Chapter 18 #3
"Well, Arthur?" Moretti asks. "Does she know the inventory?"
Arthur spins around, looking at me and then back at Moretti.
"It's weapons!" Arthur blurts out. "Military hardware. Missiles. She confirmed it. He's re-arming the Bratva, preparing for a slaughter."
I close my eyes. You pathetic fool. I tried to scare him into redemption, and he used the fear to sell me out even faster.
Moretti turns his gaze to me, assessing me like a shark.
"Is that so?" he murmurs. He walks over, grips my jaw, and forces my face up. "Weapons. That explains why the ship is rigged to burn."
He glances at Arthur. "When we used that Founder's Key to crack your server, we saw the warnings. 'Thermal Purge Active.' I assumed the explosives were there to melt gold bars... but missiles? That makes sense."
His focus cuts to Arthur. "How do we open the boxes?"
"The Director," Arthur says quickly, pointing at me. "The system is built on her. Her biometric print is the master key. That's how the ship was designed."
Moretti nods and pulls a chair over, sitting in front of me.
"Then it's simple," he says. "I don't have time to drag a hostage all the way to the Atlantic. And frankly, a woman is a liability."
He reaches into his waistband and pulls out a small, curved blade. A skinner's knife.
"But a digit in a cooler of ice? That is easy to transport. I can wire your print to a scanner. You stay here. Your thumb goes to the ship."
The room tilts. "What?"
"Secure her arm," Moretti commands.
Guards grab my right arm, wrenching it forward. I scream and kick, but they slam my forearm onto the metal table. A leather strap cinches my wrist, pinning my hand flat.
My thumb is isolated.
"Dad!" I scream. "Dad, stop him! He's going to cut me!"
Arthur looks at the ceiling. The floor. Anywhere but me.
He’s sweating. "It's just a finger, Helena," he mumbles, wiping his hands on his pants. "We'll get you the best surgeons later. Plastics. They can do amazing things now. Let him have it so we can finish this."
Moretti ignores him. He steps up to the table, taking his time. He lifts a black marker and traces the curve of my thumb, humming a tuneless melody.
He draws a circle around the base of my thumb, right where the joint meets the palm. The ink bleeds into the creases of my skin.
"Clean cuts heal faster," he says. "I prefer the joint. The bone is softer there."
He sets the marker down. Then, he raises the knife.
"Wait!" I shriek. "Wait! It won't work!"
The blade stops an inch from my skin. Moretti looks at me, bored. "Don't lie to me, girl."
"I'm not lying!" I sob.
I’m lying through my teeth. I used my thumb at dinner yesterday. It worked then. But I need to buy time to think of a way out of this.
"We will see," Moretti says calmly and snaps his fingers.
One of the guards steps forward, pulling a heavy scanner from a tactical bag. It's a military-grade port reader.
"Arthur gave us the verification codes," Moretti explains, grabbing my wrist. "This will show us immediately if your thumbprint is still valid."
He shoves my trembling hand, presses down hard, flattening my thumb until the joint cracks.
I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the green light. Waiting for the pain.
Beep.
The machine lets out a harsh buzz. A red light flashes on the small screen: ACCESS DENIED. USER REVOKED.
My eyes fly open.
Konstantin. He must have cut my access after dinner. He knew. He knew they would come for this.
Moretti stares at the screen, his face twisting in fury. "Revoked?"
"I told you!" I scream, the relief making me dizzy. I latch onto the lie to save my skin. "Konstantin knows! He deactivated the biometrics the moment we were married! He knew you would come for me!"
He turns back to me.
"If there’s no print," Moretti mutters, "how does he open the box?"
He doesn't wait for an answer. He lowers the knife slowly, fitting the curved belly of the blade into the circle he drew on my skin. The steel is cold against the pulse of my thumb.
Then, he leans his weight onto the knife, pressing the blade down. It slices through the top layer of skin.
"Ah!" I gasp, the sharp sting making my eyes water.
A single line of blood blooms under the steel, trickling down my thumb. It's a warning. A paper cut compared to what’s coming.
Moretti's eyes are dead. He grips the handle tighter.
"Answer me," he says. "Or the next one goes through the bone."
He’s really going to do it.
"The tablet!" I scream, the words tearing out of my throat before he can push harder. "I saw him use it. He transferred the codes to a military-grade tablet. It's the only way. My thumb is useless. You need the tablet!"
Moretti freezes. The blade stops moving. He stares at me, watching the thin bead of blood run down my hand.
Slowly, he pulls the knife back. A smile curls across his mouth.
"A tablet," he repeats. He looks at the guard. "Get me a phone."
He dials, putting it on speaker.
"Speak." Konstantin's voice fills the warehouse. Lethal.
"Konstantin," Moretti says. "It seems we need to update our files. Your wife was just telling me that her thumbprint is obsolete."
Silence. Then, a crash echoes down the line, the sound of a glass shattering against a wall.
"Moretti?" Konstantin's voice is a low snarl. "If you’ve touched her—"
"She’s fine," Moretti interrupts. "For now."
"Put her on the line," Konstantin commands.
"She’s indisposed at the moment," Moretti says, smiling at me. "She’s recovering from the shock. She was eager to tell us about the tablet, Konstantin. She screamed about it to save her skin. Your little pet isn’t as loyal as you thought."
I flinch. He’s using my fear to humiliate me.
"If she bleeds, Moretti," Konstantin says, voice cracking with rage, "There’s no hole deep enough for you to hide in. I’ll burn the world to find you."
"Then bring the tablet," Moretti challenges. "The tablet for her. The Old Foundry. Midnight. Come alone. If I see a sniper, if I smell a trap... I’ll finish what I started, and I’ll mail her to you, piece by piece."
The line goes dead.
Moretti slides the phone into his pocket. He looks at me with indifference.
"Rest, Mrs. Morozov," he says. "We move at midnight."
He walks out, the heavy steel door clanging shut behind him. Locked.
I slump in the chair, dizzy. My head falls forward.
I look at my right hand. My thumb is still there.
But I feel sick.
I told myself I was his partner. His equal. But the moment the knife touched my skin, I broke. I panicked. And I exposed the secret.
I handed them his death warrant. I told Moretti that the only thing standing between him and the weapons is Konstantin himself. That shipment was his retribution. The only justice his family would ever get. And I sold it to the men who killed them.
I wasn't a Queen. I was the weak link. I told Moretti exactly how to destroy my King to save my own skin.
"You see?" Arthur's voice breaks the silence.
I don't look up.
"It worked out, Helena," he says with relief, hovering near me. "You did the right thing. Konstantin... he's resourceful. He'll figure it out. But we're alive."
Something inside me snaps. I slowly lift my head.
Arthur is smiling. He actually thinks we won.
"Don't speak to me," I hiss, seething.
"Helena, I know it was—"
"I said don't speak!" I scream. "You didn't save me. You watched. You stood there and watched him draw a line on my skin!"
Arthur flinches. "I had to. If I interfered, he would have killed us both."
"Konstantin wouldn't have watched," I say, the realization hitting me.
Tears prick my eyes.
"If the roles were reversed," I whisper, "if he were the one standing where you are... Konstantin would have burned the city down to stop it. He would have caught the blade in his own bare hand before he let it touch me."
Arthur opens his mouth, then closes it. He looks at the floor.
I lean my head back, staring at the ceiling.
Midnight, Moretti said. The Old Foundry.
Konstantin is coming. He’s coming for me. And he’s walking straight into a kill box that I helped build.
I close my eyes. I don't pray.
I just hope the Devil I married is smarter than the woman who betrayed him.