Page 107 of The Gentleman

The words found his fault line, and Leo’s guard dipped. Only an inch, but it was enough.

Korolov surged, his forearm crushing Leo’s windpipe, slamming him into the wall. Leo clawed at the steel band on his neck as his airflow vanished.

“Sangin.” Korolov’s breath was sour in his face. “Your failure. Those bodies still keep you up at night, don’t they?”

Black sparks ignited at the edges of Leo’s vision. On the floor—glass, blood, wires—and one shard three inches long.

Leo sagged, forcing both of them lower.

He stretched, lungs fighting for air. The black sparks coalesced, dragging him under, but one name pulled him back to the surface.

Kat.

His fingers found the blade. It sliced his palm, warming his grip with his own blood.

One cut to the carotid would end it.

Children’s faces. Blood on sand.

“Leonid!” Kat’s voice scythed through the fog.

I’m not that man anymore.

Leo let the shard fall and struck low, bludgeoning Korolov’s floating rib. Korolov gagged and jerked. Thechoke eased and Leo twisted free, sucking in a shaky breath.

Before Korolov could reset, Leo spun behind, sliding his forearm across the carotids—tight and surgical. Not to kill, just enough to turn Korolov’s lights out. “It’s over.”

Korolov thrashed, but it was pointless. Leo held him till he went slack, then released his body, letting him crumple among the shattered glass. He staggered back, spat blood, chest heaving, searching the room for Kat.

Glass gritted as she crawled toward him, face smudged with blood.She was alive. Battered, bleeding—but breathing.

“Leonid.” She rose from her knees. Her hands trembled, blood from a glass-slice streaking her cheek. “Are you?—”

He gripped her hands.Hell, they were cold. “I’ll live.”

A smear of blood glistened on her lower lip. Leo thumbed it away, grateful for the vivid proof she was still breathing.

Kat’s forehead touched his for a breath. “Stay with me.” Her whisper shook.

He let her soak into him, drawing strength. “We’re not done.”

Kat tracked his gaze and retrieved the tablet from the floor. “Twelve minutes left.”

He’d lost five in a blur of pain.

“We need both inputs,” she said, her gaze flicking from Korolov slack on the floor, to Eldridge huddled against the fallen wheelchair.

Two biometric prompts for thumb prints blinked side by side.

Korolov and Eldridge.

Leo boosted to his feet, wheezing breaths ripping through him. He grabbed Korolov’s shoulders. Glass splintered under his boots as he hauled the limp Russian toward Eldridge.

Behind him, Kat retrieved her gun. She kept her Glock trained on the unconscious Russian as Leo pressed Korolov’s thumb against the glass.

“Now you, Eldridge.” Leo coughed, his throat raw from Korolov’s stranglehold.

Eldridge flinched at the force of his voice and shook her head, her skin blanched and tight on her skull. “You’re asking me to sign my death sentence.”

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