Page 91 of Broken Sins (Volkov Bratva 3)

Right then, the windows explode.

26

Vito

I learned long ago that it takes two hundred and fifty milliseconds for the average person to respond to visual stimulus, one hundred and seventy milliseconds to respond to auditory stimulus, and one hundred and fifty milliseconds to respond to tactile stimulus.

But my father and Antoni did not train us to be average.

All of which is to say that I am already moving less than a second after the explosion blows all the windows along the northeastern wall inwards in a hailstorm of deadly jagged glass shards. I spring forward, jam my gun into Luka’s ribs, and yank him with me. Over my shoulder, I see Mateo doing the same with Milaya. Dante and Leo are providing covering fire, shooting at the men in tactical suits rappelling in through the gaps where the windows once were.

We move backwards as a unit towards the tapestry hanging on the southwestern wall, the one that leads to the dungeon. We clear the fifty-four yards between the hearth and the tapestry in less than a minute as all hell breaks loose around us. I feel a bullet graze my calf and I roar in pain but I do not stop.

If you stop, you die.

I once believed that to be true, the one true thing in a life full of shadows and lies. Milaya’s kiss changed everything. It made me question things I never knew could be questioned.

But right now, it is as true as it ever was. If we stop, we die.

So we run.

We burst through the tapestry and do not stop. Mateo leads the way, Milaya behind him. I force Luka to run ahead of me, following in their footsteps, while Dante and Leo take the rear guard. The sound of gunfire, bursting flash bangs, and pounding boots doubles and triples in intensity in our wake. We’re trying to stay ahead of the storm, descending the stairs five and six steps at a time, leaping down as far as we can manage again and again. I collide with the thin metal handrail dozens of times, but I do not feel that pain, nor the pain from the bloody furrow etched in my calf by the errant bullet.

Down we go, until at long last we reach the dungeon. Leo, the last one down, slams shut the door and locks it. “It won’t hold for long,” he says grimly. “I saw C4 on their belts.”

“Your men came prepared,” Dante remarks to Luka.

My blood runs cold when Luka draws in a deep, ragged breath, then straightens up and says, “Those were not my men.”

We all fall silent at once. I think each of us had assumed the same thing—that the Volkov Bratva troops were making a last-ditch effort to rescue their leader from surefire death. How they got past our own defenses, I haven’t the faintest fucking idea, not that it matters right now. But if they aren’t Luka’s soldiers … then who the hell are they?

“What?”

“Those were not my men,” he repeats. “My men were stationed primarily to the southeast, and told not to enter unless they received explicit instructions. Whoever attacked just now, it wasn’t me.”

I look to my brothers in turn. Even Mateo looks dumbstruck.

“He’s lying,” Dante declares boldly as the uncomfortable silence thickens.

“I have not lied since I set foot in your home,” Luka answers quietly. “I see no reason to start doing it now.”

“Fuck,” Leo snarls. He glances up to Mateo. “So who is it?”

“I don’t know,” he replies grimly.

My thoughts drift elsewhere as they descend into a harried discussion about the various enemies who would have the balls to launch a full-scale attack on the heart of our turf. None of the answers seem plausible. The Albanians don’t have the muscle; the Cubans don’t have the balls; the Mexicans don’t give a damn about what happens north of the border as long as they get their money. One by one, they cross off potential assailants.

The whole time they talk, I try to ignore the thought that’s building in my brain like an underground geyser, threatening to erupt.

“The Irish wouldn’t fuckingdare,”Dante is arguing when I raise a hand to cut him off. Everyone looks to me.

“I know who it was,” I say.

Everyone looks at me.

I clear my throat. “It was the biker.”

“The bikers?” Mateo asks in disbelief. “Not a chance. We are on good terms with the Diablos MC. Umberto did a stint with them, remember?”

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