19. Chapter 19

nineteen

Clara

T his is bad. Real bad .

The worst thing I could do.

It’ll ruin everything.

Might even get me killed.

I stare at the vial of poison in my hand, no bigger than a thimble. The liquid inside is clear and innocuous-looking, but I know better. It’s a new concoction cooked up by the Ravens’ own demented scientists.

"Odorless and tasteless to most—unless you know the scent to chase or the bitterness to linger on your tongue. But this? It’s not just lethal. It’s going to fucking kill the bastard who made it."

How’s that for irony?

With security this tight, there’s no way I’d make it through the door with the vial on me. They’ll be patting down every inch of my barely-clad body. So, I do the only thing I can think of. I pop the tiny capsule into my mouth and tuck it carefully under my tongue. The glass is smooth and cool against my flesh.

My heart pounds wildly against my ribs as I try to act natural, like I’m not smuggling instant death past the guards.

Fuck.

I swore I was done with this life. Especially now that I have my baby boy waiting for me at home.

He needs his mommy.

So why am I here?

Why am I doing this when I should be curled up on the couch with Elijah, watching Detective Pikachu for the umpteenth time?

Stephan’s words echo in my head, our conversation from earlier tonight replaying like a broken record.

“Clara, I know this is asking a lot,” he’d said, his face etched with guilt and exhaustion. “But this may be our only shot. To take down Kuznetsov once and for all. To get justice for Jake.”

I’d clenched my fists at my sides, anger and pain reigniting in my veins at the mention of my brother’s name.

“I want that bastard dead as much as you do, Stephan. But I have a child to think about now. I can’t just go off on some revenge mission anymore.”

Stephan had grasped my shoulders, his gaze intense. “This is bigger than revenge, Clara. Kuznetsov is a cancer, rotting everything he touches. The things he’s done… If we don’t stop him now, Elijah may not have a future at all.”

I’d closed my eyes, warring with myself. The urge to protect my son versus the need to avenge my brother. To finally make his killer pay.

When I opened them again, Stephan was holding out the vial. “I wouldn’t ask if there was another way. You’re the only one who can get close enough. Please, Clara. For Jake.”

That’s why I’m here.

With no backup, nobody to save me, and no turning back—I’m here alone to get the job done.

Stepping out of my black SUV parked far from The Black fucking Raven, I tug self-consciously at the scrap of fabric they call a uniform.

As I make my way down the alley to the employee entrance, I can feel eyes on me from every angle.

This place is swarming with cameras. I can’t let these bastards spot me.

All around me are women who look like they stepped off a runway—leggy, voluptuous, oozing sensuality. The number 19 pinned to my bra strap might as well be a scarlet letter.

“Hey, new girl!” a haughty voice calls out from behind me. “You’re holding up the line. Move your ass or go home.”

I’m jostled out of my thoughts by a rough shove from behind. I stumble on my stilettos and shoot a glare over my shoulder. Great. The other “waitresses” are real sweethearts.

The one who pushed me is tall and statuesque, with cruel eyes and a sneer twisting her perfect lips.

“What’s your problem?” I snap, my nerves already stretched to the breaking point.

She looks me up and down dismissively. “My problem is little girls who don’t know their place. You’d better learn quick, or you won’t last the night.”

I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to lash out. As if this bitch has any idea what I’m really doing here, what’s at stake. But I can’t blow my cover over some petty bullshit.

So, I take a breath and arrange my features into something resembling contriteness. “I’m sorry.” The words taste like bile, but I force them out.

The Amazon huffs, clearly unimpressed, but seems to lose interest. “Whatever. Just stay out of my way, and maybe you’ll survive rookie night.”

She pivots on her towering heels and sashays toward the door, not sparing me another glance.

Everywhere I look, there are mountains of muscle in dark suits—bouncers, bodyguards, goons. Their eyes sweep over us clinically, assessing. Looking for any signs of trouble. I guess a roomful of career criminals can never be too careful.

I duck my head and try to blend in as we’re herded toward the employee entrance.

Fuck this, I’ll make it quick. In, out, no biggie, Clara.

I take a deep breath and slip on the feathered mask they provided, completing the degrading ensemble. Once upon a time, I would’ve been on the VIP list at a place like this, not posing as the help. Before everything went to hell.

