“You bastard,” one of the men playing poker has time to growl at me before three rounds of my weapon strike true on all three men at the poker table, my aim moving with deadly precision before one of the women screams, and I duck behind the half-wall that leads into the room as chaos breaks loose.
The remaining men stand up, some of them reaching for their guns as they dive for cover, and shouts in Russian fill the room. I hear footsteps and movement the moment I’m out of sight, and I make a note to watch for those who’ve left the room. Bullets hit the wall behind me as I duck, but I can tell from the number of shots fired that not all the men have weapons at the ready. Meaning I have only a matter of moments to end this before this becomes a full firefight.
I hear a cry from one of the men and the sound of glass breaking on the ground, and I seize my opportunity, popping out of hiding.
One of the enslaved women had struck one of the armed men with her tray, and before he can get his bearings and retaliate, I put a bullet between his eyes and charge into the room.
Having been distracted by the scene, one of the armed men starts to turn to me, but I reach him first, grabbing his wrist and shoving his arm up as he fires, blasting a hole in the ceiling above before he cries out as I break his wrist and bring my pistol to his heart and pull the trigger.
Five rounds.
The gunfire had ceased, and I turn in time to feel a sting on my right arm as one of the older men brings a kitchen knife across it, and there’s blood on his blade as he finishes. I recognize the man, the one they’d called Boris, and his steely eyes lock with mine.
“You think this game of yours will go unnoticed?” he snarls. “You think the Bratva will just roll over and play along with your wishes, you fucking upstart?”
I have no words to waste my breath on, and even as he brings his knife in for another strike, my fist is faster, and I catch him in the stomach, doubling him over. I wrench the knife from his hand and ram it into his belly faster than he can react, and as blood runs down the man’s front while he gasps, collapsing into the hot fireplace, I turn my attention to two younger men who are barreling for me.
Grimacing, I hurl the knife at the wall, not far from the first woman, who jumps back, her eyes wide as she looks at it while I brace myself to deal with the two men.
One dives for me, and I easily use his weight against him, hurling him to the ground as I swing to catch the second man with a blow to the chin, sending him staggering. He comes back around to tackle me to the ground, but a swift kick to the knee cripples him with a pained shout, and he falls to the ground with his partner.
While they gather their bearings, I reach down to one of the bodies of the armed men, picking up a pistol and putting a bullet into each of the men who dove for me. Their bodies thud to the ground unceremoniously.
With the room cleared, I move to the wall near the entrance to the hallway. My heart jumps to my throat as a man I’d missed stands up from behind the couch, pistol in hand, but before I can turn my weapon to him, I hear him grunt as the first woman sinks the kitchen knife into his back from behind, and she stands back as he falls to the ground, her hands shaking as the weapon falls from her grip.
My eyes watch her for a moment as she looks up at me, fearful. “Flee. You saw nothing tonight,” I inform her in French, and she simply nods before dashing for the door, her footsteps echoing down the stairs.
Returning my attention to the hallway, I brace myself before blind-firing two rounds with the pistol I’d picked up, and I hear two men shout and shuffle for cover as I turn around the corner. One of my shots catches the hip of a man diving into the bathroom, and swiftly, I follow him in before he can regain his bearings.
I point my pistol to his head as I press myself against the wall, and he holds his hands up in surrender, terrified. I nod to the hallway and mouth ‘how many?’ He glances to the doorway and holds up one finger. I nod and fire my pistol, catching him between the eyes before whipping around into the hallway and aiming for the far bedroom doorway.
A bullet from the man standing there catches me in the shoulder before my shot hits him in the throat, and he slumps to the floor as I clutch my wound, moving forward with no time to waste. One bullet remaining in the gun I came into the room with, I kick the door open and instinctively aim it at the bed.
My target is there, sitting on the lavish silken sheets and holding a pistol to the head of the second woman I’d seen him sitting with when I first burst into the room. His eyes are the coldest of any of the other men I saw on my way in. His room is lavish, gold vases and a few pieces of real art hanging on the walls, a large amount of cocaine on a table near the bed and a closet hanging open, full of expensive, tailored suits. He’s every bit the man of hedonistic pleasures I always knew him to be.