Chapter Twenty-Three
Anya
M y nerves are shot and I’m barely keeping it together. This plan has so many holes in it, it might as well be nonexistent.
Riccardo is right. I’m being reckless.
But at least I’m doing something.
That’s the only thing that keeps me going.
Nobody believed in me, so I am fucking going to do it for myself. Even if this plan is as close to stupid as it gets. For fuck’s sake.
I’m a smart person. I know I am. So why can’t I see any better options?
Simple. It’s because any other plan would require me to rely on help from someone and relying on other people means risking that they’ll mess things up for me. And asking for help means more ways this could go public. Which I can’t risk. Not when I’m so close to actually getting what I want.
Power. A position in my own right.
Respect.
A life where I determine my own worth and don’t have to wait for someone else to see something that’s worth sticking around for.
Through the back office, I watch Katja dancing as Dmitri walks in. I didn’t enter the club through the main door so I’m confident that even if there are men here who now work for Dmitri, none of them know I’m here. I even parked my father’s car a few blocks over and walked the rest, just in case.
It doesn’t take the slimy asshole long before he signals for Katja. The suspicious part of me has me crossing my fingers. Katja is the weak link. Assuming there is even a chain to speak of. I hope I offered her enough to ensure she doesn’t cave.
As expected, she leads him to room number seven, confirming Eric’s intel. She opens the door and gestures to something inside, then she closes the door again and leads him two doors further down the hallway. Two of his men follow along and take position on either side of room number nine’s door after Dmitri follows Katja inside.
They didn’t check the inside. Good.
Now the clock starts ticking. I need Katja to play her part and keep him occupied long enough for me to set things in motion.
Room number nine is at the end of the hallway. Room seven conveniently has a nonexistent ceiling leak, as demonstrated by the stripped bed and the bucket of water standing in the room, which meant Katja had to take him to my preferred room instead.
It was a fifty-fifty chance that Dmitri would believe it, but since he’s probably got his dick thinking at the moment, I got away with it. If I hadn’t, I would have had to try something else. Maybe on another day. Or choose to rely on Riccardo’s help instead.
But it worked.
I take several deep breaths.
The two men standing guard glance at each other briefly before settling into their positions. They’re relaxed, arms crossed, but attentive enough.
I grit my teeth. This part of the plan is the shakiest. I can’t exactly walk up and take them out myself without drawing the attention of the whole damn club. If I’d even manage to pull the trigger.
I’m a great shot, but I’ve never shot a person before. This plan is dependent on me changing that, and I’m sure enough that I can pull the trigger when faced with Dmitri. But random guards?
I feel for the gun in my waist-holster and wait.
Two whole minutes.
That’s how long it takes before the door cracks open. I hold my breath, pressing myself against the wall around the corner. Dmitri leans out, his shirtless silhouette framed by the dim hallway light.
“There is a second door to this room. Go secure it.”
The guards exchange a glance. One hesitates, his hand twitching toward his waistband. “Want us to come through and check the room, too?”
“Fuck no. Go around the building or something. I’m busy.” The door slams in their faces.
That does it. With a grunt of annoyance, the first man shrugs and heads off. The second stays in place, muttering something under his breath.
My time-window is small.
I head straight through the back door into the space between the club and the parking lot, which has an emergency exit that leads straight into room nine.
I can do this.
Sliding the taser from my coat pocket, I steady my hand as I grip the handle. Ironically, the gun I’m carrying is legal, minus the silencer, and I even have a valid firearms license and an Authorization to Carry, but this taser is most definitely not legal. Not that I plan to document any of this for the police, so it hardly matters.
Every nerve in my body is alight, every instinct screaming at me to run, to hide, to get the hell out of here. But I ignore it.
This is my moment.
When Dmitri’s guard shows up a moment later, I walk right up to him.
“Hey, excuse me, sir. My battery died. Is there any chance you could give me a jump start?”
The guy turns my way, completely unsuspecting. As he steps closer, he squints at me in suspicion. “Hey, wait a second—”
Idiot.
