Page 87 of The Masked King

I don’t even need to think about it; I would hunt the fuckers down and set fire to them myself. The idea scares me because it’s exactly what Dmitri Malevsky is doing.

“Why didn’t they kill Enzo when they had the chance? Or stop the fire? Or call nine-one-one?”

His eyes become slits. “It would have made no difference. The fire spread so quickly, they were already dead from smoke inhalation.”

“But that shouldn’t have happened.” I’m thinking out loud.

He grips the back of my neck and turns me around in a full circle so that I can appreciate my surroundings. “It did happen. You have the proof right here in front of your eyes.”

I struggle to get free and he shoves me away from him as if disgusted at me for asking questions. I stumble into the couch, and my arms go straight through it, a cloud of ash puffing up around my face. Standing, I cough up soot, eyes streaming.

I face him again with my soot-blackened face and lock eyes with him. We didn’t come here alone. This isn’t a duel between Malevsky and Enzo, a meeting at dawn with pistols where both parties are gentlemen and abide by the rules. This is war, and even now the rumble of vehicles arriving outside is pulling those knots in my stomach tighter. I can’t let this drop, not only because it’s eating away at me, but because it might be my last chance to save Enzo and Gio.

“What if someone else followed Enzo into the house and set another fire?”

I hear the growl building up inside his chest like a feral animal facing the hunter. His hand reaches into his pocket and panic clamps around my chest like a metal band, squeezing the oxygen from my lungs. He would have no qualms killing me now. I’ve served my purpose. But I’m not done with him yet.

“Hear me out, please.” I don’t look away. I force myself to hold his gaze and not look at the hand in his pocket. “I’m not trying to stop you from going through with this.” Liar. “I only want you to listen.”

“Better talk quickly then, Ms. Payne. You have thirty seconds.”

Shit. “Which room is this?”

“Twenty-eight seconds.”

“Stop the clock!” I snap. “You haven’t answered the question. That’s what they do in a game of chess, isn’t it? They stop the clock after each move.”

His expression doesn’t flicker. “Okay, so we’re playing a game of chess now. I am a master, so you won’t win.”

Of course he fucking is. “Answer the question.”

“The piano room.” He waits a beat, amusement glinting in his eyes, before adding, “Your move.”

“This isn’t the den?” I know as soon as the words leave my mouth that I wasted my move.

“Are we done here? I already answered the question.”

“Where is the den?”

“Why do you want to know? What relevance does it have on⁠—”

“Answer the fucking question!” I’m pushing my luck, but at this point, I have nothing to lose.

“It is at the back of the house.”

Now we’re getting somewhere. “Is it contained?”

“Why do you⁠—”

“Yes or no.”

He smiles for the first time, a real smile, not his customary grimace, and I can’t even begin to imagine a life where smiles are not a part of my daily routine. I wonder if there will be a day, when he’s old and withered and lonely, when he realizes all the little things he has missed out on while he was too busy being a pakhan.

“It is built into an extension,” he says.

That’s good enough for me. “Enzo said that he set the fire in the den so that it wouldn’t spread. He had a layout of the property; he believed that the family were in Russia. The fire was meant to be a warning only. Nothing more.”

His smile fades, and the room grows cold. “He lied.”