by Stacy Gail
“It gets better. The hooded man you saw Grigor talking to? That was Polo, and the story Grigor told Polo—of you trying to kill Grigor because he refused to murder Konstantin—was the same story Polo told Pavel Medvedev at that meeting. Do you understand what that means, Knives? It means that right now, as we speak, every single highly trained Medvedev loyalist is outside, mowing down all the undisciplined gang-bangers, ex-cons and lowlifes you’ve got in your so-called army. If they’re following the procedure Papa and Pavel trained them to do, those Medvedev loyalists are closing an ever-tightening circle around the house and killing every person they run into as they go. So the question is…do you honestly believe you still have an army?”
“Goddamn it. Goddamn it. Did Polo hear me with Ollie?”
For a full second I couldn’t answer, I was so stunned. “What?”
“Answer the question.”
“After everything I just told you, that’s what you’re most concerned about?”
“Answer the fucking question, bitch!”
The fear ballooned again, but even as it did, some awareness in the back of my mind suddenly latched onto the scent of smoke permeating the air. “I-I don’t know. I know Polo heard you order the death of Jubilee Lafitte. Knives—”
“Who gives a fuck about that cow? I need to know if Polo believes I’m weak. I’m not fucking weak, Dash. The shit we went through…it made us strong, not weak.”
In growing alarm I looked around the foyer, and the reddish flare-glow that came in through the windows reflected a haze of smoke hanging in the air. “Knives, we can’t talk about this now—”
“You’d better fucking talk, because it’s the only thing keeping you alive.”
Fear surged so fast it hurt. “I don’t understand what your point is. What do you mean by weak?”
“I’m not weak. Polo needs to know I’m not weak. We’re alike that way. He endured so much, so fucking much. Like me. I don’t want Polo to think that Ollie and I… Shit, this is fucked up. I wasn’t with Ollie, okay? Ollie was nothing.”
“O-okay.” I was so bewildered by his ramblings that I almost missed how I was starting to sweat. As we stood there in the foyer, the temperature began to soar. “I just don’t understand what any of this has to do with weakness. Being attracted to men as well as women doesn’t make you weak.”
“I’m not attracted to men, you stupid cunt. I fuck them so they know I’m in charge. I fuck them so they know I have the power to do whatever I want with them. I fuck them so they know they’re my bitches. I didn’t get turned into a bitch when I was fifteen, and neither did Polo. I’m not… fucking… weak.”
“No one thinks that.” Dear God, Knives’s mind was such a tangle, believing that his sexuality was based on an external influence, and not on who he was born to be. Despite my heart that had hardened against him, I couldn’t ignore a faint stirring of pity for this hopelessly damaged man. “Polo endured two years of hell. That alone proves my point. He didn’t become his traumas. No one becomes their traumas, Knives. Not unless they let it happen.”
I could actually hear his teeth grinding. “You don’t know. You don’t know anything.”
“I know you went through six days of hell, not two years. But here you are, still thinking about it, still stuck in the past. That’s a choice, whether you believe it or not.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? My choice?”
Sweat was pouring off me now. Distracting him from shooting me with conversation was all well and good, but it was a wasted effort if we frigging roasted to death. “You haven’t become your trauma, Knives. You just think you have, to the point where you use it to explain away who and what you really are.”
His arms were tightening, tightening. “And what is it you think I am, dear sister?”
“A-a monster.” My heart thudded with the force of my terror, while more tears leaked out to mingle with the sweat I could feel filming my face. “A hideous, sad monster who hates everyone and everything, especially himself. If Papa could see you now—”
“Papa isn’t here, you idiot!” I winced as he screamed in my ear. “If that fucking old failure could see me now—”
“He’d shoot you where you stand.”
For a split second the world seemed to freeze at the sound of Polo’s voice echoing in the cavernous foyer, before Knives wrenched us around to watch Polo slowly approach from the lightless hallway that ultimately led to the kitchen and beyond. In a slim black T-shirt, black jeans and black lace-up all-terrain boots, he was hard to see at first. But the no-nonsense gun in his hand leveled right at Knives’s head stood out like a beacon. Instantly I tried to turn myself into a statue, well aware that Polo’s accuracy when it came to shooting was almost perfect. But that knowledge was poor consolation when his gun was pointed in my direction.
