AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ivankov sprawled in the chair at the head of the table, nearest the fireplace. He’d swung his legs over the chair’s arm and dangled his head back on the other side, staring into the flames. The relaxed posture was misleading, but Luka couldn’t help but try.
He threw one of his knives toward the man who had taught him the maneuver.
Ivankov laughed as he caught it. “Welcome back, Luka.” His arm jerked, and his aim was truer than Luka’s had been. The mother at the table clutched at the knife in her neck, choking.
Another failure.
At least Alina was far enough away.
Kiryl Ivankov stood. There was a smoothness to his movements that Luka had learned to mimic. As if Luka had never thrown the knife, Ivankov stretched his hands over his head. “You’re late,” he said.
So there would be no physical repercussions this time to repay his attempt. Not to himself. Luka would have another opportunity to try to kill the man.
Other Bratva soldiers littered the house, but they were smart enough not to remain in the room. Not when Ivankov had that particular look on his face.
The woman’s torso slumped over the table, her blood running among the eggs and toast.
Her husband had rushed to her side. He tried to hold her in his arms as he sobbed.
Ivankov sighed, his hand stroking the boy’s hair. The boy who hadn’t run to his mother. He still had a fork pinning his hand to the table and a dazed look in his eyes. At the continued ministrations to his hair, he shuddered.
“You want this boy to live?” Ivankov asked Luka over the boy’s head.
Luka stilled.
“Kill his father. And make it good.” Ivankov laughed as Luka raced across the room. He turned the boy’s head, forcing him to watch as Luka pulled the man away from his dead wife.
The pressure points Luka hit would dull the pain of what followed. He used the knife that had killed the wife to carve up the husband. The man screamed pleasantly for Ivankov. Luka dragged out his life for as long as he could. Blood covered his body by the end. He carved out the eyes last, tossing them into the fire and hoping the display was enough.
As he rose, Ivankov had the most pleasant smile on his face. He leaned against the boy, still stroking his hair.
It wasn’t Ivankov the boy was staring at like he’d seen a monster.
Luka was the last thing the boy saw. Ivankov snapped his neck.
Luka stared down at the bloody knife in his hand. Not good enough then.
Ivankov crossed to him, his hand heavy and deliberate on Luka’s shoulder. He knew it would only add to the pain of his failure.
“Come along,” Ivankov told him. “I have another job for you.”
Luka’s arm hung limply even after he was released. He followed silently behind the pakhan.
The next assassination sounded easy enough. Luka took in the details as he wiped the blood off his knife with his glove. They were ruined anyway. He slipped the knife back into its sheath, wondering how long the family would have lived had he not thrown it.
“I thought we were past this, Luka,” Ivankov murmured, moving in front of him.
Luka knew his expression hadn’t changed, but still, Ivankov always knew what he was thinking.
Ivankov’s finger brushed the skin beside Luka’s eye, sending flames of pain through him and making his face feel like ash. “I see everything about you. Did you find my gift, then?”
Luka forced his eyes to remain open as he studied the man. Longish, dark hair. Pale skin. Even paler, crazy eyes. Similar to Luka’s own, but gray.
“How disappointing.” Ivankov’s hand fell away. “I was hoping she would burn. Then this petty rule you retain would have been broken.”
Of course Ivankov had known of Alina’s presence when he’d sent him to kill everything inside the Balakin manor.
“I assume you saved her. No matter. The former pakhan’s daughter has nothing. Saving her is like trying to save your sister all over again.” Ivankov leaned closer. “When will you realize that there is only one type of peace you can bring?”
