I let the dead weight of the body drop to the cobblestones as another man charges me with a knife, his face twisted in a desperate sort of rage. I catch his wrist and twist it back until I hear the snap, taking the weapon for myself and sinking it into his throat in one fluid motion that sends him straight to the dirt. That makes three.
The gunman fires erratically, but I dodge and charge him. I break his wrist and kick him in the groin, and when he falls, I kick his head. He goes down groaning, but he’s still alive. There are two left with knives, and one of them decides to go for Zoya instead of me.
I charge him and use my leg to break his knee. He screams and drops to the ground. That’s four down.
“Are you okay?” I ask Zoya.
“Yeah,” she answers.
“Go stand over there in the corner. Don’t come here. I’ll deal with it,” I tell her.
The last guy with a knife tries to rush me, but I catch him mid-swing and snap his arm before hammering my fist into his face until he finally stops moving. That’s five down, but before I can even catch my breath, a sudden, searing heat blooms in my shoulder. The gunman I’d already dropped somehow found his weapon with his good hand and managed to get a shot in.
The gunman on the floor starts to line up another shot, but Zoya reaches him first and kicks him square in the head with her heel. He drops like a stone, and the momentum sends her stumbling back until she lands on the ground, clutching her foot.
I cross the distance with the fourth man still in my grip and slam him into the ground. Then I step on the gunman’s shoulder. I hear him scream, but I don’t even look at him, focusing all my attention on myVedma, who is hurt. I’m on my knees beside Zoya in an instant, asking, “Fuck! Are you okay? Did you hurt your foot?”
She winces, clutching her ankle. “My foot hurts!” she says, her face twisted in pain, but the gunman on the ground can’t keep his mouth shut.
“You stupid bitch! I’m going to…” he starts to growl, but I don't even look at him. I just use my free hand to drive a blow into his ribs with the force of a sledgehammer, feeling the bone crunch and shatter beneath my knuckles until he gurgles and goes silent.
“Does this hurt?” I ask, pressing gently on Zoya’s ankle.
“A little…” she starts to say.
“Do you know how well I take care of my wife?” I ask, my voice sounding deadly calm while I examine her. “Do you know how expensive her pedicures are? How much time and care go into keeping her perfect? And you made her hurt her foot on your thick skull?”
There’s no swelling, so I figure it’s just a bruise. “His head was too hard. You’re going to bruise. I’m killing him extra for that,” I tell her, massaging her foot.
“Alexei, you’re bleeding…” she points out.
“I’m fine,” I say, and I kiss her ankle gently. “But you were perfect and so fucking brave.”
I help her up and look at the fourth man, still conscious and nursing a broken knee. “Who sent you?” I ask.
He spits blood and manages to talk, “You’re about to kill us anyway…”
“I don’t have time for your stupid riddles and I have to help my injured wife so. Who….sent….you?” I repeat.
He looks at the bodies. The blood everywhere. Then back at me. “If I tell you… You won’t kill us?”
I smile at him. “Tell me, and I give you my word.”
It’s total bullshit.
“It was an old man! He paid us three hundred thousand euros just to rough you up!”
“Who is he?” I demand.
“We never saw him, okay! But…but there was always a younger guy with him,” he says.
My blood goes cold. “Do you know his name?”
“No, please, I don’t remember! But it started with a D maybe…”
“What did you call him?” I ask.
“Mr. D! That’s all I know!” he cries.