Page 166 of Silenced

Heat prickles along my spine as I struggle to bite out, “He’ll wait for me. Family calls.”

“Family? You call that Lyanov upstart family? That’s your first mistake.” He grins at me, flashing a set of gold teeth while simultaneously letting me know the Krestniy Otets is well aware of my reason for being here. “He won’t like that. Not when he’s most wanted number one as they say in the US.”

I’m almost relieved because I know we’re done talking when he grabs my arm. I react instinctively—slicing my hand against his wrist until I feel the bones buckle beneath the force of my attack.

As he yelps, his guards surge forward, but it doesn’t stop me.

I’m already going for broke with Maxim, so the little bastard better not be dead.

Turgenev cradles his broken wrist while trying to punch me with the other. The fucker is out of fighting shape, which makes it easy to twist his arm behind his back until his shoulder dislocates. That’s when I kick his knees in so he lands heavily on the joints.

Using him as a human shield, I control him by squeezing his broken wrist as I draw his arm upward. The soft fuck screams in agony but I don’t hear his cries for mercy.

I only see his signet ring.

It gleams at me. Taunts me.

Big and brash, clustered with carats of diamonds and emeralds, the old family heirloom has causedmyson to shed too much fucking blood.

I tug the signet ring higher up his finger, slot my knife beneath it, and I slice through flesh and bone.

As he screams, as blood spurts, his guards surround me. With his digit in one hand, I’ve got Zub in the other. The tip of which is buried in his throat.

It’s an unwise move but…

“This,” I rumble, voice straining as I force the words out, “is for Dmitri.”

I slice his carotid.

That’s when I take a moment to appreciate the fountain of blood that springs forth as it laces the pristine white snow.

Silence fills the air until the click of multiple safeties being disengaged echoes around the clearing.

Men who are loyal to me make an appearance.

See, I’d anticipated the welcome committee, just not with Turgenev as the main dignitary.

As my men deal with Turgenev’s, I throw the finger on the snow and pocket the signet ring while I jog toward my car. Luka’s waiting with the engine running, so I jump into the driver’s side and take off.

“You always know how to kickstart a vacation,” Luka cheers, taking in the chaos we’re leaving behind with a wide grin. As he turns around to continue watching the show, he informs me, “Maxim’s still alive. He’s in a hospital in Sakharovo.”

That has me groaning.Shit.That’s almost two hours away from here.

“Da. I know. Pain in the ass. But it’s why the K.O. hasn’t found him yet.”

I cast him a look and, controlling the steering with my knees for a brief instant, sign, “What happened?”

“If it weren’t for you, he’d be dead,” is Luka’s grim retort. When my brows lift, he intones, “Men who remember you from the early days helped get him out of the city. Misha’s with him. He’s claiming they’re going to disenfranchise themselves from the Bratva. Is that even possible?”

I shrug. But at the lack of scorn in Luka’s voice, I have to assume he’s considered it a possibility.

“I always forget how annoying it is to have a conversation with you when you’re driving. Why don’t you letmedrive?” He doesn’t expect an answer. “Da, da, because no one drives you but you.” He sniffs his disdain for that and oh, how bewildered he’d be if he knew I have Karl drive me around frequently now when I’m with Cassiopeia.

When we make it off the airfield and are en route to Sakharovo, I know he’s right—now is not the time for silence.

Releasing the chokehold on my vocal cords isn’t something I can always control—if I could, I’d speak like a regular person—but this is a goddamn emergency so Ihaveto try.

I did it with Turgenev so I can do it with an old friend I trust.

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