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ARSEN
“Tell me everything,” I say.
I’m standing in one of the large bedrooms in the cabin. There are four, but this is the biggest. It’s the only space that can comfortably fit me, Mila, and six of my brigadiers. Kostya has placed himself dead center in the room, his shoulders pulled back, head high and static. The rest sit behind him in an arrangement of chairs I’ve had brought in from other rooms.
Mila is the only other one on her feet; she’s picked the back right corner, huddling into the gap like she wants to be ignored. She keeps her arms tucked around her chest, her lips scrunched up.
Kostya clears his throat. “Three days after you left, the police raided the mansion. They searched it up and down, turned it inside out, but of course, they found nothing.”
“I assume they interrogated the staff?” I ask.
“Nobody said a word, of course.”
Not surprising; my people are loyal down to their bone marrow. “Good. What else?”
Kostya glances over at Nikolai. The lanky man jumps to his feet to speak next. “The police left after they failed to get any evidence against you.”
“They’ll be back,” Mila cuts in, pushing off the wall until she’s standing in the middle of the room. “The Winter Palace massacre was too newsworthy for them to give up.”
Kostya eyes her thoughtfully. She eyes him back, and he tenses up, like he’s become aware he’s within reach of a rabid dog. “Mila is right. Eventually they’ll track you down here,” he says.
“We could move you to a new safe house,” Nikolai suggests.
Maxim snorts derisively. It yanks at the scar worming over his face. “That would delay things at best, or put Arsen at risk if they’re watching the roads and they catch him traveling.”
“That’s why we’d be cautious,” Nikolai huffs.
The group descends into rising levels of debate. People who were sitting now stand with their chests puffed out, gesturing for emphasis. This is the result of us all looking over our shoulders, waiting for the hammer to fall.
I hold up my hands to stop the arguments. Instantly, everyone quiets; they constrain themselves at my command. It’s good to remind them that I’m in charge here. “Mila is right,” I say. “We’re on borrowed time until we can clear our names.”
She graces each of them with a smug grin. Facing me, she opens her arms, making herself both vulnerable and appeasing. “The solution is staring us in the face: we have to kill Yevgeniy. Nothing has changed. I don’t know why we’re discussing other options.”
“It’s not that simple,” I say flatly. “There are other things that need to be done.”
They return to bickering among themselves. I allow it, but only because I need a minute to gather my thoughts. Scratching at my temple, I walk across the room until I’m near the California king- size bed. They’re fighting about logistics ... but there’s much more to this situation.
I haven’t told any of them about Ruslan yet. I’m not sure how to present it. Or if I should. The boy is a curveball none of them can predict. All the planning is a waste of time until they know what we’re facing.
There’s no avoiding it anymore. Lifting my eyes, I scan my brigadiers. Kostya catches my eye first; he stiffens, ending his heated talk with Nikolai. Maxim sees me next and turns away from Lev, the younger man’s face a deep shade of red. Whatever Maxim was saying has riled him up. He works to calm himself when he sees I’m waiting for the room to quiet down.
Mila hasn’t stopped staring at me. Her eyes are harder than diamond, fixed on me with as much intensity as an owl about to strike. I have their attention, I think grimly.
Here we go.
“There’s one major complication,” I say. “Yevgeniy has a son. Another one.”
“How did you learn about this?” Mila gasps, taking a step toward me.
I shake my head quickly. “It doesn’t matter. His name is Ruslan, and he’s ten years old.”
“Ten years old …” Kostya whispers, his eyebrows scooting up his bald head. His concern is mirrored on the faces of my other men. They’ve all realized what he has. “That means there’s a chance he’ll be initiated soon.”
“Exactly,” I agree solemnly.
Mila moves again, nearly on top of me. Her voice is a breathy warning. “Arsen, we can’t let that happen. You can’t let that happen.”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
