Mikhail
“She took a bullet for me, Lara.” My throat tightens. “Her own father shot her.”
“Because she loves you, Kolya.” Her voice is soft, but the edge is there. She pauses for a moment and drops her voice even lower. “What about the baby? Anything?”
Shaking my head, I stare into Larissa’s eyes and feel the sting of tears stabbing at my nose. “I don’t know, Lara.” My voice is thick as I confess. “I don’t know. They haven’t said a damn thing to me.”
She reaches for my hand and squeezes it. I blink my tears away, only to see hers brimming in her eyes. I want to tell her more. About how my duty has driven me further away from anything resembling a true human connection. And that Maria shone a light into the darkest corner of my mind. But I’m afraid that if I turn away from the Bratva in favor of Maria … or even look away for a second …
“The doctor said she’d pull some requests for an ultrasound.” I look down at my watch. It’s been almost an hour. How hard can it be to find a goddamn machine?
“Kolya?” Larissa’s brow creases as her gaze hardens. “Do you still have doubts about her? After this?”
I pause a little too long, just enough time to anger Larissa further, feeding her doubts, and she turns on me. “How dare you, Kolya! Even now? She’s a scared girl whose father you swore to kill! Of course she would try and talk to him! Did you never once think?”
I jump up and pace the floor again. The warm feelings quickly subside as my survival instinct kicks in. “Don’t you start, Lara!”
Larissa rises to meet me. “Start what?” she asks, placing a gentle hand on my chest. “Start telling you that you were given happiness on a platter, but all you wanted to do was to smash it into a million bits? All because of a fucking text?”
“It’s so much more than that.” My tone is harsh, and she decides to stop judging and listen. “How did Zakhar know where to find me?” I ask, knowing she can’t answer. “Why did Maria come? Was it a planned ambush or just a happy coincidence? You forget that?-”
The word never leaves my mouth when something else dawns on me, and I stare hard at Larissa. Disbelief trails in the wake of realization through my body. No … Not you too.
“Lara …” my voice trembles.
When she meets my eyes, she knows my question before I even have to ask.
“She swore me to secrecy.” She tries to sidestep my grasp, but I catch her arm anyway.
“When did you know?” My voice becomes deadly smooth. Larissa shudders when she catches my gaze and turns away. “Look at me, Lara!” Slowly, she turns and our eyes meet. “When. Did. You. Know?”
She takes a shuddering breath. “When she came to stay with me.”
Her words sap the strength from my body. All of this time … she knew? My hands start to shake again. Disbelief turns to betrayal. Betrayal takes flight until it is anger. And I round on her before I can stop myself.
“You said you were tired of burying dead Ivanovs, Lara!” I hiss through clenched teeth, keeping my voice low. “Did you ever think that you could’ve been burying me tonight?” I wait for an answer, but wincing, Larissa refuses to look me in the eyes. “Did you ever consider that your vow of secrecy to Maria might be why you’ll never hold a baby in your arms?”
“Fuck you, Kolya!” Gasping, she shrinks away from me.
Hurt flashes across her face and remains in her eyes as she stares wildly at me. Her wounded gaze can’t break mine. Larissa doesn’t know where to look and trembles with pain and rage. My nasty words went deep into her heart, and they will remain lodged there between us.
Rurik steps forward to intervene. His mouth is set in a straight line as he stares at my grip on my sister’s arm. He knows better than to challenge me, but it’s Larissa who has come between us this time. Standing beside us, he hesitates for the first time.
Larissa is his wife, but I am still his pakhan.
“Face the door!” I demand. “Eto moi prikaz!”
“Rurik, it’s all right,” Larissa tells him swiftly, yanking her arm away. “You know how siblings fight.” She glares at me. Hurt and anger fight for control in her eyes. “Dirty and below the belt.”
I glare at Larissa, but she ignores it, knowing I’m teetering on a dangerous edge. I know I went too hard and that words can hit harder than bullets. A bullet wound will heal over. A word’s wound will always remain agape and rip you to pieces when you least expect it.
And that’s exactly what we did to each other.
Rurik turns silently to the door and resumes his position. Suddenly, he steps away as a man bursts in.
