Chapter 18 #2
"Masks!" Lev shouts. "Mask up!"
"The compartment is jammed!" the rear guard shouts, kicking the locker under the seat. "The crash buckled the latch! I can't get them out!"
I cover my mouth with my sleeve, but it does nothing. Every breath burns as my eyes water.
"Lev!" I choke out. "I can't... It's hot."
The leather seats reek of burning chemicals. All the while, the temperature rises. We're sitting inside a steel oven.
"We move," Lev says. He looks at the flames. "We can't stay. We cook, or we fight."
"There are too many of them," I argue, panicking. "If we go out there, they’ll kill us."
"If we stay here, we burn," Lev says, unbuckling his seatbelt. He looks at Andrei. "Formation Diamond. We shield the Director. Push to the wall."
"Understood," Andrei says.
Lev looks back at me. "On my mark, run. Don't look back. Run for the maintenance ladder on the side of the bridge."
"I can't!" I protest.
"You can," Lev says. "We’re Bratva. We don’t die quietly."
He kicks the armored door above him. It groans against the twisted metal.
He kicks it again, and it pops open.
"GO!"
In a rush, Lev pushes the door open.
Andrei climbs out first. He rises out of the burning vehicle like a demon, gun roaring. He sprays the bridge, forcing the attackers to dive for cover.
Heavy rounds hammer against his chest. The Kevlar vest absorbs the impacts, but the force is enough to crack ribs. He staggers, grunting, but doesn't fall.
He plants his feet, using his body as a shield to cover my exit. He ignores the impacts, firing in short bursts. Drops the first man. Swings toward the second, suppressing the left.
He’s holding the line.
Then—
A single shot rings out. It catches him above the collar of his vest, tearing through his throat.
Andrei drops his gun, clutching his neck. Bright red blood paints the hood of the car.
He looks at me one last time, eyes fading, before he tips backward into the flames.
"Move, Helena!" Lev grabs my arm, dragging me out.
I stumble onto the asphalt. The heat is intense. The air smells of gunpowder, burning rubber, and blood.
The rear guard pushes me behind the wreckage, covering me. He fires, taking down a man with a crowbar.
Then—Crack.
The guard's head snaps back. A sniper shot from the girders above.
He crumples at my feet, eyes open, staring at the gray sky. Blood pools around his head, soaking my shoes.
I scream, scrambling backward.
"Lev!"
Lev is the only one left. He fires his pistol with one hand, gripping my jacket with the other, dragging me toward the edge of the bridge.
"Get behind the wall!" he roars, firing blindly.
He fires. A man drops. He fires again.
Then Lev's body jerks. A spray of blood hits my cheek.
He's hit in the shoulder. The force spins him. He stumbles but doesn't drop the gun. He switches hands, raising the weapon again. He refuses to go down.
"Run, Helena!" he screams.
Bang.
A second shot hits him in the thigh.
Lev's leg buckles. He hits the ground hard. His gun skitters away, out of reach.
"No!" I scream. I lunge for him. "Lev!"
He looks up. His face is gray. Blood pours from his shoulder and leg. He's wheezing.
"Go..." he gasps.
Four men surround us. Weapons are lowered.
One of them steps forward and kicks Lev in the face.
Lev's head snaps back, hitting the asphalt. He groans. His eyes roll back but stay open. He’s awake, watching, but he can't move.
"Don't touch him!" I scream, throwing myself over Lev. "Stop it! Leave him alone!"
Strong hands grab me. Rough gloves dig into my arms.
"Secure the package," a deep voice says. "Leave the driver. Let him bleed."
They rip me away from Lev. I thrash, kicking out.
"No! Let me go!"
A canvas hood is jammed over my head, plunging me into darkness. Zip ties bite into my wrists, cutting off the circulation. I’m lifted off my feet and tossed into the back of a van.
The doors slam shut, an engine roars, and we’re gone.
I don't know how long the van drives. Hours? Minutes? The darkness inside the hood is suffocating. I smell diesel and the blood on my cheek—the price my men paid.
Finally, the van stops.
I’m dragged out.
My legs are numb. I stumble, but rough hands hold me up. I hear the echo of a large space, a warehouse, maybe.
I'm pushed into a chair. Someone cuts the zip ties on my ankles but leaves my hands bound behind me. Then, the hood is ripped off.
I gasp, blinking against the harsh overhead light. The world comes back in jagged pulses. My head throbs.
"Helena?"
The voice pulls me out of the void. I snap my head up, agony spiking through my skull.
Standing a few feet away, adjusting his tie in a mirror, is my father.
He looks pristine. No bruises. No blood. His suit is pressed.
