together behind the chair. I’m nearly free. Just a little bit more.
“I hate to admit this, but that bastard was right. You’ve been the best second I’ve ever had. Never once did I think you were a rat. You’ve tortured and killed so easily, but maybe that should have been a sign,” he’s rambling, which is fine by me.
"So, Alexei doesn't know about your little side business then?"
Sergei snorts. "I can't trust the little shit. And now I have no choice but to promote that shit head Alexei and marry him to Sofia right away to prove his fucking loyalty.”
I'm relieved Alexei didn't know.
“But the question is, how do I spin your death? So many men are loyal to you. Even now, with the fucking truth out there, they’ll still mourn you.”
That’s good for Alexei, at least.The men loyal to me will shift their loyalty to Alexei.
The last inch of the knot eases and my hand slips free.
“Oh well, I’m sure I’ll come up with something.” Sergei shrugs before he steps back and raises his gun.
Before he can even blink, I’m up and dodging the bullet he fires. I grab the back of the chair and slam it into him, knocking him backwards. His gun falls from his grip and slides under the couch, useless to us both. Sergei climbs to his feet and launches himself at me.He crashes into me and the momentum pushes me back into the wall. He lands a few punches to my stomach before I knee him and then kick him away. Sergei stumbles, his eyes scanning the ground for his gun. When he doesn’t find it, he pulls a knife free, holding it in front of him like a shield. Too bad it won’t help him.
I rush at him and fake a move to the right, which draws his attack that way, as I go to the left instead. My fist connects with his face with a satisfying crunch, and I watch blood explode from his nose. He swings out with the knife, catching my side, but the cut is shallow. I dodge his knife when he swings again, while searching for an opportunity to strike back.
It comes on the tail end of a swing, and I grab his wrist. Twisting hard, I bend his arm backwards, in an unnatural angle. The force drives him to drop the knife and I kick it away. I don’t need a knife to kill this bastard.
I don’t stop twisting until I hear his bones pop and feel them crack beneath my hold. Sergei shouts in pain before he lashes out and punches me in the jaw. Pain explodes in my face, and on instinct, I release him.
“You motherfucker,” Sergei pants, wiping blood from his face with his good arm. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you work so hard to become my second? You could have gotten your proof somehow.”
It’s only fair to give a dead man the truth. A truth I’ll also carry to my grave. “Because I was good at it.”
Sergei lunges for me, and I sidestep him. He crashes into the bar cart, knocking it over. Liquor bottles and glass crash on the floor, liquid spilling everywhere. Some reach the fireplace heater, short circuiting the device, and making sparks. Sparks that land on the spilled alcohol and set them ablaze.All too quickly, fire engulfs the living room, smoke filling the space and making it difficult to breathe, let alone see.
So I don't catch sight of Sergei until it’s too late. He slams into me and pain explodes from where he buries his knife in my side. The bastard must have found it when he fell.
I shove him back and watch him trip over a piece of my broken chair. He stumbles and loses his balance, falling on his back. It’s not the best idea to pull a knife free, but I’m desperate.
Intense pain surges through me when I pull the knife out and darkness threatens my sight. Sergei coughs hard, struggling to catch his breath. So this time, he doesn’t see me coming. I have the knife buried in his chest before he even realizes it. Blood flows from his mouth and he chokes on it. His hands rise to the hole in his chest, desperate to grab for the knife, but I keep my hold on it.
“Go to hell, you motherfucking bastard,” I hiss at him through my teeth, my face inches from his.
His mouth opens and closes several times, like he’s trying to say something, but nothing comes out. His hands grow weak and fall away, and then his eyes flutter shut.
I stand and it’s like all at once reality comes crashing down around me, like everything’s been muffled and narrowed down to my sole purpose of killing Sergei. The fire surrounds me, filling the air with an intense scorching heat and the sound of crackling and popping as it destroys my cabin.
“Jacob!” I shout over the flames, but the heat surges down my throat and into my lungs sending me into a coughing fit.
We need to get out of here. It won't take long for this cabin to go up in flames.
Jacob is barely conscious when I find him. I quickly undo his ropes and help him stand. My side screams in protest and I feel the sad excuse of stitches in my arm tear open from the effort. Great.
“Come on, buddy.” I grunt as we slowly make our way to the front door.
Once outside and clear of danger, Jacob collapses to the ground in a fit of coughing. “What-what happen-happened?”
“Tell you later,” I answer, my attention turning back to my burning home. My hand drifts up to touch my necklace. The jewelry has become like a safety blanket of sorts, a way to ease my anxiety and stress. But my neck is bare.
“Fuck.” I left my new phone and necklace in my office. It’s on the other side of the house, far from the flames…for now.But it's far enough. “Stay here,” I order Jacob, as if he’s going to go somewhere, and dash back into the fire, ignoring Jacob’s shout of protest.
It’s like entering a furnace that immediately chokes me. I can’t see shit. The smoke is so heavy, it’s like a dark fog. I lift my shirt to protect my nose and mouth from the smoke, but it leaves my eyes victim to the scorching heat. By blind touch and memory, I make it to my office and slam the door shut to give me some reprieve from the fire.
When I reach for the necklace, I see it’s lit up.
Gabriella .
She’s been trying to reach me and now I can answer. So what if there’s a fire literally outside of this room? She needs to know I’m alive.
I press my thumb to the center of the pendant, relief flooding me when the message goes through. Tucking the phone in my pocket, I place the necklace around my neck and head for the office door.But the knob is hot to the touch and burns my hand when I twist it open. It's like I’ve grabbed the handle of a pan baking in the oven. The door swings open and a wall of fire and smoke waits on the other side.
“Shit.”
Smoke fills my lungs and send me into another uncontrollable fit of coughing. I look around, desperate for a way out.
The window in the hall. If I can get to the window, I can…I can break it…
Black creeps into my vision from the sides.
…break it and…
The air is thick with smoke and heat, making every breath hurt.Everything hurts.
Gabriella.