Chapter 6 - The Encounter In The Service Corridor
I clutched the heavy leather ledger and the cold metal of the pistol against my chest, slipping out of the library through the narrow service stairwell while Kirill and Damon mapped out a counter-assault in the war room. The stone walls of the back corridors were damp and shadowed, echoing only with the distant rumble of thunder outside. My mind was spinning out of control. Twenty-four hours ago, my biggest worry had been spilling a cup of black coffee on an expensive desk. Now, I was holding the beating financial heart of the Chicago underworld and a loaded firearm, hiding from a ruthless syndicate boss who slaughtered his own blood for power. As I rounded the corner near the linen closet on the second floor, a heavy hand suddenly shot out from the darkness, clamping over my mouth and yanking me violently backward into the narrow, unlit alcove behind the laundry chute. I let out a muffled scream, dropping the silver tray in my mind, my fingers tightening desperately around the leather ledger. "Well, well, well," a smooth, gravelly voice hissed right beside my ear. A man's breath, smelling of stale scotch and expensive cigars, washed over my neck. Viktor Volkov. I knew that voice from the hushed, terrified whispers of the other maids. Damon’s uncle. A man whose cruelty was legendary even among the Bratva. "What does a pretty little bird like you doing carrying heavy books in the back halls while the house is burning down?" Viktor’s thick fingers trailed down my arm, sharp nails pressing uncomfortably into my skin as he tried to pry the ledger from my grip. Fear spiked through my veins like liquid fire, but underneath the terror, a cold, hard anger ignited—the same anger that had kept me alive in this house for two years. With a sudden, explosive twist, I stomped my heel down as hard as I could onto Viktor’s polished leather shoe. He cursed loudly, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second. It was all the opening I needed. I wrenched my arm free, spun around, and slammed the heavy, steel-cornered leather ledger directly into his chest with all my strength. Viktor stumbled backward against the wall, gasping for breath, his eyes widening in fury as he reached inside his suit jacket for a hidden shoulder holster. "You little bitch—" he snarled, drawing a sleek black Beretta and pointing it straight at my forehead. "Drop the book, or I’ll scatter your brains across this hallway before anyone even knows you're missing." I froze. The cold barrel of the gun stared right back at me, black and final. My finger instinctively slid down inside my pocket, pressing against the trigger guard of the pistol Damon had given me. But before I could pull it out, a shadow detached itself from the ceiling overhead, dropping silently onto Viktor like an apex predator falling upon its prey.
