Page 64 of Satin Empire

There are shouts. I know a little Russian now, and I can tell they’re trying to figure out where the shot came from. I barrel into the hallway, shoot at two Russians looking around with panicked expressions, and kill them both. I jump their corpses, running full-tilt for the stairs leading up to the second level?—

And nearly get my head blown off by a Russian waiting at the top. I duck back, cursing, and return fire. But the guy’s already retreating. I can’t sit around, so I take the risk and charge up, emptying my magazine as I go to keep the Russian from getting the drop on me. I reach the top landing and throw myself to the left, diving into an empty office, reloading the second I hit the ground.

More gunshots roar from nearby. I get on my knees, shuffle to a blown-out window, and come up looking for a target. The door to the bathroom at the far end is open and looks like it was kicked down. I nearly scream in rage and throw myself out into the hall, which is clearly not what the Russian expected me to do—I catch him trying to sneak into a better position. I run at him, slam him with my shoulder, and jam the barrel of my gun under his chin.

He goes very still. “Where is the girl?” I ask in my very shitty Russian.

“I did not touch her,” he says, his English only slightly accented. “I swear I did not, her or the boy. I heard the gunshots and came running.”

“She’s alive?”

“I don’t know who the girl is. I don’t know what is happening. My men?—”

I yank the gun back then slam the butt hard into his skull. He grunts, eyes rolling back, and falls bonelessly to the ground. I kick his weapons away, making sure they’re out of reach, and use a zip-tie I find in his pocket to bind his wrists together. Once he’s not a danger anymore, I run to the bathroom, gun raised.

I find Alana huddled in the corner with her cousin. They’re hugging and she’s sobbing and the poor kid looks like he’s been crying too.

“Baby,” I say, shoving my gun back into my belt and going to her. “Baby, I’m here, it’s okay.”

“Carlo?” She releases Noah and slowly gets to her feet. When she wobbles, I’m there, catching her and pulling her against me. “Carlo, oh my god, you’re really here. I heard the gunshots and I thought?—”

“I have you now,” I say, pulling her close. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. I have you.”

She cries, her whole body racked with sobs, and she keeps muttering how scared she was and how she thought she was going to die. Noah rocks back and forth, hugging his knees to his chest, probably traumatized for the rest of his life.

I hold my wife so hard I’m afraid she’ll break, but I can’t make myself go easy. I’m afraid if I let her go, I’ll somehow lose her again. For a while during the car ride over, I was terrified that was exactly what might happen, and it was a nightmare.

There are footsteps in the hall. I shove Alana behind me, draw my gun, and raise it, ready to kill the first person I see.

“Bro?” It’s Saul’s voice. “You fucking in here, bro? There are like three dead Russians down there. And holy shit, there’s another one all tied up and shit.”

I put my gun away and step out of the bathroom. Saul’s crouched over my prisoner, looking baffled. “You weren’t needed after all,” I tell him, grinning like a maniac because my adrenaline’s still pumping into my veins.

He laughs, and I drag my wife into my arms again, as my people flood the warehouse and make sure it’s cleared of threats.

Chapter 32

Alana

I’m more than a little shaken, and Noah looks like a grenade exploded next to his head. He’s a zombie, shuffling along, and barely talks as we drop him back at his house. I want to say something, I want to make it all better, but I can’t—he knows this is the world we live in, even if he hates it as much as I do.

“He’ll be okay,” Carlo says as we head back to our place. “I’ve seen guys react like that before. He’s in shock, but he’ll come out of it.”

“I hope so.” I hold his hand the whole way. I keep seeing that door kick open, keep seeing the Russian stare in at us with a mixture of surprise and disgust. He was about to do something, say something, when the gunshots went off, and he ran back into the hallway. I don’t know what would have happened if Carlo hadn’t shown up when he did, because we were sitting ducks there on the bathroom floor, and that Russian didn’t look like he was in the mood to be kind.

Back at the house, Carlo makes me drink a little wine, then takes me upstairs and starts the shower. I don’t resist when he undresses me and let his hands linger on my body. I’m so grateful to be with him right now, and the idea of any space between us feels like an enormous river of lava. I need him as close as possible, his skin on my skin, and once the shower’s hot enough, we get under the stream of water together.

He hugs me tight and holds me as the water soaks us both. He whispers soothing words, meaningless stuff, saying how I’m okay and I’m safe now, over and over again, how he’ll never let me anywhere near danger ever again, all the right things. The words don’t really matter—what I care about is him holding onto me and making me feel like a person again.

Because in that bathroom, in the dark minutes it took Carlo to drive across the river, I thought my life was over. I thought I was sitting in my own grave, in my mausoleum, and I was going to die having never really done anything at all. If that Russian had put in a bullet in my head, would anyone remember me? My family, Carlo, but anyone else? I haven’t done anything to make the world a better place, I haven’t contributed anything, I haven’t traveled, I haven’t done a damn thing. I would’ve died, worthless and alone, with my poor cousin at my side.

“I don’t want to run a nightclub,” I blurt out, not even sure why I say it. He stares at me in surprise.

“You don’t have to,” he says.

I bury my face in his chest. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said it sooner. I just don’t really care about the club at all, and I was thinking about how I’ve never really done anything that’s all mine before, and that’s what I want. You know what I mean?”

“Baby,” he whispers, tilting my chin up so he can look at me. “I want you to do what makes you happy, whatever it is. And if you don’t know right now, I want you to figure it out. Fuck the club. That’s my thing.”

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