Mitchell's Revenge

Snatch finally managed to unjam the sprinkler system and turn the water off. An uneasy calm descended on the auditorium. The Ostrakovs reached their son and pulled him away from the scene in the middle of the floor. They did not want to see what would happen next. They ran to the exit and joined the other dancers outside on the concourse.

Natasha could hear her mother’s sobs fading as she sat in her seat next to Yuri. She ignored them and stayed completely focussed on the mercenary in front of her. They circled each other. They were soaked. The floor was slippery. The bright lights of the arena had given way to low level emergency lighting.

Sergey knew he was about to fight for his life. He studied Natasha. She had no weapon. He still held the long bladed knife. The grip was slippery with Yuri’s blood in his hand. Natasha channelled all her anger into her focus on the mercenary. Suddenly she sprang at his knife hand and kicked the weapon away. It slid across the floor and thumped into the audio equipment near the stage.

Music began to play. It was tango.

“How appropriate,” Natasha sneered. “Assassination tango.”

“So you think,” Sergey replied. He rubbed at his wrist where she had kicked him.

Natasha took her chance. She moved fast. Sergey suddenly found himself face down on the

floor with Natasha on his back. She had her left knee pressed into the nerves in his shoulder that controlled his left arm. The arm lay useless at his side. She had hold of his right wrist in her other hand. She viciously twisted his arm up his back. He struggled to shake her weight off. She grabbed the hair on the back of his head with her free hand and pulled his head backwards towards her.

He kicked and tried to roll over. She pounded his face into the floor. He felt teeth dislodge. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth. She held his face down.

“You don’t murder a member of my family and expect to get away with it, you miserable animal,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

Then she saw movement from the corner of her eye. Daria had rallied herself and run down the stairs, and across the floor. She gathered the knife from where it lay next to the audio gear. Natasha watched her walk purposefully towards them. Daria tested the weight of the knife in her hand. She reached her daughter kneeling on the back of the mercenary.

“Lift his head!” she commanded. Natasha did so.

Daria drew the knife swiftly across Sergey’s throat. Blood pumped onto the dance floor. His legs thrashed briefly and then his body went limp. Natasha stood up and faced her mother. The dead mercenary lay between them.

“You will make them all pay,” Daria said quietly.

Natasha stared back at her.

“You can be sure of that,” she replied.