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Ulyana stands in front of me with her lips pinched together. Her blue eyes and sapphire earrings are the only dots of colors in the changing swirls of snow. She shifts forward, grabbing me in her arms. I don’t know why she’s hugging me until the wind blows and I feel the tears freezing on my cheeks.
“Shh, shh,” Ulyana shushes me. “It’s all right, devushka. It’s okay.”
I’m being hollowed out the way a pumpkin is before being carved. Every rasp drags raw across my throat. My bones feel empty, as if the marrow has melted. A strong wind could lift me away into the clouds, and it’s a marvel that I’m somehow capable of feeling any gravity to hold me down.
“You’ve carried this secret for too long,” she soothes me. Her palm rubs up and down my back, patting occasionally. “Nobody should handle a burden as heavy as this alone. You’re not responsible for what Yevgeniy does … or Ruslan … or even Arsen. They will make their own choices. Their sins, past or future, are their own.”
“But their sins will leave lasting waves in their wake.”
“Yes, and that is a consequence of the life that they lead.” Ulyana cradles my face and smiles sadly. “But if Ruslan is truly your brother … if he has as much of Katya in him as you do, then hope is not lost for him. Not yet. Not by a long shot. There are things that you can control in this world, devushka, and then there are things that will forever slip out of your fingers like flowing water. Worry not about the things that you cannot control.”
My nose burns, and I don’t know if it’s from crying or from the cold. Scrubbing my eyes, I lean against her, sinking into the support she’s kind enough to give. I expected her to chide me for hiding this. Ulyana has always been a mix of kind but firm. She has no room for games. For her to say those reassuring words with such confidence is an immense relief.
Shivering, I lean back a bit.
“Thank you,” I choke out. “I’ve just been so afraid. Arsen wants Yevgeniy dead; I can’t talk him out of that. But Ruslan …” A bitter, broken laugh leaves my dry lips to hang in the eerie silence. “How do I tell Arsen about him?”
“That’s something you’ll figure out in time. It doesn’t have to be now. And it’s too late to tell him anyway.”
Over her shoulder, I look back at the way we came. Fresh snow blankets everything, erasing evidence of footprints, the house, and the world outside of this moment. Faced with nothing but my inner thoughts and Ulyana’s calm but firm warning, I’m overcome by supreme clarity.
I will have to tell Arsen everything.
That part is my responsibility. What happens after that rests on his shoulders. Not mine.
25
ARSEN
It’s colder than a grave as the snow falls, muffling the world.
This weather is fitting. Dark deeds are best done in conditions like this.
I park my car about half a mile from Yevgeniy’s house. It should be ignored on the street the way any other car would be, especially after nightfall. Plus, the drifts of snow will disguise it. Every car is going to look the same under the thick white blankets soon enough.
Taking a page from Mila’s book, I’ve dressed in pure black, from my jacket to my boots. Moving like her is more of a challenge. Even if my leg injury wasn’t sending a dull ache that forced me not to put my full weight on it, I could never slip as silently as she does through the shadows.
I don’t need to be an assassin. I just need to bust inside without getting caught first.
Yevgeniy might have multiple guards around his property. I’ve considered what I’ll do if I’m up against too many targets—which is a strong possibility. If I act quickly and covertly, I might manage to kill three or four before the rest react. I doubt Yevgeniy has packed his house with more than six guards. But it’s not an impossibility.
A dog barks in the distance.
My hackles stand on end as I crouch lower in the bushes. Relax, it’s too far away. It’s focused on something other than you. My nerves are on alert. Between creeping in the dark and the fact I’m about to face off with my enemy, my heart hammers at my rib cage like a piston in overdrive.
To calm myself, I reach to feel the gun hidden under my jacket. I’ve brought two, not planning to reload either. The backup pistol is the louder of the two. It’s best to save it for after the guards have raised the alarm, when my cover is blown and the danger of being heard will matter less.
Ahead of me, the two-story house rises into view. Tree branches sway over the textured shingles already painted white by the thick layer of snow. I can’t tell if the paint is yellow or gray. There’s a single lamp illuminated above the porch, the windows shining light from the inside out. Snowflakes sparkle in the beams before vanishing in the night. Through a bottom-level one, I see a television is playing some movie.
I don’t see any cars in the driveway, but it’s clear there are people inside. My breaths tumble forth in the chilly evening and disappear into wisps on the wind. I watch them, counting backward from ten to force myself to relax.
No movement in the windows. Nothing out front. I peer up to the roof, my ears straining until I swear I can hear them echo. No guards outside at all.
Are you really this arrogant, Yevgeniy?
My calves are cramping from the effort of moving silently across the front yard. I’m trying not to slip on the slick patches of ice. This can’t be another trap. He couldn’t possibly have known I was coming. My fingers brush the trigger. There are no guards posted because he’s not afraid. This is his ego on full display, that’s all.
Comforted by this thought, I brace myself on the porch.