Once upon a time.

Memories threaten to sweep me away—happier times with Jake before… I shake my head to clear it.

Can’t get distracted now. Focus.

I straighten up and stride toward the staff door, trying to balance myself on killer black stilettos. I know I’ve worn higher before.

Shit. Why is it so hard to walk in them now?

The hulking bouncer barely glances at me before opening the door. I guess I look the part.

The door shuts behind me with a thud, making me jump.

God, get a grip, Clara. You’ve done shit like this a dozen times.

But the stakes feel so much higher now.

Sweat beads on my skin under the mask as I enter the club’s main room. Extravagant doesn’t begin to describe it. Crystal chandeliers, gold-flecked marble, plush red velvet everywhere. It’s like the wet dream of some Russian mobster. Oh, wait…

I scan the room, trying to look like I’m just another airheaded waitress in awe of the surroundings. Searching for my target amidst the crowd of tuxes and gowns, champagne flutes and cigar smoke.

Where are you hiding, you son of a bitch?

Sipping vodka in some shadowy VIP lounge? Groping the wait staff in a back room? My stomach turns at the thought, but I swallow the bile.

I slip from room to room, making my rounds with the tray of overpriced vodka that’s conveniently hanging from my neck.

The place is a fever dream of wealth and sin, all blood-red velvet and gilt edges. Feels more like Dracula’s castle than a club.

Subtle as a sledgehammer to the face. Guess crime pays for tacky decor.

Clusters of designer suits and slinky dresses fill every shadowed nook, the air thick with a dozen languages. Russian, Arabic, Mandarin—the movers and shakers of the underworld, all here for a taste of the forbidden.

For the Blood of the Nile.

My gaze darts around, taking in every detail, every possible threat. And my fucking target is nowhere to be seen.

This place… it’s like a maze designed to swallow trespassers whole. There are no obvious exits, no clear paths to freedom. Once you step across the threshold, you’re theirs.

Then I see it. A wooden door, both sides open. But it’s heavily guarded, armed goons in every corner. Too many eyes, too many guns.

Must be it. He is near. I can feel it in my bones.

That motherfucker. Leonid Kuznetsov.

The name pounds in my skull, a twisted mantra. My brother’s killer, the man who shattered my world like a fist through glass. I scan the room, searching for a glimpse of him.

In my mind, he’s a brute. All scars and sneer, with rot-gut breath and bloodstained hands. The bogeyman of my nightmares made flesh.

The cold blue eyes behind that raven mask, the cruel twist of his lips. The scent of his cologne, sharp and expensive, mingling with the coppery reek of blood.

That image is seared into my brain, a waking nightmare I can’t escape. In my darkest moments, I imagine what he really looks like. Is he as monstrous on the outside as within? Scarred and grotesque, with blackened teeth and pustulent skin?

Only one way to find out. Time to meet the devil.

I’m so busy gawking that I don’t notice the hulking brute until I’m practically on top of him. He looms out of the shadows, blocking my path. A grotesque rabbit mask leers down at me, slashes of red paint mimicking blood.

“Staff only, kiska ,” he growls. “Turn around.”

My heartbeat spikes, panic clawing at my ribs. I paste on a ditzy smile, pointing to the tray and the number 19 stamped on my tits.

Keeping my mouth shut is the safest bet—for the poison and for me.

He grunts but steps aside. Guess my cheap disguise is working.

I slip past him, pulse pounding in my ears. And there he is.

Leonid fucking Kuznetsov.

It has to be him, the way he’s sitting on a plush velvet couch like a king on his throne.

He’s younger than I expected, his face a study in cruel elegance. High cheekbones, a jaw you could cut yourself on, lips curved into a raptor’s smile. He oozes power and menace, wrapped up in a bespoke tux.

Stepping closer to him, I try to take another good look at him. Not easy since he’s surrounded by goons and gorgeous women.

But I barely see them. Because I’m staring at his mask.

A raven, just like that day.

But this one is carved from gleaming obsidian, shot through with veins of gold. Black diamonds for eyes, glittering with malice.

And behind it, boring into me with laser focus… is a pair of familiar eyes gleaming brown in the dim light.

Oh, fuck.

I forget how to breathe.

It can’t be.

But… It’s him.

Mr. Big Dick Energy.

And he’s looking right at me.