The hope I didn't know I was still holding onto dies. I stare at him in disbelief at first, followed by a rush of sheer rage.
I knew the Italians had him. I'd spent sleepless nights wondering if they were breaking his bones. But seeing him now, unscathed, standing there with a silk handkerchief like he stepped out of a boardroom, is a different kind of violence.
"I thought they were hurting you," I whisper, voice cracking. "I thought you were in a cellar somewhere, begging for your life."
Arthur doesn't meet my eyes. He dabs at his brow, hands trembling. "I had to get you out, Helena. The Russian... he's a monster. He's using you as a shield. I made a deal to bring you home."
"Home?" I let out a breathless laugh. "Dad, they dropped a thirty-ton loader on my head. They slaughtered my guards. You didn't bring me home. You moved me to a different cage."
"It's not a cage, Helena. It's leverage," Arthur whispers, his eyes darting around the room as if trying to convince the shadows.
He steps closer, lowering his voice, desperate for me to understand his madness.
"The shipping lanes... the legacy... it was all slipping away.
Konstantin was going to absorb us. He was going to erase the Blackwood name from the logs.
I couldn't let that happen. I had to make a play. "
He looks at me, his eyes pleading.
"Moretti promised me the CEO chair back. Once they have the weapons, once Konstantin is out of the picture... we get the Tower back. We get the fleet back. I did this for you, Helena. So you wouldn't be a mobster's wife forever."
I stare at him. He actually believes it. He doesn't see that he's the dog Moretti kicks when he's bored.
"You didn't do this for me," I rasp. "You did this because you couldn't stand being a nobody."
He reaches out to brush a hair from my forehead.
I recoil.
"Don't touch me," I hiss. "What do they want, Dad? Why am I in a chair instead of a grave?"
Arthur stops. He leans in, his eyes darting toward the heavy steel door at the far end of the room. He looks like a drowning man.
"They need to be sure," he whispers. "The Italians.
.. they saw the schedules. They know the Lady Anastasia is heading for Venezuela.
They know it's Cartel territory. Moretti smells trouble.
He thinks Konstantin is moving something that could tip the war, but he won't commit his fleet until he knows for certain what's in those holds. "
He grips the arms of my chair, his face inches from mine. "Help me. If we give them what they want, they'll let us go. Is it drugs? Is it gold? Just tell me, and this ends."
I study him, disgusted. This is the man who raised me. The man who promised my mother he would protect me.
"Dad," I say, my voice low. "Look at me. Look at the blood on my face. My guards were slaughtered protecting me from the men you're working with. Lev is probably dying in the street because of you."
He flinches, and for a second, I see the cracks in his armor. He's terrified. He knows he's out of his league. I have to give him a way out. He’s every bit the coward Konstantin said he was.
I lean forward. "Forget the Tower. Forget the money. This is it. Your one chance to be a father. Tell them I don't know anything. Tell them the ship is a decoy. If we walk out of here right now, I’ll talk to Konstantin. I’ll beg him for your life. I’ll forgive you, Dad. We can disappear."
His lip trembles. The man I used to love fights through the greed. A fleeting attempt, at best.
Then, he shakes his head. "I can't. The deal is already signed."
He thinks he's playing chess when he's actually standing on a firing line. Despite everything, I still don't want to watch him die. I have to wake him up. I have to shatter his delusion before it kills him.
"Then you're a dead man," I whisper. "Dad, please. You have to stop. Walk away now."
Arthur blinks. "Helena, it's business. We—"
"It's not business! It's a slaughter!" I cut him off, leaning in. "He's not bringing back drugs, Dad. He's bringing back weapons. Heavy artillery. Missiles. Konstantin isn't coming back to trade. He's coming back to start a war."
I try to make him understand. "Don't you see? The Italians aren't your partners; they're using you as a shield. When those weapons land, Konstantin is going to turn this city into a graveyard, and you’ll be the first one in the ground."
Arthur's eyes go wide. "Weapons?"
"And the Italians?" I continue. "They won't even look at you when the war starts.
They don't care about the 'Blackwood legacy.
' You're a loose end. When the bullets start flying, you'll be standing in the open, alone, with no one to pull you out of the fire.
You think you're getting a throne? You're getting a headstone. "
Arthur backs away, his face gray. He stumbles over his own feet, the terror finally taking root.
The steel door groans open.
The sound of footsteps echoes. Arthur turns, and I watch him crumble. He doesn't just greet the man entering; he bows his head. He shrinks, hands clasping like a beggar.
Don Moretti.
He walks into the light. A silver-haired predator in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. He ignores me and walks straight to my father.