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"Do or die," she agrees, more enthusiastically than she needs to. "I’m on it."
I nod and make my way towards my car. There’s no time to get buried under regrets. Not now. Another time will come to mourn for all the lives that we’ve lost.
And by morning, I’m sure there will be many more graves to dig.
Ulyana dips her head. "Welcome home."
She's not alone in the foyer. Word of my arrival has spread fast. I spotted the faces of my staff through the windows of my mansion, watching eagerly as my car rolled up. Many of them have chosen to arrange themselves in the main room, but the staircase is lined as well.
Ignoring their gazes, I focus my attention on Ulyana. "Is Matvey here?"
"He is."
"Good,” I say, passing her by and nearly sprinting up the stairs. The two maids by the banister press against the wall to give me space.
"Arsen?" Ulyana calls out. She watches me with her body in a stiff line. Her outfit is as crisp and perfect as ever. She's acting like this is just another day, but the angle of her lips and brow says otherwise.
"Bring her back. This place is too quiet without her."
I allow myself a tired smile. "I will."
Dashing up the stairs, I dodge more of my staff. All of them offer kind smiles or happy bows. My home is packed with people who are invested in my existence. And yet, as full as every floor is, it feels... wrong. It's in the smell of it, the quiet, pregnant pause that grows as I walk across the lengthy rug.
I pass a door—her door—and pull up short. Staring at my own warped reflection on the brass knob, I hold my breath. Logically, I fucking know she isn’t inside. Yet I thrust the door open anyway.
The bed is pristine and perfect and miserably empty. Everything is clean, and the stringent smell of disinfectant hangs in the air, reminding me of a hospital. Her scent has been eradicated.
There's no evidence she was ever here.
This may be my house. But as long as Galina isn't here, it's not my home.
My hand trembles as I shut the door. I can’t bear to be in that room a second longer. Not without her. Marching further through the house, I arrive at the computer room. The door is half-open, three computers lit up, the glow of their monitors make me squint uncomfortably.
Two men in wheeled office chairs spin to face me. Matvey rips his headset down to his neck. "Arsen Kirilovich."
I motion at the computers. "Pull up Galina's tracker."
"Already have it." He taps the keyboard, then the screen, indicating a flashing dot on a darkened program. It's a top-down view of the city, the buildings and roads outlined in pale gray. "She’s there."
Hunching over the back of his chair, I frown in disbelief. "She's only fifteen miles away?"
"The tracker is." He hesitates before he corrects me. "I can't say if she's with it or not."
I fight down the urge to snap at him. I can hear Ulyana’s words again. In here, your people should trust you. They should be eager to come to you with their fears and worries and doubts. Yet they don’t.
"She's there," I finally say after I compose myself. “I’m sure of it.” Yevgeniy could have removed the bracelet himself. Galina, too, if she thought she had no other choice. I have to hold out on hope. It's all I've got at this stage.
Well...
That, and an army.
"Send this location to my phone," I continue as I exit the room. I can't linger any longer. There’s no time to lose. My head is abuzz, like a bloodhound that has caught a scent. Galina... I'm coming for you.
I step through my front door; the sunlight on the snow blinds me briefly.
"Pakhan!"
Shielding my eyes, I barely make out the stern face of Maxim. He's waiting for me in front of my car in the driveway. Behind him is a full double row of men, all of them standing at attention. On their hips, or strapped over their chests, are guns of every shape and size. From young faces to the stern and scarred, muscular frames to lean, they all share one thing—their attention is devoted to me.