“One of the guards spotted a man that fits the description of Zakhar.” The words rush out of the guard’s mouth. “She’s following him from a distance until he can be surrounded.”
I stare at Maria in her bed, torn between how I should act at this critical moment. Leave her or finish Zakhar?
“We’ll stay with her, Kolya.” Larissa ignores the hurtful words spoken a moment ago. She reaches around her husband’s waist, and her hand disappears under his baggy sweatshirt. When it reappears, she’s holding one of his Glocks, fully loaded, and hands it to me. “You do what you must.”
“Lara.” I nod to my sister. “I’m sorry for what I said.”
“I know,” she says, lifting her chin. “And I’m sorry I kept this from you.”
Alert to potential dangers around the next corner, I hurry out of the room with the guard, Taras, leading the way. His baritone voice is barely audible as he talks into his Bluetooth headset, yet I hear every word. Taras repeats the response on the other end for me to hear.
“He’s dressed in janitorial gear,” he says. “But his face is recognizable. Spotted by the loading dock in the blue wing.”
I pick up speed down the hallway leading to the elevator bank. “Is he carrying or pushing anything?”
“A gray trash can on wheels,” Taras replies.
I shake my head. “They don’t use gray trash cans in this hospital. That thing’s deep enough to hide a rifle.”
The hospital is painted in muted colors, making navigating through the maze of indistinguishable hallways difficult. We slow down to find the right hallway leading to the loading dock where Zakhar, in disguise, was spotted.
The industrial metal doors to the loading dock are up ahead, wide open, and the entire rear parking lot is visible. But something is off.
The two female guards who called it in are the only two people around. Why are the doors open when there’s no truck? And why is this area empty of people right now?
Halting, I raise my hand and motion for Taras to fall in behind me. He signals the others to stop and be silent, and the two women warily eye our surroundings. Dressed in dark blue nursing uniforms with ID tags, they won’t arouse suspicion until it’s too late.
The blonde guard peeks through the gap between the wall and the open door. A heavy piece of industrial plastic divided into flaps creates a hazy view of the outside, but she can see enough. The guard moves her fingers in a unique sign language only we can understand.
“Two vehicles in the parking lot, drivers’ side windows facing each other,” whispers Taras. “Put eyes on them.” He speaks low to an unseen guard and then addresses me. “They’re running the plates, but it’s suspicious. Should we …”
I hold up my hand to silence him.
If Zakhar is in one of those cars, I can get a clean shot and end this forever. My heart races with excitement as my hands instinctively ball into fists. I’m ready for the kill. Maria almost died because of him. I should’ve finished Zakhar sooner. If I had … I think about Ippolit, justifying my building rage and intent.
If my child dies, there will be no place Zakhar can hide on this earth.
“Cover me.” I march through the open doors and head straight toward the two idling cars. My keyed-up body splits the plastic flaps apart, and heat rushes through me as they flap shut behind me. My hand has a mind of its own. It extends as if the gun is welded to it, and they are one. The traitor must die, and I ignore the voice in my head, begging for one last chance. I will end Zakhar, and he will never take another person I love away from me again.
“Mikhail Ivanov!” Taras hisses from the dock. “Cover him. Cover him.”
Guards hurriedly follow, ducking and weaving between tall stacks of white cardboard boxes stacked on each side of the dock. I’m clear of the building as one of the cars lurches forward, and the tires screech as it races out of the lot. The other driver is not so fast, and I spot a headful of gray hair in the back seat. Zakhar won’t get away from me.
I aim for the tires, and the bullets pierce the rubber as screams emanate from the car.
“Fuck! Fuck! All right, fine! Take it.”
A medium-sized box is thrown from the car window, and despite the flat tire, the driver peels off. The rim grinds against the asphalt, and by the time the car hits the road, sparks are flying from the rear.
Taras bends down and splits the box open. He picks up a bottle of pills and reads the label.
“Suka bylat,” he says. “Oxytocin. You just stopped a drug deal, Mikhail Ivanov.”
Disappointed and uninterested, I shove the Glock under my suit jacket. “That wasn’t him, was it?” I ask.
Taras is nervously quiet, looking forlornly toward the building. “I can’t give you an answer, my pakhan. Because I don’t know.”
I nod thoughtfully. “It’s time to play dirtier.”