It happens fast. One second, I’m firing at Mazur’s soldiers, and the next, someone darts right into my line of fire.
Reaching the body, I notice the person isn’t wearing any combat gear, and there’s no weapon. I crouch down, on guard for any threat, while my men sweep through the mansion.
“Dead?” Emre asks as he crouches on the other side of the body.
“Looks dead,” I mutter, not able to see the person clearly.
Then Emre shines a light over the body, and I stare at the familiar face of the woman I bumped into outside Aqua.
She belongs to Mazur?
Just like earlier, her light brown hair is tied back in a tight bun that does nothing to flatter her average features. By the worn sweatpants and sweater, it’s safe to guess she’s probably a maid or some kind of employee. I’ve heard Mazur doesn’t give a fuck about his staff.
My eyebrows draw together when I hear the gunshots tampering out.
As I climb to my feet to continue my search for Mazur, Emre asks, “Is it the same woman from earlier?”
“Evet.” I lift an eyebrow at one of my soldiers. “Any sign of Mazur?”
“Not yet, boss,” he answers before disappearing down the hallway.
Emre searches the woman’s neck for a pulse, then glances at me. “She’s still alive.”
I doubt it’s a coincidence that she bumped into me on the same day I planned to attack. I swear, if Mazur got away and she had something to do with it, I’ll make her wish she was never born.
An edgy feeling ghosts over my skin, increasing the restlessness already tightening my muscles.
I want to know why she was at Aqua and any other information she has on Mazur. “Take her.”
Emre signals for two of my men to come closer. “Where are they taking her?”
“Home. One of the cottages at the back of the property. Get the doctor to take care of her.”
“Home?” Emre questions me.
“I want every piece of information she can give me.”
“If she survives,” my cousin mutters.
While my men take care of the woman, I continue to walk through the house, and when every soldier shakes their head, intense disappointment starts to fill my chest.
“No sign of Mazur or Dydek,” Daniel, one of my lieutenants, informs me as he comes into the sitting room. His words hit a nail in the coffin containing my hope that tonight would be the night Mazur pays for what he did to my parents.
I wanted that fucker to die tonight. I wanted his blood coating my hands, his screams filling my ears.
I bite out the instruction, “Find out if any of our men were wounded, and get the lights turned on.”
“Yes, boss.”
To another soldier, I say, “Gather the maids and every other staff member that’s still breathing for questioning.”
He nods and quickly darts out of the sitting room.
Minutes later, when the lights come on, I glance around me. “Tear the mansion apart.”
Getting to destroy the place Mazur calls home doesn’t do anything to lessen the frustration swirling inside me.
Fucking, bastard! You can run, but I swear I will find you – if it’s the last thing I do.
While my men get to work destroying every piece of furniture, a wooden box grabs my attention. Thinking it’s a cigar holder, I flip the lid up, then stare at the rows of bullets. Taking one out, I see a name inscribed on the side.
Agnes.
I check another one.
Nikodem.
So the rumor is true. Mazur keeps a bullet for each of his employees.
Where he uses fear to inspire loyalty, I chose a different method. There’s only one thing that overrules fear. Money. People will do a lot of dumb shit for the right amount.
“The staff are gathered in the basement,” Kerem, one of my soldiers, informs me.
Nodding, my lip curls in distaste, and with one last hateful glance around the sitting room, I follow Kerem to where the staff are waiting to be questioned.
The basement is dimly lit, eight beds lined against the walls. I only count seven people and assume the girl I shot is number eight.
“Where’s Mazur?” I ask, my sharp gaze checking each of their faces for any sign of emotion.
They remain silent, their eyes trained on the concrete floor.
“The sooner you talk, the quicker you can get back to your lives,” Emre adds.
The oldest, a man who looks like a butler, says, “We don’t know. There’s a tunnel beneath the house. Mr. Mazur probably left via it.”
“Where’s the entrance to the tunnel?” I ask, glad they’re not making this hard for themselves. I get no pleasure from torturing innocent people.
“It’s in the garage,” the elderly man answers.
“You have no idea where Mazur will go to hide?” Emre asks.
The man shakes his head. “We know nothing about his business. We only work here.”
Glancing at Daniel, who joined us during the questioning, I say, “Find the tunnel, and check where it goes.”
“Yes, boss.”
I gesture for Emre to take care of the staff, then head toward the stairs.
“Pack up and leave,” Emre instructs Mazur’s staff. He also gives orders to some of our soldiers, and when he catches up to me, he asks, “What now?”
“Now we fucking start over and find out where the bastard is,” I growl, unhappy as fuck that tonight didn’t go as planned.
“Mazur will probably hear that you’re out for his blood. We’ve lost the advantage of a surprise attack.”
Leaving the mansion, we get into the back of the SUV. Mirac slides behind the steering wheel. “Home?”
“Evet.”
That woman better survive. She might have information that will make the hunt for Mazur easier. It can’t be a coincidence that she bumped into me today.
I start to check my clothes for any kind of tracking device she might’ve planted on me, but not finding any, I relax back against the seat.
Sucking in a deep breath of air, I exhale slowly, then mutter, “It’s fine if Mazur knows I’m coming for him. Let him fucking scurry around like a rat trying to figure out why I attacked.”
I fucking hope he’s consumed by fear and confusion.
When I get home, I shrug out of my jacket and hand it to Nisa, my housekeeper. “Selam,” I greet her.
Nisa makes sure the entire household runs smoothly, and she provides company for my grandmother.
“Selam, Gabriel Bey.” Her words are accompanied by a relieved smile.
I head up the grand staircase, making my way to the east wing of the mansion. The moment I step into my grandmother’s private sitting room, her eyes scan every inch of my body, relief washing over her wrinkled features.
“I’m fine,” I murmur to set her at ease.
“Good. And Emre?” She asks, her eyebrows drawing together again.
“He’s in good health,” I assure her.
“Tanrıya şükür.” She murmurs her thanks to God.
Reaching the armchair she’s sitting on, I drop down to one knee and take hold of her hand. With my head lowered, I swallow hard on the bitterness as I admit, “Mazur got away. I failed.”
She lifts her other hand to my head, her touch loving and forgiving. “You’ll find out where he ran to.”
I nod, and lifting my eyes, I look at the woman who raised me. She’s only worn black since my father died. Over the past thirty years, not a day has passed where she didn’t mourn her son.
“I will.” Steel laces my words.
Climbing to my feet, I bend over her and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Söz veriyorum.” (I promise.)
