Chapter 170 170

Chapter 170 170
“Oh, he certainly tried,” Nikita tells me. “He had deployed a man to do exactly that. I just beat him to it.”

Goosebumps prick my skin. Why hadn’t I seen it before? This woman is cunning and dangerous, even more so because of how unassuming she is. How easy to overlook.

“Do Isaak and Bogdan still think Maxim is responsible for their father’s death?”

Nikita nods. “The mole Maxim planted in the house was blamed for Vitaly’s passing. But the credit was never his to take. It was mine. Only mine.”

I continue gawking at her. She’s proud of how she killed Vitaly. She’s proud of the fact that she’s been able to keep the secret for so long without anyone suspecting her.

Part of me is awestruck.

Part of me is terrified.

“Nikita,” I say, putting my hand over hers. “I appreciate everything you’ve been through. But… your sons deserve to know the truth.”

She sighs. “I thought you might say that.”

“Is that why you told me?”

“Maybe,” she acknowledges. “Maybe.”

I press forward. “I don’t know what this will change, but I do know that Isaak and Bogdan are out there now because they think Maxim killed their father.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“No, I know that. There’s a whole host of things forcing their hand. And I can only claim to understand a few of them. But Nikita, if this information has the possibility of changing something, then you need to share it with everything. Not just me.”

“Maxim and Svetlana are not going to listen.”

“You avenged Maxim’s father. You avenged Svetlana’s husband. Don’t you think that’ll make a difference to them?”

She gives me a soft smile. “There’s still a lot of naivete in you, child.”

I sigh. “I know I’m probably the most clueless person in this house right now. Maybe a few months ago, that would have driven me crazy. But you know what? I don’t care anymore. If being naïve gives me the ability to hope, then I’m happy to jump down that rabbit hole. Hope is too precious of a thing to lose.”

I get to my feet and hold out my hand to the woman.

“They won’t let me out of this house, Nikita. Not without you.”

She blinks. “You want me to let you go?”

“No—I want you to come with me.”

38

ISAAK

“Detonate.”

The moment I give the command, the entire south section of Maxim’s compound goes up in a cacophony of debris.

I’d had my men scour the area before we’d planted the bomb. There’s only a handful of his followers in the south section. But I know for a fact that Jo’s not there. It’s the safest place to destroy without compromising her safety.

Besides, the intent of the explosion is not to cause death. It’s simply to make a statement.

Isaak Vorobev is here.

And this time, I’m not fucking around.

The alarm is raised immediately, but my men and I don’t wait for the smoke to clear. We pour into the compound with our weapons drawn.

I’ve killed four men by the time we manage to walk out of the haze of dust floating all around, tainting the ether. I can’t see Maxim anywhere, but I have no doubt he’ll show up.

He hasn’t left this compound in days. There’s nowhere else he could be.

I watch as Bogdan and Vlad cut their way to the front of the line. Bogdan is fast and sneaky with his attacks, exploiting every angle at his disposal to cut a wide swathe of death. Vlad is a straightforward fighter who gets his way through brute force.

I do whatever gets the job done.

That’s not ego talking. It’s practice. It’s the training style that was carved into me, literally and metaphorically. It’s never enough to be strategic and cunning. It’s never enough to be brutal and strong.

You have to back up brains with brawn. You have to be everything at all times.

My father wasn’t a man who made small requests.

It takes us fourteen minutes to fight through to his gardens. I take a spiteful pleasure in mowing down the ludicrously ornate animal-shaped topiaries dotting the courtyard. I hope they were expensive.

The topiaries offer about as much resistance as Maxim’s men do. It’s pitiful how quickly they’re slaughtered or surrender. In no time at all, we’re at the doors of the house.

The mansion looms over us. Windows look down from both the east and wings. If he had half a brain, Maxim would’ve had snipers stationed at every one of those vantage points, ready to force us back under cover.

“Maxim!” I bellow into the air.

As my voice rings around the grounds, my men gather around me, leaving only the fringes of our group taking care of the traitorous stragglers who don’t know when to give up.

I glance towards either side of me. “Don’t shoot at the house,” I order. “My daughter is in there somewhere.”

Two seconds later, I spot movement.

I redouble my grip on my gun. I count twenty, thirty, forty men streaming past the windows upstairs with guns in hand. The thunder of their boots shakes the ground.

“He’s got at least forty men at his back,” Vlad says grimly.

“We have to assume there’s double the number in and around the house,” I say.

There were fifty Vorobev men at my back when we started. No more than five or six have suffered injuries in the initial onslaught. I’m not worried about being outnumbered, though. I could assemble an army of street rats and still come out on top.

But this is the first fight I’ve ever been in with real fucking skin in the game.

Yes, I lost men, but they knew exactly what they’d signed up for. I’ll give them honorable funerals and make sure their families receive distributions of cash for the rest of their lives.

That is my duty to them.

This is different.

Maxim has my child. And I’m very aware that, despite my superior numbers and the fact that my men are ten times more skilled, he has the only leverage that matters.

The thunder of boots grows louder. The doors burst open.

And then, sauntering down the stairs comes Maxim.

His men form a ring around him. I make it a point to step in front of my soldiers to ensure the contrast between us is obvious.

Cowards hide in the back.

Kings lead from the front.

“Maxim,” I drawl. “Kind of you to join us.”

His eyes dart to the ruins behind us. I’ve probably destroyed half an acre of his property and it rankles him. He’s trying to come off as detached, but I sense his distraction, his anger.

Even from here, I spy beads of sweat forming across his forehead. His eyes dart around, taking in my men and the numbers at my back.

He doesn’t look nervous, though. He’s smarter enough to know he still has the upper hand.