Chapter 6 - THE RUSSIAN STANDOFF
The blinding glare of the floodlights reflected off the dark water, trapping us in the boathouse like animals in a cage.
Camilla stood on the wooden dock next to Volkov, the keys to our only escape route dangling from her manicured fingers. She wasn't trembling anymore. She looked triumphant.
“Drop the weapons, Marino,” Volkov commanded, his heavy Russian accent cutting through the humid air.
Six assault rifles were trained directly on us.
Dante stood on the edge of the boat, shielding Noah and me behind him. Marco stood beside him on the dock, his pistol raised but utterly outgunned.
“Do it, Marco,” Dante said quietly.
Marco hesitated, then lowered his gun and kicked it across the wooden planks. Dante placed his own weapon on the bow of the boat.
Volkov smiled, a cruel twisting of scar tissue on his cheek.
“Good,” Volkov said. He gestured to Camilla. “Get the boy.”
Camilla stepped forward, holding out her hand toward Noah.
“Come here, Noah,” Camilla ordered, dropping the sweet, matronly voice she had used for months. “Your father and I need to finalize some paperwork.”
Noah shrank back into the leather seat, gripping my arm with terrifying strength.
“He’s not going anywhere with you,” I said, standing up in the boat.
Camilla laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “Emily, don’t be stupid. You’re a maid. You mop my floors. Stay out of this before I have them shoot you right now.”
Dante stepped off the boat, placing himself directly between Camilla and Noah.
“You’re not touching my son, Camilla,” Dante said, his voice radiating a lethal calm. “I know about the baby. Adrian told me before he died.”
Camilla froze. The triumphant smile vanished from her face.
Volkov’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Camilla, then back at Dante.
“Adrian is dead?” Camilla whispered, genuine shock flashing in her eyes.
“Your mercenaries killed him,” Dante stated coldly. He looked at Volkov. “She played him, just like she played me. She promised Adrian the estate to get him to kill my wife, and she promised you a Marino heir to merge our syndicates. How much of Noah’s trust fund did she promise you, Volkov?”
Volkov stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing on the wood.
“She promised me the entire Switzerland account,” Volkov grunted. “Ten billion dollars in clean, legitimate assets. Once you are dead, she becomes the boy’s legal guardian. The money is mine.”
“I didn’t sign the guardianship papers,” Dante countered. “And Noah’s mother hid the master ledger proving Adrian sold you the shipping routes. If I die tonight, that ledger goes to the FBI tomorrow. Your syndicate is dismantled by federal racketeering charges before the week is out.”
Volkov stopped. He looked at Camilla.
“Is this true?” Volkov demanded.
Camilla panicked. “He’s lying! He’s trying to stall!”
“Check my son’s winter coat in his bedroom upstairs,” Dante challenged. “The ledger is sewn into the lining. Elena recorded every transaction Adrian made with your people.”
Volkov rubbed his scarred chin, evaluating the threat.
If the FBI got that ledger, Volkov’s empire would crumble. He couldn't kill Dante until he had it.
“Send two men to the house,” Volkov ordered his guards. “Find the boy’s coat. Tear it apart.”
Two mercenaries broke off and sprinted toward the mansion.
“You think a ledger saves you?” Camilla spat at Dante, realizing her control was slipping. “As soon as they find it, you’re dead!”
“They aren’t going to find it,” I whispered softly to Noah, keeping my head down.
Noah looked up at me, confused.
I reached into the deep pocket of my maid’s apron.
Last Tuesday, Camilla had ordered me to pack Noah’s winter clothes. When I folded his heavy wool coat, I had felt something stiff hidden inside the lining.
I hadn’t known what it was, but I knew Camilla was trying to get rid of his things. I had carefully cut the lining, removed the small leather-bound book, and kept it in my apron, intending to give it to Dante after the party.
I had the ledger on me the entire time.
And right next to it in my apron pocket was a heavy, brass Zippo lighter I had confiscated from the laundry room earlier that week.
I looked around the boathouse.
In the corner of the dock, directly behind Volkov and Camilla, sat four large, red metal barrels.
Marine fuel.
I leaned down, whispering directly into Noah’s ear.
“Noah,” I whispered, “do you remember where the emergency flare gun is on this boat?”
Noah nodded slightly. “Under the passenger seat.”
“When I tell you to,” I breathed, “I need you to pull it out, point it at the roof, and pull the trigger. Close your eyes and cover your ears. Do you understand?”
Noah swallowed hard and gave a tiny nod.
I stood up slowly, stepping out from behind Dante.
“He’s telling the truth, Mr. Volkov,” I said loudly, drawing everyone’s attention.
I reached into my apron and pulled out the small, black leather ledger.
Volkov’s eyes locked onto it. Camilla gasped.
“That’s it!” Camilla shouted. “Get it from her!”
“Wait!” I yelled, holding the ledger over the dark water of the lake. “If any of your men take a step, I drop it. It sinks to the bottom, and you’ll never find it in the dark.”
Volkov raised a hand, stopping his men.
“Clever girl,” Volkov sneered. “What do you want?”
“I want you to let Noah and Mr. Marino go,” I said, my voice remarkably steady. “You can keep Camilla. But they leave on this boat, right now.”
Volkov laughed. “I don’t make deals with servants.”
“Then you don’t get the book,” I said.
I pulled the brass Zippo from my pocket and flicked it open. The small flame illuminated my face.
I didn’t light the book.
I tossed the open lighter directly over Volkov’s head, aiming for the red fuel barrels stacked against the wooden wall.
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“Noah, now!” I screamed.
Noah pulled the orange flare gun from under the seat and fired it blindly upward. A blinding, screaming ball of red phosphorus shot into the wooden rafters, illuminating the entire boathouse like daylight, just as my lighter hit a puddle of spilled gasoline on the dock.