“Polo.” Knives’s tone had changed yet again, sounding more like the man I’d once known and adored. “Shit, look at you, brother. Nice beard.”
Polo acted like Knives hadn’t spoken, as his whole being was focused on me. “You okay, Fearless?”
“I’m a little worried about the smoke and the heat.” I didn’t mention how my right hand throbbed in agony or how the sight in the eye Knives had punched was getting dicey, since it was swelling shut. I needed Polo focused on the situation, not me. “Please tell me the smoke’s just from the flares.”
“House is on fire,” came the blunt reply as at last his dark eyes sliced to Knives. “Shit’s unreal out there. Put down a few flares on the driveway and pool deck out back, and suddenly the whole fucking place goes up. Pool house is already fully engulfed.”
“But…” I stared at him in horror. My God, my family home was on fire, and we were just standing there like we were enjoying a peaceful little reunion. “The pool deck is concrete and the driveway is cobblestone. How…”
“You can’t really smell the scent of gas in here, but it’s pretty strong outside. Your doing, I’m guessing,” Polo added, nodding at Knives.
“Fire always induces a shit-ton of panic and confusion in people, have you ever noticed? But not me. I’ve always loved it. It’s my friend.” Knives’s tone was absent, and his hold on me loosened as he continued to stare at Polo. “Damn, I just can’t get over this. It’s so good to see you alive, Polo.”
“No thanks to you.”
“I swear to God, man, I never wanted you shot.”
“No, you wanted your sister shot, you sick sonofabitch.”
“Try to look at the bigger picture. I was trying to give you the gift of destroying your family.”
“By trying to destroy your own? Don’t,” Polo snapped when Knives opened his mouth. “Don’t say another goddamn word, you crazy fuck. Let Dash go, now, and I’ll give you a painless, merciful death. I’ll even attend your funeral out of respect for what we once were to each other. You don’t let her go, and I give you hell on earth, then feed whatever’s left of you to the dogs. Choose.”
“Some choice.”
“Since these are your last few moments of life—and that is not fucking negotiable—it’s the best I can do.”
“How about a third choice?” Something jabbed into my side, hard enough for me to cry out, and I didn’t have to look down to know it was the gun Knives had wrestled from me. “Here it is—choice number three. You promise to come back to me, and I promise not to blow Dash’s liver to the other side of the fucking room.”
Bone-deep fear froze me from the inside out, while in my mind I could almost feel the bullet rip through my internal organs. Polo froze as well, but it wasn’t coldness that flowed from him. As the flicker of unseen fire danced shadows all around us, I could only feel the deadly heat of the fury in Polo’s eyes.
“Now you’ve done it, Knives.” Polo started to smile, and I couldn’t help but shiver when I recognized it as the affable smile of Scorpio. “You pushed me too far, so guess what I’ve gotta do? C’mon, guess. Guess what I’ve gotta do. I know you want to.”
Kn
ives went still, no doubt sensing Polo was crazier than he ever dreamed of being. “Surprise me.”
“You don’t want to guess? Aw, I thought you’d be more fun than that, but whatever.” If anything, Polo’s smile grew until he was positively beaming. “I’ve gotta tear you to fuckin’ pieces with my bare hands, Knives. I didn’t want to do that in front of Dash, but what can I say? A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
With that, he dropped the gun to the floor and began advancing toward us.
What.
The.
Hell.
“You do realize dropping your weapon is a bad idea?” At once Knives seemed almost lighthearted, no doubt because he believed he was now in the driver’s seat. I had to agree with that assessment; Polo was good—the best, really. But not even he could outfight a bullet. “You just gave me a huge advantage. What’s to stop me from shooting the both of you right here and now?”
“And prove that you’re nothing but a goddamn coward? Not a damn thing in the world, Knives. Then again, I already know you’ve got no spine, huddling like a bitch behind your baby sister while dropping big-man threats on me like you think you’re hardcore.”