Before he can finish, I lunge, jabbing the taser into his ribs. He collapses, twitching on the ground. My heart races as I secure him. I move as fast as I can and cover his mouth with duct tape. Then I wrap his hands and feet. He isn’t dead, or even completely unconscious, but at least he isn’t going to get in my way easily now.
The problem is, he’ll be a witness, and that I can’t have. But I’ll require Sergei’s clean-up services, anyway. So he can deal with this guy then.
Once Dmitri is dead, I’ll have made my point and can have my men deal with this shit.
With some effort, I drag his body behind a massive trash container. The parking lot is dark enough and located around the building, so I don’t worry about anyone stumbling over this brute. I leave him there and pull out my phone to make a quick call.
Once that’s done, I head to the emergency door opening into room number nine.
Katja didn’t fuck up. It’s still unlocked.
I tug it open and use my foot to quickly wedge a brick under the edge of the door, sending a silent thank-you to the smokers who probably left it there since the brick keeps the door ajar, giving me a clear retreat path if shit hits the fan.
Satisfied, I slip inside.
Dmitri is looking up from where he’s sprawled on the bed, his pants around his ankles, a glass of something dark in his hand. Katja is kneeling between his knees.
His eyes narrow when he sees me. “Get in here.”
He isn’t talking to me. He’s calling his guard, who is in the room quicker than a guy of his size should have any right to move.
Dmitri pushes Katja off the bed. She falls but quickly scrambles to her feet, scooting to the far corner of the room as Dmitri’s guy is blocking one door while I’m blocking the other.
“Well, well,” Dmitri drawls, setting the glass down. “If it isn’t the Bratva princess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“I’m here to have a chat,” I tell Dmitri, ignoring the fact that his guard now has a gun pointed at my chest. My adrenaline is already so high, it’s almost like shit is going down in slow motion.
Dmitri leans back, spreading his arms across the back of the bed like he’s settling in for a show. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he says. “But guts won’t get you far without brains. Did you really think you could walk in here and intimidate me? Why don’t you go be a good girl and keep going where that slut didn’t finish?”
I level the gun at him, my grip steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. “No, thank you. And do us both a favor and pull your pants up. You’re embarrassing yourself with that wiener on display.”
His smile fades, replaced by a cold, angry look. “What do you want, Tsepov? You can’t honestly think I’m still interested in dealing with you. I’ve got enough support. I can take over your clubs without anyone putting up a real fuss. Not even your brother has said shit, and he’s supposed to have some guts. At least that’s what people tell me. Then again, all of your father’s guys jumped ship after he died and none stuck around to wait for your loser of a brother to get his head out of that Italian pussy he’s got himself hitched to. Fair enough, he’s shown his loyalties. They’re nonexistent. Like yours, apparently. Fucking the other Italian.” He spits on the floor. “And so your father’s men have been running to me, like they should.”
I shake my head, half shocked, half amazed by his ego. The asshole really thinks he’s got everything sorted. Thinks I’m coming to him... for what?
He’s delirious, though his mention of Mikhail stings.
My brother is the one who’s supposed to go rogue and cut people’s eyes out, not me.
And yet, here we are.
“Bullshit,” I say, my voice firm. “You don’t get to take what’s mine and walk away unscathed.”
I might have left that guard tied up, but that won’t cut it now. This is where I become the person the Bratva needs.
A killer.
For a moment, there’s silence. Then Dmitri laughs, low and mocking. “You think you’re ready for this? Ready to play with the big boys? You’re out of your depth, little girl. You’re nothing without your Italian husband to back you up.”
His words sting, but I don’t let it show. “You’ll find out just how wrong you are soon enough.”
“And what’s your plan?” he sneers, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, feeling way too confident. “Shoot me here and now? Make me disappear? Do you have any idea what kind of war you’d be starting? Besides, even if you are fast enough to put a bullet in me, my guy would shoot you at the same time and then you still lose.”
“I’m not afraid of war,” I reply, taking a step closer. “And I don’t plan to end up dead today.”
“You should be afraid,” Dmitri says, his tone darkening. “Because if you pull that trigger, you’ll find out just how little power you really have. My father would have your head and that of every single person you care for.”
“Maybe you’re right, but that’s why I’m taking the power that’s supposed to be mine right now.”
