Sal rushes me then, knife drawn.
But he’s underestimated me. I’m not just some slicked-up suit running numbers in a skyscraper. No, what Sal Imperi and the rest of my competition in the city don’t know is that I still walk the streets.
I still do my time with the men. On the ground.
I do my dirty work when it needs doing. AndI’mthe Bratva. The monster beneath the bed. The nightmare whispered about in backrooms across three continents.
I catch Sal's wrist mid-swing. Squeeze.
He howls.
The blade drops. I kick it across the floor.
Then Audrey shrieks.
The man whose skull I thought I’d at least fractured is on the stairs, a thick arm wrapped around her throat. Her feet dangle an inch in the air, kicking, her eyes huge in the dark. He hauls her up higher, slamming her sideways into the wall hard enough to make the plaster crack.
Audre makes a broken sound.
The world narrows to a pinpoint.
I shove Sal away. Bend just enough to pull the knife out of my boot, and whip it through the air, praying to a God I don’t believe in for the universe to align.
It hits its target, slicing through Audrey’s hair just above her ear and plowing through the thug’s eye. His arm around her throat loosens, and Audrey crumples as his body folds down the stairs next to her.
Striding forward, I tower over Audrey, listening to the sickening sound of her labored breath as I pull the blade from the man’s eye socket.
When I turn around, Sal Imperi is backing up toward the door.
He points at me, panting. "It didn’t have to be like this, Martynov."
"You're right," I say, voice low. "She should have let me kill you months ago."
I jerk my hand back, take aim, and see the glint of the knife as it turns end over end.
It catches Sal in the throat, and he staggers to his knees. In a flash I’m by his side, slowly wrapping my hands around his throat, ignoring the slice of the blade as it bites my finger. I squeeze slowly and steadily until the sound and feel of cracking almost echoes in the atrium. Sal’s eyes bulge, blood vessels breaking as he struggles against my hold, legs kicking out wildly.
It takes a long, long time, suffocating someone.
If you aren’t careful they’ll only pass out.
So, I wait. I tighten my grip.
And Sal Imperi dies in my hands. His pulse slows, then ends against my fingertips.
I turn to Audrey.
She’s trying to sit up. Her hands tremble. Blood trickled from her temple, where the knife left a nick, and one hand is pressed to her throat. Her lips are pale.
“Don’t move,” I say, crouching beside her. “Can you breathe?”
She looks up at me with wide, dazed eyes. Then she whispered something that rips me in half.
"He said he was going to kill the baby."
The rage that follows isn’t fire.
It’s ice.
