Page 87 of Savage Warrior

I nod. “Fair enough. If she survives the fire.”

“Ah, yes.” Ethan checks with Aaron. “Is everyone out?”

“Yes, boss.”

“And Tony?”

“He went to check the bedrooms, then he was guarding the front door to make sure no one else comes in.”

“Okay. Get on with it then.”

I grab Zora and drag her out into the bar. The rest follow, while Aaron strikes a match and flings it back through the door as we leave. The petrol-doused room goes up with a satisfying whoosh. The woman’s ear-splitting screams follow the four of us as we sprint across the bar and back through the girls’ dressing room. We meet Tony stationed on the door, and all emerge into the street together. Already, smoke is billowing behind us, and I can still hear Zora screeching.

“Do you think she’ll get out?” the Moldovan interpreter asks. He’s remained silent thus far.

“She has two choices,” I reply. “Either way, her club is history.”

“Good riddance.” Ethan is back in the driving seat of the Trabant. He starts the engine. “Next stop, Minsk.”

CHAPTER 20

Arina

We enter the castle, Jack on my right, Mr Bival on my left. The Moldovan Mafia boss is impeccably dressed in a sharply tailored suit which I just know won’t have cost less than several thousand dollars. His shoes are expensive Italian leather, and I suspect his shirt is pure silk. He is the very epitome of male elegance, yet he bends to pick up Yuryl, grubby and tearstained as he is, and carries him up the steps.

“This is the place I told you about, little man. My nephews live here. You will meet them, yes?”

Yuryl nods, obviously confident and feeling safe with this stranger.

Cristina greets us at the door. She hugs her brother, offers a reassuring smile to Yuryl, and asks if he is hungry. She speaks to him in Russian, just as Mr Bival did.

Yuryl nods, but when she suggests he go with her to the kitchen, he clings tight to his new friend.

“Perhaps you could have someone bring cookies,” Jack suggests.

We follow Cristina into a vast, cavernous main hall. A huge oak table stands in the centre, surrounded by a dozen carved chairs. At one end of the hall is a monstrous fireplace, big enough to walk right inside. At the other end, two boys are throwing a ball into a hoop fixed to the wall. They stop when we enter, and one of them lets out a whoop.

“Uncle Marius!” He rushes at us, startling Yuryl who flings his arms around Mr Bival’s neck and hangs on for dear life.

Mr Bival, Uncle Marius, crouches to hug the boy with his free arm. “Tomasz, how you have grown. I hardly recognised you.”

The lad punches his arm. “You saw me two months ago.”

“Did I? Oh, so I did. Well, you have still grown.”

“Who’s that?” Tomasz peers curiously at Yuryl.

“This is Yuryl. He’s Arina’s brother and he has come to visit.”

“Does he play basketball?”

“I do not know. Do you want to play, Yuryl?”

My little brother sticks his thumb in his mouth, a sure sign of his nervousness. Never especially outgoing, he’s painfully shy with new people. And given his recent experiences…

“Okay. You sit here, with me and your sister.” Mr Bival settles himself in the chair at the head of the table, Yuryl perched on his knee. “You can help me tell Arina all about Natalija.”

Personally, I doubt we’ll get a word out of Yuryl for a while yet. He’s engrossed in watching the two boys who have returned to their game at the end of the hall.

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