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Once we move ahead, there’ll be no one to hear what happens. We’ll be acting under near-total cover of darkness. There are streetlamps here, positioned one after the other like kids lined up for school, but around the corner there’s only one. The plan to use snipers was scrapped when we realized there wouldn’t be a good line of sight. It’s a small setback.
“Arsen?” Mila prods.
Pulling my black gloves tighter against my wrists, I peer back down the road. None of my men are visible, but I know where every single one of them is positioned. “Go with the second team. I need you with them.” If things go wrong ...
“I’m not good with a team, you know that,” she grumbles. “Let me go in alone. I’ll kill any soldier he’s put on guard before they know I’m there.”
“Not this time. I won’t have a repeat of the Winter Palace.” My brigadiers have formed a perimeter around the area. I’m certain we’ll have the upper hand. But if not, we won’t make it easy for Yevgeniy.
Mila scowls openly at me. She’s dressed herself differently for once; pure white from her ski mask down to her boots. Not a single strand of her black hair escapes. She’s right that no one will see her coming. “This won’t be like last time.”
“I know,” I agree coolly, staring pointedly at her, “because you’re joining the second team.”
“Blyat.” Crossing her arms, she holds out for a few seconds. When she accepts that I’m not changing my mind, she stalks past me toward the opposite end of the street, away from the division. “You’re lucky I trust you.”
“Yes,” I whisper, soft enough that she won’t hear. “I am.”
Doing a quick check of my arsenal under my jacket, I begin walking down the street. Unlike Mila, I’m not dressed to hide. I want Yevgeniy to see me. I want him to shake with rage as he watches me approach.
There’ll be no question who killed him when this is done.
The snow crunches under my boots. The road hasn’t been plowed here. I slow down, noticing tire tracks. A car has come through recently. His men? Or Yevgeniy himself? It’s not one of mine, that’s certain.
Frowning, I grip my pistol in its holster under my jacket. It brings me some comfort as I creep along the road. My toes are going numb, but I don’t slow down. Rocks could start falling from the sky and I wouldn’t walk away. I’m too close to ending this. Galina’s face flashes in my mind—the way she looked at me as I forced her from the room with Mila holding her tight.
You’re going to regret this.
That’s what she said. And she might be right. I’ll do what I have to, I think, slipping my gun into the air. I check the safety before inching around a large, raised hill of snow. With it gone, I can see straight into the developing neighborhood. The massive diggers and bulldozers look like old relics, patches of yellow paint gleaming in the streetlamp where the snow has slid away. The houses are in various stages of construction; most are just framework, their hollow insides exposed to the elements.
The tire tracks I noticed swerve in a long, snake-like trail, ending at a green Subaru. I hardly notice it. My attention is fixed on the group just beyond the car. They’re standing in front of one of the unlit houses, the only people around. Waiting for me.
Yevgeniy wraps his arm tighter around Galina’s throat. She’s gripping his forearm, eyes big and shining and staring right at me.
Galina! I think, not daring to utter it. How did she end up here? Beside her is Katya. And just behind her is the small boy I met a few nights ago.
Ruslan looks terrified.
I lift my gun high in the air. “Using your own daughter as a shield? I shouldn’t be surprised. Where are your men? They’re the ones meant to protect you.”
Yevgeniy’s chuckle echoes into the night sky. “They’re around. Same as yours, no doubt.”
“Arsen!” Galina shouts.
The rage I’d been trying to keep a hold on surges forth. He has no fucking right to touch her. My finger twitches on the gun’s trigger. I’m salivating to put a bullet in his brain, but I can’t risk hitting Galina. “Let her go, Yevgeniy.”
“Why would I do that?” he scoffs.
Galina tries to shuffle forward, but Yevgeniy pulls her back. “Arsen, please, just run!” she begs me.
My throat tightens up when I speak. “It’s going to be okay, Galina. I promise.”
“How sweet,” Yevgeniy says. Pressing his head against Galina’s, he releases a light sigh. “I’d never be capable of such kindness toward someone who betrayed me.”
The tip of my gun lowers an inch. “What are you talking about?”
A flash of shame works through Galina’s face. Her eyebrows tilt downward, copying the shape of her pink lips.
What did she do?
