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Ollie turns to the rest of the paramedics, still holding the one in his grip. "He can’t hurt you now. Tell us what’s going on."
One of the women nods, her face pale. "You’ll find our associate in the passenger seat," she begins in a quiet voice just as Nikko bursts back in. “They have a hostage in the ambulance.”
"Can we trust the rest?" Lev asks, his voice tight.
Ollie grips the traitor by the neck. "I have him." He gives him a shake. "Is there anyone else with you?"
"No!" the man cries out, but I can tell he’s lying. I feel sick to my stomach as I turn to Ollie. "He’s lying."
"Who can we trust here, Renata?" Lev says, his wide eyes locked on me.
"The two women. They’re the real paramedics. Go with them, Lev. One of you—Mikhail? Nikko? Somebody go with them."
Ollie is going to interrogate this man, and I need to be here to help him.
I feel like I’m going to be sick.
I can do this. I have to. For Isabella. For Ollie.
For me.
They gather up Isabella, placing her on a stretcher. They take her out to the ambulance, and the cold reality of the danger we’re in sends a shiver down my spine.
We can’t even call an ambulance and be safe. What are we going to do? How are we going to navigate this?
The ambulance leaves, and the fragmented remains of the Romanov family stand in front of us. Mikhail jerks his chin toward everyone but Ollie. "Get your weapons and come with me," he says, the tone of his voice chilling me to the bone. "Renata, leave us.”
The man screams, begging for mercy. I remember the video Ollie played in the hotel room—the tone of the man's voice sounds familiar. It’s the desperate pleas of a man who knows he’s going to die, and painfully.
“Everybody get the hell out of here, Renata stays,” Ollie barks.
Mikhail opens his mouth, but Ollie cuts him off. “She can tell when people lie. It will make things go much quicker.” Mikhail’s face darkens as he considers Ollie’s demand but finally agrees, then steps out of the room.
"Ollie,” Ekaterina says quietly, her pretty face pinched as she leaves the room, “Please mind the carpet. It’s new, dear.”
“Jesus,” Ollie mutters. “This is why the other rooms are concrete.”
Within moments, it’s just the three of us—Ollie, the traitor, and me.
Ollie sent one of his brothers to go get what he needs, and he’ll will be back in a moment.
He grabs the man and shoves him face-first against the wall, his hand on his neck. The man's face grows purple, and he smacks with his hands fruitlessly. Ollie is impassive, his face a blank, emotionless mask.
I try to summon a level of anger. This asshole used my best friend to get to Ollie. He was going to kill the man who I love. But even now, while I logically know this to be true, I'm sick to my stomach, knowing what I'm about to witness.
Ollie is my husband. Time and time again, he has brutally hurt people, and I've even seen it. He's murdered. His hands have been stained with blood. Even in Colombia, there were whispers of the lone wolf, the silent one, a man of Russian descent who lived in New York and had come to enact brutal, bloody revenge. He was feared by the biggest, most powerful man I knew in the LSD.
Everybody feared him.
Ifear him.
“Stay here,” he says as he drags the man to a corner of the room. “You won’t leave my side, Renata, but I don’t want you to have to witness everything.”
I close my eyes and remind myself how quietly and gently he touches me. His hands as soft and tender as could be. What if I were the one who did something to betray him? It wasn't that long ago when he thought I had.
I close my eyes and cover my ears but can’t completely block out the sound of the man’s cries and Ollie’s harsh voice, the blows he delivers. I open my eyes when he drags him back in front of me. Ollie moves with cold precision, drawing the shades. His broad shoulders loom, blocking out the only sliver of light. With ruthless efficiency, he ties the man to a chair, the ropes cutting so deep into his flesh, fresh blood stains them.
His face is bruised and swollen, bleeding from multiple contusions that make it hard to recognize him.
