Blood and Smoke
1458 Words
The night fell heavy and silent over the Kray estate.
Outside, the world looked peaceful the manicured lawns slick with rain, the city lights flickering faintly beyond the horizon. But inside the mansion, something was shifting.
Anton could feel it.
He stood in his private office, the faint buzz of his phone breaking the stillness. Frederick had left hours ago, but his words still lingered like smoke in Anton’s mind.
“This girl will be the one to burn your empire down.”
He hated that thought and hated even more how much of it felt true.
He downed a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid burning down his throat. Business came first, he told himself. Always. But his focus had fractured. Ever since Alice, his world didn’t move as cleanly as it used to.
Downstairs, in the dim corridor of the servants’ quarters, Alice lay awake on the narrow bed. The walls felt smaller tonight, the air heavier. Something about the silence was wrong.
Too quiet.
Too watchful.
Her instincts screamed that something was coming.
And she was right.
Across the city, Viktor sat in a dark room, the glow of his cigarette casting thin shadows over his face. His men stood in silence as he leaned over a table cluttered with maps and photos of Anton’s operations.
The phone beside him rang once. Twice. He answered on the third ring.
“Who is this?”
The voice on the other end was distorted, male, calm, unnervingly calm.
“Anton Kray has grown weak,” the stranger said. “He’s keeping a girl. She’s changed him. He’s not focused. Not ruthless like before.”
Viktor’s brows furrowed. “And why should I believe you?”
“Because while you sit there, planning your next move, he’s distracted and tonight is your only chance to finish him.”
The line went dead.
Viktor’s eyes gleamed. “Get the cars. We hit his house tonight.”
Back at the estate, the security cameras flickered once… then went black.
Anton froze when the screens on his monitor blinked out. “What the hell”
Then the first explosion hit.
The windows rattled, a blast echoing from the lower levels. Alarms blared through the hallways. The sound of gunfire followed by short bursts, chaotic shouting, the heavy stamp of boots storming the mansion.
“Boss, we’re under attack!” one of his guards yelled, running in.
Anton grabbed his gun from the desk drawer. “Viktor,” he hissed.
Downstairs, Alice jolted up as the floor shook beneath her. Screams, gunfire chaos. She rushed to the door and twisted the knob. It wasn’t locked.
Her heart raced.
This is it, she thought. My chance.
Smoke drifted through the corridor. She stepped out cautiously, barefoot, her pulse pounding. The main hallway was in ruins, broken glass, scattered debris, blood smeared across the marble floors.
She heard shouting from above, men cursing, running. For the first time since she’d been taken, the mansion wasn’t her prison, it was her way out.
She took a step toward the open entrance… then stopped.
Through the smoke and flashing emergency lights, she saw him.
Anton Kray fighting.
Three men surrounded him, gunfire echoing through the hall. He moved like a storm, fast, lethal, every motion precise. But there were too many. One lunged, another fired. Anton ducked, fired back, but a blow caught his shoulder. He stumbled.
Alice froze. She could run. She should run. Every instinct screamed for it. But something stronger held her there, something she didn’t understand.
He wasn’t the man she should care about. He was her captor. Her tormentor. Her villain.
And yet when she saw him fall to one knee, blood running down his arm, something inside her broke.
“No…” she whispered.
Anton’s breath came ragged as he turned, trying to reload. One of Viktor’s men tackled him, sending both crashing into a table. They rolled, fighting for the gun. The man’s hand closed around Anton’s throat, squeezing hard.
Anton’s vision blurred. His strength faltered. The room dimmed around the edges.
Then a crack.
A sharp, heavy sound split the air.
The man above him went still, eyes wide before collapsing sideways.
Anton gasped, dragging in air as he looked up.
Alice stood there, trembling, holding a shattered vase in her hands, shards glittering around her bare feet.
Her chest heaved, her eyes wide with shock. She didn’t even seem to realize what she’d done.
Anton stared at her, this girl he’d broken, starved, punished, standing over a dead man she’d just saved him from.
For a long, breathless moment, the chaos around them faded. Only the two of them existed.
Then Anton reached for his gun, fired two quick shots at another intruder, and grabbed her by the wrist.
“Move!”
He pulled her along the hallway, dodging falling debris, firing at shadows as they ran. The mansion burned behind them, smoke and red light filling every corner.
Outside, several of his men were waiting by the cars, exchanging gunfire with Viktor’s attackers. Anton shoved Alice toward the black SUV.
“Get in!”
She hesitated, glancing back at the mansion, her almost-freedom disappearing in the flames.
“Now, Alice!” Anton shouted.
The way he said her name, the first time he’d ever said it out loud made her move without thinking.
She climbed into the car just as Anton slid behind the wheel. Two of his men jumped into the backseat, one wounded and bleeding.
Tires screeched. The convoy roared through the gates, bullets shattering the taillights as they sped into the rain-soaked night.
Inside the car, silence pressed heavy. Alice sat rigid, soaked in fear and adrenaline. Her hands were still shaking.
Anton’s knuckles were white around the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. Blood ran from a cut on his cheek, streaking down to his collar.
He hadn’t said a word since they’d escaped.
Finally, she whispered, “I… I could’ve run.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
“Then why did I come back?”
He glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “You tell me.”
She turned away, staring out the window at the burning glow behind them. “Because I didn’t want to watch someone die. Even you.”
For the first time in years, Anton didn’t know what to say.
He slowed the car as they reached the safehouse on the outskirts of the city. His men jumped out first, scanning the area. When the coast was clear, Anton opened the passenger door and stepped out, motioning for her to follow.
Alice hesitated. The air was cold, thick with smoke and rain.
When she stepped out, Anton caught her wrist again but this time, his grip wasn’t cruel. It was grounding. Protective.
“You saved my life,” he said.
“I didn’t do it for you.”
His lips twitched, almost a smile, almost pain. “You still did it.”
He turned, leading her inside.
Inside the safehouse, the adrenaline finally faded. Anton’s men tended to the wounded while he leaned against a wall, pressing a bloodied cloth to his shoulder. Alice sat a few feet away, watching silently.
Her mind was spinning, the fire, the screams, the man she’d killed, the man she’d saved.
What had she done?
Why hadn’t she just run?
Anton caught her staring. “You’re thinking too loud,” he muttered.
She looked away. “You deserve worse than what happened tonight.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But if Viktor had gotten to me, he’d have taken you too. Sold you to someone worse.”
Alice’s stomach turned. “Worse than you?”
He met her eyes and for once, there was no arrogance, no cruelty. Just something raw. “You’d be surprised.”
Hours passed. The rain didn’t stop. The city outside was quiet again, as if the night had swallowed all the violence.
Alice lay on a narrow couch, exhaustion pulling at her eyes. Across the room, Anton sat in silence, gun in his lap, staring into the dim glow of the lamp.
He didn’t trust easily, not his men, not his world. But now, his mind kept circling back to her. The girl who should have run, but didn’t.
His weakness. His salvation. His danger.
When dawn broke, Anton stood and walked toward the window. Without turning, he said softly, almost to himself
“She’s not just a slave anymore.”
Alice’s eyes flicked open, her breath catching. But she didn’t speak.
Outside, the first light of morning cut through the fog, painting the city in pale gold. A new day had begun.
But nothing between them would ever be the same again
- Writer
