Chapter 34 #2
Dee increases the pressure on his gun, surely forcing a circular imprint into the skin between my eyes.
Clearly, this is how he wants to play this.
He wants to be the one who kills me and brings my head to his boss.
Unfortunately for him, that’s not going to happen.
My hand shoots up, snatching his wrist and wrenching the gun away from my head.
I bend his hand back until his bone snaps and he howls in pain.
I throw my arm forward, yanking his along with it, and wrap my fingers around his.
His buddy stands dumbfounded in front of me, eyes wide and mouth gaping.
He reaches for his gun, but his twitchy fingers lose their grip, causing it to clatter to the floor.
I raise Dee’s hand and squeeze the trigger with his finger.
The shot penetrates Dumb’s skull. Bone fragments and chunks of scalp fly backward, splattering against the wall.
Dee lets out a pained wail as his knees crumple beneath him.
He dangles awkwardly from the arm that’s still in my grasp, his face hovering over the floor.
I jump back a step, narrowly avoiding the spray of vomit as he pukes his guts out onto the tile.
After he heaves up his lunch, he turns his face toward me.
My face splits into a grin as I look down at the cowering mess of a man.
“Brother….my brother,” he whispers.
“I did try to warn you. We could have avoided all of this if you had just shown me to Mikhail’s office.” His teary eyes widen as my words sink in. “Don’t worry. I’ll send you to your brother.”
I turn his wrist, feeling the damaged bones shift under his skin, and we squeeze the trigger one more time. I feel the warm wetness as his blood sprays my pant legs and boots.
“Fuck.” So much for keeping my shoes clean.
* * *
The door to Mikhail Volkov’s office pops open with a turn of the handle. The slightly misaligned hinges squeak, but offer no resistance. The man must feel confident in his safety to leave it unlocked. With it open fully, I can see why.
The head of the Volkov family sits behind a mahogany desk with his gun pointed square in the middle of my face. His aim doesn't waver as he rakes a hand though his silver hair. His eyes narrow, more wrinkles appearing at the edges.
I hold my palms up in front of me. “I'm just here to talk.”
He nods and places the gun down on his desk. He stands quietly, hiding the discomfort of his aging body. I still catch the slight twitch of his lip as he moves. He runs his palm down his navy blue, tailored suit, pressing out the creases.
He crosses the room to a small bar cart. With a wave of his hand and a quirk of his eyebrows, he offers me a drink. I shake my head, unwilling to chance this meeting coming to an end by poisoning. His hands are unhurried as he pours himself a glass of vodka.
“You killed someone very important to my organization, Mr. Alexander,” he says.
It's so rare that I hear my last name spoken that it feels foreign, like it doesn't belong to me. Ava Alexander, the name whispers through my mind. It's beautiful, perfect for my little bird.
Mikhail must notice the shock on my face because he grins. “I know the names of my enemies, son.”
“I'm not your enemy.” I look him straight in the eye, willing him to see the truth of my words.
His eyes flash with surprise for a second before they turn cold. He motions to a large television on the wall that displays the feeds from several security cameras around the club. In one of them, the bloodied corpses of his men lay sprawled over the dirty floor.
He chuckles in a way that conveys no humor. “Is that so?”
“I was given false information on a target,” I explain. “I didn't know he was one of yours. I was set up.”
He peers at me through narrowed eyes, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “And who is it that gave you this false information?”
“Bianca Rossi.”
Mikhail spits out a breath, his calm mask slipping at the edges, revealing the rage bubbling beneath it.
“Of course,” he says flatly, “I expected she would try to kill him.” He pinches his chin, rubbing his thumb and forefinger through his neatly manicured beard. “I just didn't think she'd succeed.”
He tips his chin toward me, his mouth pulling up into a knowing smirk. “Are you to blame for the chaos in her business these days? I've heard rumors of missing girls and dead customers.”
I don't acknowledge the question, since he and I both know the answer. “I have no issue with you or your family,” I state.
“No, I suppose you do not.”
“But,” I let the word hang in the air for a moment, “I will if your men keep coming after me. I'm sure you understand that anyone who does will die.”
Mikhail nods solemnly even as his mouth twitches.
In that moment, a silent understanding builds between us.
He doesn't care about collateral damage unless it impacts his bottom line.
There's a cold indifference in his eyes that mirrors my own.
We're similar monsters. Save a select few, the lives lost are meaningless to us.
“I will make you a deal, Mr. Alexander,” he says, flashing his teeth in a demented smile. “Kill the bitch who leads the Rossi family and we can put this all behind us.”
I nod in response and step back out into the nightclub. I leave quickly, avoiding the corpses I left in the hallway, and hoping that Mikhail doesn't change his mind and shoot me in the back.