The scent of stale garbage and damp asphalt is starting to fill the air from the parking lot. I need to get this done, but Dmitri keeps talking and I’m still waiting for the pieces of my plan to fall into place.
“You think you can lead the Bratva? You can barely keep your house in order. Or is that why you married Angelo? Because you knew you couldn’t do it on your own?”
“Say what you want about Riccardo,” I snap, “but at least he doesn’t have to buy his women.”
Finally, Dmitri gets up and pulls his pants up. “You’re out of your depth, little girl. You don’t have the stomach to play this game.”
The fury in my chest burns hotter, but I keep my aim steady. “Try me.”
Finally, the sirens of an ambulance close in. It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for. The nearby hospital gets a steady amount of incoming emergency vehicles, but I didn’t leave this up to chance. I called that ambulance myself, knowing it would only take a few minutes to get here. Or rather, get to the old-folk’s home a couple of houses down.
I swivel and shoot, just as the ambulance passes by the club. Between the silencer and the loud sirens, nobody in the club could have heard the shot. And Dmitri’s guy is dead.
Katja makes a strangled noise, and I spare her a quick scolding glare. She presses her hand over her mouth. Her eyes are huge, darting between me and the dead guy, but she doesn’t scream.
Dmitri’s face is turning a darker shade. He’s pissed all right.
But he doesn’t pull a gun.
Is he seriously unarmed?
Riccardo
The tires crunch against loose gravel as Toni pulls the car into the parking lot of the club. The neon lights of the building flash like a cheap lure, illuminating shadows that flicker and distort in the dark.
Russians have fucking awful taste.
All except Anya. She’s hot as fuck and married me, after all.
My jaw clenches as I scan the lot, my pulse steady, but my thoughts are anything but.
“She’s here,” I say, already certain, even though the message we got from one of our men wasn’t certain it was actually Anya.
Toni glances at me from the driver’s seat, his fingers drumming against the wheel. “You sure about this? If we go in and it’s not her, this could cause a fucking shit storm.”
“She’s not with Sergei.” My voice is flat as I reiterate Anya’s betrayal. “And if I know anything about that woman, it’s that she goes after shit when she wants something bad enough. And she hates Solntsev. I bet my fucking wedding band that she wants to take him out herself after he got the better of her last time.”
We both know what Anya is capable of. She is impulsive, reckless, and stubborn as hell. After all, Toni was there when she first walked into my office. But she’s also brave. Too brave for her own good.
The Drewry Avenue club is like a seedy monument to men like Dmitri. It reeks of desperation and cheap sex. No damn surprise that Anya wants to class things up. I wouldn’t want to be associated with this filth, either.
I lean forward, my eyes narrowing as movement catches my attention near the side of the building. A man is sprawled on the ground, his boots barely visible, sticking out behind a garbage container.
“Park over there,” I tell Toni, pointing.
When Toni follows my directions, parking in the darkest corner of the lot, I’m able to see the guy fully. His limbs are bound, and even from here, I can see the duct tape over his mouth.
“Shit,” Toni mutters, following my gaze. He sounds more impressed than shocked, though. “Wanna bet that’s one of Dmitri’s guys. What the hell is she doing?”
My gut churns, but I force my voice to stay calm. The fucked up part in me is cheering Anya on. She’s actually doing it. It’s making my dick perk up in admiration, even as anxiety has my pulse racing. “She’s making a point.”
Toni kills the engine, and I open the door, stepping out into the cold night air. I motion for Toni to follow as I move toward the edge of the building. The emergency exit is slightly ajar, held open by a small brick wedged under the door, a faint line of light spilling out onto the pavement. Beyond it, through the cracked door, I can see them.
Anya stands just inside the room, her gun leveled at Dmitri, her back exposed. Stupid woman. Her posture is rigid, her shoulders squared, and I can see the tension in every line of her body. Dmitri is standing in front of a bed, his pants haphazardly pulled up and looking like he’s about to jump and strangle her.
“Holy shit,” Toni breathes, his voice low as he takes in the scene. “She’s going to—”
“She’s not going to do anything,” I say sharply, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince, him or myself.
Damn it, Anya.
She has me backed into a corner, and I need to make a decision.