sank when I saw men grabbing machine guns and
running downstairs. This wasn’t like the mansion back in
New York. This was Mikhail’s personal fortress. If Angelo
had come, he’d be killed.
Mikhail ran back into the room, pulling his gun.
“What is it?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
He glared at me. “It’s Vasiliy. Come here!”
Vasiliy?! That made no sense. As far as Vasiliy knew, I
was here of my own free will. Unless....had Vasiliy
somehow found out about the blackmail? About Yuri? If
that was true then Angelo was dead. No! Please no!
When I just stood there, too shocked to move, Mikhail
grabbed the free end of the handcuffs and jerked me
towards him, making me stagger. “Let me put my
clothes on,” I said desperately. I was trying to assemble
a plan in my head: get a gun or a knife, get away from
him and run. But I couldn’t run out into a Russian winter
in a bra and panties.
“You don’t need clothes,” he spat. He stared at the
handcuffs for a moment, then locked the free end
around one of his wrists so that we were bound
together.
Chyort! I looked down at the metal chain in horror.
“Vasiliy must know what you’ve done,” I croaked. “You
can’t marry me now. It’s over. You don’t need me.”
“Vasiliy will hunt me down and kill me...but he won’t
shoot at his niece. If my men can’t hold them, you’re
my way out of here.” His eyes gleamed. “There are
plenty of places I can take you, far from Russia. And
Vasiliy has enough enemies around the world who’d
love to play with you, just to get to him. I’m sure I can
sell you, once I get tired of you.”
He dragged me out into the hallway and then started
making his way towards the stairs. I didn’t have a
choice: when I hung back, he simply jerked on the
handcuffs and the metal cut into my skin.
Our progress was slow: whenever he heard gunfire
ahead, Mikhail would backtrack and find another route
through the huge building. Even with me as a hostage,
he preferred to take the coward’s way out and slip away
from the fight rather than face Vasiliy. The mansion was
big enough that he might just be able to pull it off. What
if Vasiliy didn’t find us in time? I had no doubt Mikhail
could make good on his threat: with his Swiss bank
accounts and homes around the world, he could take
me almost anywhere. No one would ever find us.
I staggered onward, my wrist already scraped and
bruised from the cuff, my shoulder aching from the
constant jerking. I looked around for something I could
grab with my free hand to hit Mikhail with, but there
was nothing. And however much I tried to stay calm
and efficient, as Vasiliy had taught me, my eyes still
blurred with tears. Angelo. Angelo is dead.
The air started to grow hazy with white smoke: it was
rising up the staircases, filling the upper floors. It got
worse as we descended through the mansion and I
could hear the roar of flames below. The house is on
fire!
By the time we reached the next landing, the heat was
ferocious and the smoke seemed to fill every square
inch of space, even low to the ground. I could barely
breathe and I was sweating, even in my underwear.
We reached the next door and Mikhail swung it open,
then quickly slammed it: the next room was engulfed in
orange flame. “This way!” he snapped, pulling me back
towards the stairs. I could barely see and I was having
to fight for every breath of air. Mikhail pulled out his
phone and called someone, muttering orders I couldn’t
hear.
“We have to find a way downstairs!” I told him. I heard
timber creaking and giving way beneath us. “Mikhail, the
whole place is going to come down!”
But he shook his head and jerked on the handcuffs
again, leading me back upstairs instead. Whatever his
plan was, it was going to get us both killed.
54
Angelo
We’d made it up to the top floor and were going room-
to-room. The fighting had died down: two of Vasiliy’s
men had been injured but overall we seemed to be
winning. The problem was that progress was painfully
slow. There was still no sign of Mikhail or Irina and the
fire was turning the mansion into a smoke-filled, blazing
death trap. “This is no good!” I told the Russians. “We
need to move faster!”
Luka muttered something to Vasiliy in Russian and he
nodded. Then, for my benefit, he grudgingly repeated it
in English. “We split up,” he said. “Two groups. Find her
quicker.” He nodded to the remaining one of Vasiliy’s
men—the other two were still downstairs, mopping up
the defenders. “He and I will go together. You and
Vasiliy go together.”
Vasiliy and I glared at each other. I’ve never been a
soldier, but I’ve been in fights often enough to know
that you need someone to watch your back. He trusted
me about as much as I trusted him. In the smoke-filled
hallways, with no witnesses, he could easily kill me and
then tell Irina whatever story he wanted. He’d been
reluctant to kill me himself, but if he could blame it on
one of Mikhail’s men….
It didn’t matter. I didn’t have a choice and there was no
time to argue anyway, not if I wanted to save Irina.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll go in front.” And I led the way into
the smoke, already feeling Vasiliy’s gun on my back.
Visibility was down to a few feet. I could only see faint
outlines and the glow of flames. Several times, a wall
loomed up out of nowhere and I barely stopped before I
ran into it. Goddammit! I could feel the sweat pouring
down my face. How the hell did I wind up here?
Thousands of miles from home, my mortal enemy right
behind me with a gun aimed at my back—
Irina. That’s how. And she was worth it.
I forged on, the heat growing even more intense. We
were moving closer and closer to the fire, now: we must
be close to the games room where it had first started. I
could hear breaking glass and explosions and
remembered the bar: all the whiskey and vodka must be
going up. Then there was an enormous crash that shook
the whole house. As we passed through the next door,
all I could see was billowing white smoke, lit up orange
by the flames. I took another step and—
The carpet beneath me dipped under my weight, turning
into a ramp. What the fuck?! I fell onto my back, sliding,
grabbing for anything that would stop me—
My hand found the edge of the carpet and I clung to it,
my feet kicking in space. Where the fuck is the floor?!
There was the sound of shattering glass below. The fire
must have gotten hot enough to break the windows in
the games room and a freezing winter wind blew
through the room, snowflakes hissing as they hit the
flames. The smoke cleared for a second and my
stomach lurched when I saw what had happened.
There was no floor.
The “room” we’d been about to walk through had once
been the wooden gallery that looked down on the
games room. The entire middle section had collapsed,
leaving a few feet of carpet sticking out into space.
That’s what I’d stepped on. Now I was hanging twenty
feet above an inferno, the flames singing my legs. I
twisted around to look for Vasiliy.
He’d backed up a few feet and was looking down at me.
So many emotions played across his face: rage, hatred,
jealousy...and something else.