Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One
“Sergei,” Gloria breathed, taking another step back. She glanced at the door, but he tsked, drawing her eyes back to him.

“Gloria, Gloria, Gloria,” Sergei sang, moving one step toward her with each one she took back. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused these last few months? Hm?”

Despite the hammering of her heart, Gloria stopped her retreat and shoved her shoulders back. “You caused me trouble before I knew the meaning of the word. Before I could even speak the word!” she spat. 

Sergei guffawed. “You still don’t know your place. Your life would have been perfectly satisfactory by my side. You would have been taken care of. You would have had power, strength, wealth…”

“And what of my freedom?”

“Freedom?”

“Yes.”

“To do what?” he asked with a laugh. “Start a bakery? Pursue an art career?”

“Become a nurse.”

Sergei’s mouth split into a smile of disbelief. “You could have been nurse to our men!” he shouted. For the first time, he pulled his hand from his pocket. Attached to it was a long-barreled revolver, which he then pressed to his head. “Are you hearing yourself? Become a nurse,” he repeated, scratching his head with the barrel of his gun. “You left so you could do something you would have done anyway?! Your own mother…”

“Do not mention my mother to me,” Gloria hissed, taking a threatening step forward, though she was in nothing but a towel, and he brandished a weapon. 

Sergei’s smile turned pitying. She could see his personality fraying around the edges. She certainly had thrown him through the wringer. She’d always known him to be so well kept, so pristine. Yet looking at him now, his armored vest slightly askew, the length of his hair uneven as though he’d recently cut it himself, the way he wielded his gun as if when he pressed the trigger he expected a cork to pop out… it all made him seem nearly insane with how drastically she’d turned his life on its head. Her. Little Gloria Rubanov had destabilized not one, but two families. That knowledge made her feel more powerful than any large caliber rifle ever could.

“I’m sorry, Pupsik, –Little cutie,–” Sergei mocked. “Did I strike a nerve?”

Gloria gave a tight smile and did something she would have never done a few months earlier: she turned her back. She walked to where she’d hung the robe on the wall and put her arms through the sleeves as she said, “You know, Sergei, there was a time I was afraid of you.”

“You should still be.”

Gloria shimmied the towel away from her body and tied the robe snugly. She was no longer a fool; she knew a confrontation was coming. She would not defend herself in a towel. She flicked her wet hair behind her as she turned. 

“You would think so, right? But you know what I’ve learned over the past few months?” she asked.

“Spreading your legs makes you a whore?”

“That all you men are exactly the same. That’s why I think it’s good a woman will be running my family’s empire,” she said, crossing her arms and popping her hip. “Women are categorized as emotional but men?” she scoffed. “One hit to your ego, one lost woman, and you go running across the country seeking bloodshed or scurrying into your holes to pout. No planning, no forethought, just action based off unruly hormones.”

Gloria watched as what she said settled through Sergei’s mind. She had to suppress a laugh as it seemed he was searching the English to Russian translator in his head. 

“Vam bylo by legche ponyat', yesli by ya govoril po-russki? –Would it be easier for you to understand if I spoke in Russian?–” she taunted.

Sergei’s brow crashed down over his eyes, and he scowled. He took two startling steps forward, and for a moment, her old fear resurfaced. Before she could formulate a counterattack, she slipped on the wet tile, allowing him precious moments as she grappled for footing to wrap a chunk of her hair in his fist and press the barrel of the revolver to the soft skin of her jaw. 

“Ty, naglaya malen'kaya krysa! –You cheeky little rat!–” Sergei growled, pressing the barrel deeper into her flesh.

“Moi lyudi zovut menya Pakhan Rubinov. –My men call me Pakhan Rubinov,–” Gloria said, baring her teeth up at his wild eyes. 

“Moi lyudi. – My men,–” he corrected.

Gloria’s smile widened, and she laughed. “They’ll call me that too.”

His fist twisted, tightening his hold on her hair. “What do you think will happen here, hm? So brave for such a defenseless little woman,” Sergei taunted. 

“I’m often brave, yes, but I’m never defenseless. I killed my father, if you hadn’t heard,” Gloria said. 

Sergei laughed. “An old man past his prime. I heard you surprised him, didn’t give him a chance for a fair fight.”

It was Gloria’s turn to laugh. “What do you call sneaking up on an unarmed woman in the shower? Sporting?”

Sergei blinked, and his eyes went from the revolver back to her gaze. He shook his head and sneered. “You are nothing but a child. Spoiled. Whimpering. You’ve never tasted real danger or held a business in your hands long enough to know what it’s worth. You know nothing of the real world.”

“Maybe so, but I do know kidnapping me is incredibly cowardly, Sergei. I would think the Butcher would have thought of something more elaborate.”

“If you are stalling, waiting for your hero to come bursting through that door, then I have a surprise for you.” Sergei lowered the hand with the gun but kept her hair snagged while he dug in his pocket. Then he pulled out a device: rectangular in shape with wires and a singular red button in the center. Gloria’s eyes narrowed as she studied it. Sergei laughed, a maniacal sort that let her know he’d truly gone off the deep end. “Just now, your little man is down there interrogating Asher. Soon he’ll realize what he’s fallen into. The club was never the trap, Gloria,” Sergei informed her with a shake of his head and a raise of his eyebrows. Her breath stalled in her chest. “No, no, no, you were always meant to come right. Back. Here. And you did!” He laughed again. “You think you know so much, but you clearly didn’t recall the tunnels leading under the house, did you?”

“Tunnels,” Gloria whispered. 

“Tunnels,” he repeated. “My hideout wasn’t in some sewer drain. It was here, your house, my house.” He laughed again and pulled her closer, making her wince as he threatened to pull her hair out by the roots. “Do you hear that?” he asked. He waited a moment, and eventually she heard a ticking like the sound of a kitchen timer. “My men are falling into place right now and when that timer goes DING,” he shouted, making her jump and shut her eyes, annoyed at her reaction. “The house will go up.”

“So you can make your getaway?” she guessed. “Take your prize and go? Force me to marry you?!”

Sergei chuckled and shook his head. “No, no, no, I’m afraid we are far past that, Gloria Rubanov. Your father is dead and, as far as I’m concerned, your contract is dead with him. Now, we’ll settle this the old-fashioned way.” 

The timer in Sergei’s pocket dinged, and Gloria flinched. Her eyes widened as he shoved her back and took a few steps away. He chucked the revolver to the side, ran his hand through his hair to secure the flyaways, and took a deep breath. 

“Ready?” he asked, shaking the button for her to see. “One on one. Pakhan to Pakhan. Let’s see who dies and who wins the game we started eighteen years ago, hm?” 

Gloria turned for the door. “Frankie!”
Behind her, she heard a click. Sergei’s laughter was cut off by the sound of a large explosion on the opposite end of the house. Screams echoed as the explosions grew closer and closer, moving through the foundation like a tide storming a beach. Explosion after explosion rocked through the house until finally one made the ground beneath her feet tremble, shake, and throw her off balance. She fell to the floor as dust and loose ceiling tiles fell down on top of her. Her scream was cut off as something sharp fell and knocked her on the temple. For a moment, there was blackness.