Page 103 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

He clicks his tongue, thinking. Then something occurs to him.

He drops my hand and marches over to a small wooden table sitting against the far wall. With a swift kick, he breaks the front leg off of it.

CRACK.

Then the other three, one at a time.

CRACK.

CRACK.

CRACK.

“What are you doing?”

“Two birds, one stone,” he says, dragging Rose’s body over towards the wall and leaning the wooden legs over her body like a teepee. “We’ll give your friend a poor man’s Viking funeral and we’ll cause a distraction at the same time.”

Dima grabs an antique chair from another corner and breaks it like he did the table, then slips into the kitchen and fishes around in the cabinets. He emerges with a bottle of vodka. Uncorking it, he pours the alcohol over the assembled shards of wood stacked alongside Rose.

It shouldn’t be comforting, but in the weirdest way, it is. At the very least, it’s something to do. Some way I can give Rose a proper ending. One that isn’t violent and bloody and horrific.

More than anything, it will take her body away from here.

They won’t be able to touch her anymore.

Just as he goes to light the match, I stop him and rush forward. Rose is buried under the wood and debris, but I uncover her body and unclasp the heart-shaped necklace from her around her neck.

I look up and catch Dima watching me.

“It’s special to her,” I explain in a hollow croak. “A gift from her mom when her daughter was born. If I ever find her family, they’ll want it back.”

Dima nods solemnly. There’s understanding in that nod. There’s room to breathe.

Then, with a clenched jaw, he throws the match into the pile.

It goes up easily. Flames lick at the paper, the books, the wood we assembled. A trail of torn pages leads to the wallpaper. The fire runs down there and catches.

I tighten my fists in fierce pride. I want as much of this horrid house to burn as possible.

I want this hellhole to be reduced to ashes in the wind.

No one else should ever step foot in this place ever again.

“It’s done,” Dima says quietly, wrapping his arm around my waist as the heat starts to bake our skin. “Let’s go.”

I look at the pyre one more time. Rose isn’t visible beneath it. I know she’s gone, but I still want to tell her I’m sorry. I want to tell her I wish she was the one escaping instead of me.

There’s a million other things I want to say, too.

But all I can manage to voice is one word.

“Goodbye.”

37

Arya

We get into one of Taras’s cars and slip away. I see the first peals of smoke rising up in the rearview mirror.

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