A growl rumbled from Knives. “Watch your mouth, Polo. I’ll forgive you this once because I’m glad you’re alive, but I swear to God—”
“I don’t need your fucking forgiveness, dumbass. I’m here to see if your balls have dropped so you can meet me with all the courage that your father had. Or are you just going to continue to cower behind your human shield? Doesn’t matter, either way. I’m still coming for you, and not even a bullet’s gonna stop me.”
Shut up, Polo. Shut up, shut up, shut up…
“I’m not fucking around, brother.” Behind me, Knives’s chest heaved with every agitated breath while Polo did exactly what he said he’d do—kept coming right for him, one measured step at a time. “You mean everything to me, but I swear I’ll put a bullet in your head.”
“Says the gangster-wannabe while hiding behind his baby sister. Yeah. That’s you in a nutshell, you fucking coward.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
The gun wavered from my side, and instinctively I knew he was prepping to aim it at Polo. “Nizhy, please don’t—”
“Don’t call me that, bitch!”
In an instant, everything changed.
One second I was standing there with Knives, who’d turned his head to scream at me. The next, I was flung by Polo toward the hallway where he’d come from. Even as I fell and skidded along the floor, Polo was on Knives with moves so fast my brother couldn’t get a shot off. As I watched in horror, Polo wrenched Knives’s wrist so violently something snapped like kindling. He screamed as the gun clattered to the floor.
Then the beating began.
At fifteen, a frightened and innocent Polo had been thrown into a cage and forced to fight for his life. Day in and day out, this unimaginable hell on earth was all he’d known. Therefore, it was no surprise that by the age of seventeen, he had learned countless ways to bring brutality and death to anyone crazy enough to pick a fight with him.
Without a doubt, Knives had picked a fight.
Polo’s boot lashed out in a modified side kick to Knives’s left knee, buckling it in a way that it was never meant to bend. With another howl of agony, my brother crashed down hard to the left just in time to meet a right uppercut from Polo that was so punishing I had to bite my lip to keep from making an involuntary sound of horror. Not that he would have heard me; even if the growing roar of the fire I could now see past the open archway leading into the grand salon wasn’t drowning out every other sound, Polo was now in a world of his own. He was both graceful and gruesome, a being created for the sole purpose of executing unprecedented violence.
This was Polo, yes, and the man I loved.
But there was no denying that this was also Scorpio.
“You tried to take my world from me.” A roundhouse punch snapped Knives’s head back, but he no longer made any noise when he was hit. Thanks to the light from the flames racing up the drapes in the grand salon, I could see Knives’s eyes were unfocused and barely open.
Then the fire reached the salon’s archway itself and sprinted up to the carved lintel.
Oh, no.
“Polo—”
“You tried to take away my reason for living. My heart. My soul.” Another punch flowed into a sharp elbow to the throat, and that merged into a blow to the midsection that audibly crunched bones. He’d become a tornado of physical destruction even after Knives fell to the floor and no longer moved. Polo didn’t seem to notice. “You tried to take everything from me when you went for Dash. Did you really believe I wouldn’t punish you for that? Huh?”
Holding my injured hand to my chest, I struggled to my feet and bent to scoop up his dropped gun. “Polo, we have to—”
“Now look what you’ve done. You’ve forced me to act like an animal in front of my woman, when her eyes are too good to see…this…shit.” Each word was punctuated with a bone-crushing blow, turning Knives’s once-handsome face into unrecognizable, bloody mush. “You think you get to live after that, motherfucker? Answer me!”
“Polo, stop. Polo.” It was pointless. Nothing was getting through. For only an instant I thought about bodily pulling him away, but I discarded the idea as soon as it appeared. He would never hurt me in a million years, of course. But I was also a smart woman. I knew to avoid Scorpio when he was at full throttle.
The thing was, I also knew to avoid get burned alive.
Unfortunately Polo seemed oblivious to the now-blistering heat coming not just from the grand salon, but also the antique carved wooden front door, which was fully engulfed and effectively blocking our closest exit. The only way out now was the hallway which led back through the kitchen, but that was clogged with smoke.
