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“Trafficking?” I’m able to speak after the snake relaxed at his touch, but my voice is still ragged and breathy. “That's why you needed the kids—for your pet? Or do you assault them first before you sacrifice them?”

His eyes light with intrigue. Not anger or disgust at the accusation. He’s merely curious what I might know.

Fucking psychopath.

“It seems we have questions for one another. A little tit-for-tat, perhaps?” He slowly paces around my chair. “I’m curious about Michael. Was he a traitor before you showed up, or did you convince him to turn on his family?”

“His family? You mean the organization that killed his father, then lied about it being a heart attack?”

He cocks his head to the side. “You have proof of this?”

“Enough proof to know it was an inside job. Biba made a huge mistake when he made an enemy of Michael Savin.”

Ruban huffs out a chuckle. “Apparently. If it was Michael who pulled the trigger that put our beloved Vor in his grave, then it’s quite the revenge story.”

I don’t like it.

His tone.

The tiny flippant mannerisms.

It screams of a man who thinks he’s pulled one over on someone.

That’s when it hits me. Could Ruban have been behind the murder of Michael’s father? It would make sense. If Michael’s father got wind of what Ruban was up to and planned to out him to Biba, Ruban would have plenty of motive to quietly dispose of Biba’s loyal soldier. That would explain why we couldn’t find a motive for Biba’s actions.

I’m about to ask him about it when the Russian picks up my knife from the small tray beside me. I hadn’t noticed it was there, but now that the sharp steel is in his hand, I’m all too aware.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it? That a man who’s made such a name for himself with this blade should die of suffocation.” His gaze lifts to mine, soulless and empty. “A knife does you no good if you can’t breathe.”

When he makes a clicking sound from his mouth, the snake begins to squeeze. Glee shines in his eyes. Watching a slow and torturous death is this guy’s favorite entertainment. What a fucking lunatic.

Teeth gritted and every muscle flexed, I do my best to fight against the constriction, but I’m seconds away from cracking a rib.

Where the fuck are Michael and Drake?

The words echo in my mind when the guard behind me barks something in Russian and shoves Ruban toward the window.

“Moya Koroleva,” he snaps at the man, pocketing my knife and shaking free of the man before whistling and swiftly untangling the snake from my body.

I gulp in a lungful of sweet oxygen as the two climb out the window and loudly clamber down the fire escape. Seconds later, my backup arrives.

“They went out the window,” I rasp. “Andreas, Pavlos—see if you can catch up.”

The two men spring into action as Drake frees my hands and feet. “Knew this plan was shit,” he grumbles while he works.

“Wasn’t shit until you guys didn’t show up. What took you so long?”

“It was five goddam minutes, that’s it. They moved fast.”

I rub my wrists where the zip ties cut into them. “That’s all? They used what I assume was nitrous oxide on me. I had no idea how long I was under.”

“Good thing he didn’t give you too much—that alone could have killed you.” His tone is rife with disapproval.

“He had other plans.” I stretch my spine and wince. “Asshole had a goddam albino snake. Python or a boa constrictor—I have no idea which one—something that likes to squeeze.”

“No shit?” Michael chimes in. “You get any info from him?”

I need to tell him my suspicions about his dad, but not here. “Let’s get out of here first.”