Page 22 of The Mad Don
I stare at him.
He is the same man who fed me poison six hours ago for killing his man, and now, he wants me to punish those same men. I don’t know how I survived the pain. He is saying this without any visible awareness of the contradiction, which means either he doesn’t see it or he sees it perfectly and finds it entertaining.
He reaches under his jacket and produces a gun and holds it out to me.
I look at it.
“You handled one today,” he says. “Handle the rest.”
My hand is shaking when I take it. I am aware of that, and I cannot stop it. His hand closes over mine.
He moves behind me, his body close against my back, and his fingers wrap around mine on the grip, and he raises my arm, and I am too weak to fight it properly. I try and I cannot, and the shot rings out, and a man on the far left falls and screams. The sound tears through the yard, and I am shaking as the man goes limp and blood flows.
He moves my arm again, and I scream. “Stop!”
He presses my fingers against the trigger and shoots another man.
“Stop!” My voice breaks on it. The gun is still in my hands, and his hands are still over mine, and I sob.
“Enough. Please! Enough!!”
He is crazy! He is fucking crazy!
I try to free my hands, but he clutches my hand and the gun with an iron grip.
He is still behind me. “What is this weakness, Miss Yana?” His voice is low, close to my ear. “This afternoon, you took a man’s life. And now, you’re crying?”
He loosens his grip, I turn, and I point the gun at him.
Behind me, I hear a gun cock. It’s the man who brought me here. I keep the gun exactly where it is, aimed at the center of his chest, my hand shaking and my eyes wet. I do not look away from his face.
He looks at the barrel. He looks at me. “Fabiano.A posto.Take the men. Give us space.”
I hear Fabiano hesitate. Then a whistle comes, and men come in. They move the men tied to the poles, both dead and living.
He smiles.
“Give it your best shot,” he says.
I know what he is doing. I can see it clearly. The way he is standing with his hands loose at his sides, making himself easy, making himself a target,Come on, do it, prove something.I can see it all, and I am still shaking.
I move the gun.
I press the barrel to my own head. His smile stops.
“If I die,” I say, “Kirill gives you nothing.”
He is very still. His eyes have changed. “Such passion,” he says. His voice has changed too, slightly. “Are you fucking Kirill?”
I don’t answer.
“You both look oddly close.” He takes one step toward me. “He is the first man in our world I have ever seen hold a woman that close. Keep her that close.” Another step. “One lucky bastard, switching between two women, he —”
I am focused entirely on his face, and that is why I feel it is too late. His hand is closing around the gun at my head, and then my wrist is twisted. I am spun, and my back is against his chest, and my arm is pinned, and the gun is gone from my hand.
I try to move, but his grip is iron.
“You know I could fuck you better than Kirill,” he says against my ear.