Damn it, we had to get out of here.
Now.
With nothing left to do, I pointed the gun straight up, awkward with my left hand, and pulled the trigger.
The sharp report snapped Polo’s head up mid-punch, and for a second he seemed to have no idea who I was. We didn’t have time to stand around figuring it out, so I held up the hand holding the gun and sucked in a breath filled with suffocating smoke.
“Fire.” I couldn’t help but cough, and I bent low to try and find cleaner, cooler air. “Fire, Polo. We need to get out now or we’re going to die.”
“Fire.” He said the word like he didn’t know what it meant before he looked around. I saw the exact moment he snapped back into focus, and he pivoted away from the unmoving mess that was Knives as if forgetting his existence. “We gotta get you outta here. Can you walk?”
“Of course.” I flinched away before he could grab my right hand. “It’s broken, don’t touch.”
“Fuck.” For half a second he looked like he wanted to turn back to Knives, but the fire—and our need to escape it—was top priority. “Okay, beautiful, you’re going to be all right, I promise. Head for the kitchen, go out through the garden and over to the garage, yeah? Pavel stationed Anatoly and Big O there, so it should be clear.”
“Okay. Just…just one thing before we go.” With my eyes now streaming with smoke and my lungs and throat burning with each super-heated breath, I still took the time to face my brother, before raising the gun and taking aim.
“No.” Before I could pull the trigger, Polo took it away from me. His other hand, adorned with bloody knuckles, came to turn my head away from what I’d been about to do. “Baby, no. That’s not your job. Just go now.”
The flood from my eyes intensified, and I kept telling myself it was the smoke. “I can’t stand the thought of letting Knives burn to death. I can’t let that happen.”
“Dash—”
“But I can’t let him live, either. I’ll never be safe if he lives. We’ll never be safe if he lives.” A jagged sob nearly buckled me in two, and that was when I had to face that my tears weren’t just from the smoke. “This has to b
e done, Polo, and I fucking hate that, but I want to live. I want to live for us. I want to live for the children we’ll someday have. None of that’s safe with Knives…” The rest was lost in a choking fit that came from both the crap I was breathing in, and the sobs wrenching through me.
“You go. Don’t look back.” He pushed me toward the hallway. “I got this. I’ll be right behind you.”
“No Polo, I won’t be separated from you again—”
“Idiots!” The booming voice of Pavel Medvedev suddenly sounded, and we whirled to see the Medvedev patriarch and his eldest son Vasili, coming in from the rear of the house. “Do you not see the house is on fire? Vasili, get little Dasha out, now.”
“But—” Before I could utter another syllable, I was hauled up and over Vasili’s shoulder and hustled out of the foyer. In a matter of moments, blessed cool air whispered over my overheated skin, though it seemed like an hour passed before Vasili finally stopped running and the jostling, jolting world became eerily still.
“How bad are you? You burned?” With all the delicacy of Godzilla, my rescuer dumped me on a carpet of cushy grass and gave me a quick but thorough once-over. To my surprise, Rudy Panuzzi appeared and urged me to sit down on the grassy slope by the spring-fed pond to the east of the house, while Vas and—another shocker—Bruno, the Scorpeone bodyguard and Matteo Scorpeone himself set up watch.
“I-I’m fine.” The mere act of talking kicked off a painful coughing fit, and it felt as though my entire esophagus was trying to turn itself inside out. “Rudy, you’re not supposed to be here.”
“What the actual fuck, Dash. You think I’m going to let my sister-in-law face a monster all by her lonesome? What kind of man do you think I am?”
A good one. A truly, truly good one. “P-Polo—”
“He’s with my father,” Vas interjected, “so shut the hell up and let this guy check you out. Apparently he knows about emergency medical shit.”
“Got trained as a medic in the Marines, so if it’s good enough for the military, it’ll be good enough for you.” Rudy had a penlight out and was flashing it in front of me. “Wow. That’s one hell of a shiner you’re working on, honey. You hurt anywhere else? How’s your breathing?”
