Page 81 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

I peek around the corner, catching a glimpse of Gavriil’s massive form at the end of the corridor. His back is to me, head swiveling while he searches for any sign of movement. It’s now or never.

Taking a deep breath, I dart from my hiding spot, bare feet silent on the cold floor. My shoes are long gone, perhaps left in the van. I just notice it for the first time, and awareness brings a nagging ache from the chill and stinging in some places. I must have stepped on…something.

I make it halfway down the hall before Gavriil spins around. “There you are, you little bitch.”

He lunges forward with surprising speed for such a large man. I dodge to the side, but my foot catches on a piece of debris. I stumble, crashing to the ground. Pain explodes through my palms and knees as they scrape against the rough concrete, irritating the existing injuries.

Gavriil’s meaty hand closes around my ankle, yanking me backward. “Thought you could outsmart me?” He drags me across the floor. “I’m going to enjoy making you scream.”

I kick out wildly, connecting my heel with his nose. There’s a satisfying crunch, and Gavriil howls in pain. His grip loosens just enough for me to wrench free.

Scrambling to my feet, I sprint down the corridor, ignoring the burning in my lungs. I round a corner, nearly colliding with a rusted metal gate. My fingers fumble with the latch, desperation lending me strength as I force it open.

Behind me, Gavriil’s enraged roar echoes off the walls. “I’m going to kill you!”

The words make me tremble. This isn’t about taking me back or using me for his pleasure anymore. He means it. He sounds enraged enough to kill me. I push through the gate, slamming it shut behind me. The latch catches with a metallic click that sounds far too flimsy to hold back the force of his rage.

The corridor stretches endlessly before me, branching off into a maze of smaller passageways. Which way? Left or right? Each choice could lead to freedom or a dead end.

Gavriil’s thunderous footsteps grow closer. I pick a direction at random and run. My lungs burn, and a stitch forms in my side. I can’t keep this up much longer.

Just as I’m about to collapse, a figure steps out from a side passage. My heart leaps into my throat until I recognize Boris, Matvey’s right-hand man. Maybe I’m prematurely relieved, but I’m glad to see anyone else, even if he is another of Matvey’s men.

“Boris,” I manage to say his name before gasping for air. It takes several deep breaths before I can speak again. “Please, you have to help me. Gavriil’s gone crazy. He’s trying to kill me.”

Boris’s face remains impassive, but his gaze flicks to something behind me. Before I can turn, a meaty arm wraps around my waist, lifting me off my feet.

“Got you,” Gavriil hisses in my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

I thrash in his grip, kicking and clawing. “Let me go.”

“Enough.” Boris’s sharp command cuts through the air like a whip crack.

Gavriil freezes, his arm still locked around me. I feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against my back.

Boris steps closer, his cold gaze sweeping over us. “What is the meaning of this?”

“The little bitch tried to escape. I was just bringing her back.”

“By chasing her through half the prison?” Boris raises an eyebrow. “That wasn’t part of the plan, and you had no business being in her cell in the first place.” He glares at his comrade. “You were tasked with ensuring she has food and water, and nothing more.”

Gavriil’s grip tightens, and I wince. He sounds sulky when he replies. “She needs to be taught a lesson.”

“And who gave you that authority?” Boris’s voice is dangerously soft. “Matvey was very clear about how the girl was to be treated.”

A tense silence falls over the corridor. I hold my breath, hardly daring to move.

Finally, Gavriil releases me with a grunt of disgust. I stumble forward, putting as much distance between us as I can.

Boris turns to me, his expression unreadable. “Are you injured?”

I shake my head, not trusting my voice. I have minor injuries, but I doubt he’d care.

“Good.” He reaches into my pocket and pulls out the set of keys I’d stolen from Gavriil earlier. They jingle with each step I take. “These don’t belong to you.” He glares at Gavriil. “Or you now.”

The other man’s face contorts with rage. “You can’t be serious? She tried to escape.”

“And you disobeyed direct orders,” Boris counters coolly. “Matvey won’t tolerate an undisciplined soldier. Your emotions have compromised you, Gavriil. You’ve lost the privilege of controlling our guest.”

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