Page 88 of Cinderella and the Daddy

"Move," he orders Anna, gesturing toward a section of exposed piping that runs along the wall.

"Luka, you don't understand?—"

"Move."

Something in his voice makes even Anna comply. She stumbles toward the pipes, her heels clicking on the debris-strewn floor. She allows him to secure her wrists to the metal with clinical efficiency.

"Kozlov will bury you for this," she says as he tightens the restraints. "You think killing Drew settles anything? This is just the beginning. They won't stop until you're both dead and buried. You crossed a line, and Kozlov will not let this rest."

"Let him try," Luka replies, stepping back to examine his handiwork. Anna is secured to the pipe at an awkward angle.

He walks to the corner where a red gas can sits. I watch him kick it with his boot. He turns to Anna before he slides his gun into the waistband of his jeans.

He carries it back to where she’s restrained and pours the gas around her.

Just like they had done to me.

"You can't," Anna breathes, her eyes wide with sudden understanding. "Luka, please. Just let me go. Let me disappear. You'll never see me again, I promise."

For just a moment, I feel a flicker of something that might be pity. I think about asking Luka to show mercy, to let her live.

But then I remember she was going to do this to me. The lighter dancing around my face. The casual way she talked about watching me burn.

"You had your chance," Luka says quietly. "Multiple chances. You chose to threaten my family."

He grabs my hand and starts leading me toward the exit as Anna's protests grow more desperate.

"Kozlov will hunt you to the ends of the earth for this!" she screams. "They'll never let you rest! You have no idea what you've just started!"

"He can certainly try," Luka says calmly.

He nods at one of his men standing at the entrance.

I watch the man produce a lighter. My stomach turns.

“Luka,” I whisper.

He says nothing.

Anna's screams are cut off by what sounds like a muffled pop—the sound of gasoline igniting. The whoosh of air being consumed.

And then I smell it. Not just fire, but something worse. Something that makes my stomach revolt even as Luka pushes me toward the SUV. Burning hair. Melting fabric. And under it all, something sweet and sick that I know will haunt my dreams.

I hear her for exactly three seconds. High, inhuman shrieks that don't sound like they could come from a person. Then silence. Somehow that's worse.

"Don't look back," Luka orders, his hand firm on my lower back.

Luka pushes me inside the waiting SUV and climbs in behind me. His man in the driver's seat hits the gas without being told. I look over my shoulder and see flames shooting up from the building, orange tongues fighting through thick black smoke. The man who lit the fire strolls out like something out of a movie. I watch him get into another SUV.

Luka pulls out his phone. "Dimitri, I need you to send a message out on the network. Citywide distribution. Every family, every crew, every two-bit hustler with delusions of grandeur."

He pauses, listening to something on the other end.

"The message is simple," he continues. "Anyone who touches my family dies. Anyone who threatens what's mine becomes a memory. Anyone who thinks they can use my woman or my child as leverage learns the difference between breathing and not breathing."

Another pause.

"Make sure Yuri Kozlov gets a personal message. I want him to understand exactly what kind of war he just started."