“Sure, go.” I shrugged and flipped my hair over my shoulder. I locked eyes with Boris and smirked at him. The looks I had mastered . . . I could trick any man into thinking I wanted him.
But I had to have mastered Dante’s escape and survival tactics too.
I didn’t know which was better, a surprise attack or one where I looked him dead in the eye. My little girl was shrinking back into the corner of the room, cowering in fear, but the woman wanted to show her how to be brave, to stand up and fight.
As the door swung closed, I poured myself another shot without giving Boris any attention. I downed the whole thing and then backed myself against the door.
“How do you want to die, Boris?” I asked, staring into his eyes, the smile I had for him a second ago completely gone. “I could choke you out or break the bottle over your head before I stab you to death.”
“Twisted.” He groaned and rubbed his pants before he got up to come toward me. “I like it. I think I’d like to make you scream once or twice before you try to scare me, though.”
Adrenaline whipped through me, shooting off in every direction before Boris descended upon me. My palms sweat, my heart beat at the speed of light, and every thought sprang from my mind like hair full of static.
Instead of letting him touch me, of letting any part of this happen, I grabbed his hand and brought it to my throat like I was playing a damsel under a strong man.
The position was one Dante had taught me. With the perfect pivot and a palm strike to his wrist, I would be able to throw him off balance and, with the right amount of leverage, get him in a chokehold.
Before his other hand could come up to touch me, before his hot breath could mingle with my own, I executed the move.
I believed in myself.
I stood up for me and the little girl in the corner.
I put my strength, my hate, my repulsion into it. I gave it all I had.
Pivoting hard into my palm strike, I forced all my momentum into his wrist. He yelped and fell toward the wall, a little unsteady after all the vodka, right where I needed him to be. I swung my arm up and around his neck to garrote him. He started swinging immediately, but my body could take the punches and the pain. I clamped down harder because, if I were to let go now, I’d die.
Him or me.
My death or his.
The amount of energy he was exerting by flailing, wiggling, and flopping around like an idiot had hope growing in me. Dante said the more they moved, the less I had to.
I guess the bratva was still disorganized, because Boris hadn’t been trained to deal with me.
Punching me over and over again in the side was his main defense. He tried throwing us into the wall, but my garrote was tight.
Never let go if you want to live.
He bent at the knee, then to the ground; then his breathing stopped.
I held on for minutes. Maybe twenty. Maybe a hundred. Maybe I would have stayed in that position forever.
I’d killed again, and I wanted to be sure the life was mine before I released the hold.
That’s how Maksim found me when he returned. “Fuck, Katalina.” He bent down to loosen my grip, eyes full of something that looked like remorse. “Did he attack you? I shouldn’t have left. I wasn’t sure . . . You seemed—”
“It’s not your fault, Maksim.” I slid up to sit against the wall and pulled my legs toward me. We stared at the lifeless body. “He had it coming, right?”
“Most of us have it coming.?”
Thinking of all the things the mob had done, of lines crossed, laws broken, lives taken, the only answer was yes. We were trying to outmaneuver one another, but in the end we all had it coming one way or the other.
“From what you can see, I’m not long for this world,” I said. “Take me to see my grandfather now, please. I’ll owe you. Maybe he’ll owe you, too.”
“You can’t hand out favors from the grandfather of the bratva, Katalina.”
“How do you know?” I shot back. “You ever met his grandkids before?”