“I owe you many debts,” he says. “The first of course is the beautiful mole you planted by my side.”
“Did you never suspect her?” I ask. “I’m sure you didn’t. If you had, she would’ve died years ago.”
“It was clever, I must admit. Was she always yours?”
I clench my jaw tight, remembering just how far back we went. “From the very fucking beginning.”
“Then it’s a shame you didn’t get her back in one piece,” Belov says with mock sympathy. “Unfortunately, I had to play with her one last time before she left. And I play a little rough.”
Willow shivers behind him.
“You will pay for what you did to her,” I promise. “I’ll see to that myself.”
“Really?” Belov asks. “It seems a little late for threats. Because as far as I can see, I’ve already won.”
“Then you’re delusional.”
The smile slides off his face. I can see just how much Ariel’s betrayal has lit the flame of his mania. It’s a nauseating glimpse into the chasm where his humanity should be. All I see is poison.
He spins around in a circle, arms wide. “Am I imagining all of this? I don’t think so. I have your son. I have your wife. I’ve had Semyon for years, but the old man is pretty much useless now that I have Viktoria Mikhailov.”
He moves towards Semyon’s wheelchair. I know what’s about to happen. Can feel it in my bones.
But I’m not sure Willow does.
“I had to put up with this old sack of shit for years. Despite what you seem to believe, Leo, I do know how much the men value the bloodlines,” he says, sitting between Willow and Semyon. “But you were right about one thing: he stopped calling the shots a long time ago.”
Belov looks to the nurse and gives a quick nod. In a flash, she pulls out a knife.
I watch as she slits the old don’s throat with one swift slash.
Willow gasps, but before she can truly respond, Spartak yanks her out of her seat and pulls her to her feet. He spins her around so that her back is pressed to his chest. Then he walks her over to the camera.
I lean forward instinctively. I want to jump through the screen and tear his hands off at the wrists for even daring to lay a finger on my wife.
“For every mark you leave on her, I will return the favor a hundred times over,” I growl. “That’s a fucking vow, Belov.”
“If only that threat scared me, Leo,” he tuts. “But you see, I’m don now. And this is my queen. Isn’t she a beauty?”
He presses his lips into her neck as Willow trembles. Her body is shaking, but her expression is almost eerily calm.
“Don’t you worry, though,” Belov says as he resurfaces. “I don’t plan on hurting her. As a matter of fact, I plan on fucking her until she forgets all about you.”
He twists Willow’s face around so she’s forced to look right at him. Then he presses his lips to hers, and I’m forced to watch as he steals a kiss that was never meant for him.
Willow stiffens under his barbaric hold. She’s not returning the kiss, but Belov doesn’t seem to care. It’s enough for him that he’s able to gloat. This is a display of what he thinks is power.
But he doesn’t know the first thing about real power.
I intend to show him.
Belov breaks away and smiles maniacally at the screen. “Are you ready for the last act, Leo? It’s time we finished this.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
He nods. “It will be so much more satisfying watching you die knowing that I’ll be fucking your wife every night. Knowing that your son will grow up calling me Otets.”
“Keep dreaming,” I tell him calmly. “When I’m done with you, endless sleep is all you’ll have left.”
He smiles.
The line goes dead.
Black clouds of anger roil through me, but I take a deep breath. I focus the rage into action. Into one thought.
This fucker is going to die today.
I head downstairs where Jax and Gaiman are rallying the troops. Men are running around, gathering their weapons and trying to get in the headspace for battle. I know I haven’t given them a normal amount of time to prepare, but it doesn’t matter.
I know each one by name. I know what they’re capable of doing. And I also know Belov’s men are as unreliable as mine are deadly. It is about to be a motherfucking slaughter.
By the time we get to Spartak’s compound, I’m so pumped up that I can practically taste the adrenaline on my tongue. The building rises up before us, squat, concrete, and fortified.
In a few short hours, it will be reduced to rubble.
“Gaiman,” I bark as we get out of the jeeps, “find Pasha and Willow. Make sure to get them out safe. Take however many men you need. They’re going to be well-guarded.”
Gaiman nods and pulls out his guns.
Jax does the same. “I’ll lead the charge.”
“No,” I say. “I will. I want that fucker to see death coming for him. You get the explosives ready.”
A few minutes later, the ground beneath us shakes as our explosives are detonated around the Mikhailov gates. The metal screams in protest, but it’s no match for the bombs. Once the dust settles, the path is clear.
I give the command for my men to drive through. “Stay in the jeeps until you have them on the defensive,” I instruct.
The line of cars is swallowed by the lingering smoke from the explosives. Before we clear the area of reduced visibility, the gunshots begin.
And I make my move.
I head inside with Jax at my back. He covers me while I look for a way into the massive mansion.
My men in the jeeps are picking off Mikhailov soldiers like fish in a barrel. There doesn’t seem to be any effort at a coordinated attack. Just flailing chaos in every direction.
Belov had to have informed the men we were coming, but they still look like amateurs on their first day of work.
And then I realize why.
None of them have the Mikhailov mark. They’re not Belov’s men. They’re the mercenaries Belov paid for.
Best fucking news I’ve heard all day.
Smiling, I jump onto one of the jeeps and hoist myself onto its roof to get a vantage of the battle unfurling all around me.
Belov’s men litter the ground, their blood soaking into the cold earth. In comparison, only two of my men look injured. We have no one dead on our side.
“You’re outmatched!” I yell, calling everyone’s attention. “In both numbers and skill. If you continue to fight, you will die. And I will show you no mercy. But lay down your weapons now and you might have a chance to fight again. To fuck again. To live.”
The mercenaries hesitate, not lowering their weapons, but no longer shooting. I don’t know how much Belov is paying them, but it can’t be enough.
My men tighten around the remaining mercs.
“What do you choose?” I ask. “You want to fight and die, or surrender and live?”
The first one to put down his gun is older. A long scar runs down his face and burn marks pepper his other cheek and shoulder.
He looks like a man who has seen it all. If he is laying down his weapon, it’s because he knows the battle is already lost.
Just as I suspected, the moment he gives up, the others follow suit. A dozen men drop their weapons, followed by a dozen more.