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“You’re sure?”
Running my hand over my stomach, I recall the sound of my baby’s heart. “This place … hiding from the world … is the best thing for me. Thanks to you, we’re safe here.”
She watches me with sorrow plain in her face. I don’t want to be pitied.
What I desire is something she can’t give me.
I want to be with Arsen.
47
ARSEN
ONE WEEK LATER
I’ve always loved the smell of the ocean.
When I was a kid, I’d spend my evenings with my father on the docks. It had to be late, nearly sundown, because of his busy schedule, but I didn’t care. I didn’t even mind that all we did together was carve driftwood with our pocketknives. No amount of splinters could ruin the joy I felt from being at his side.
Will I get the chance to do the same with my own children? Imagining sitting with them on the docks, our feet hanging over the water, has my heart thrumming. They’d count the boats or ask me to name the different fish strung up on lines. They might want me to take them out to cast our own poles. The idea of such serenity gives me strength.
“It stinks out here,” Mila grumbles next to me. “Like dead fish.”
Ignoring her comment, I turn my face away from the gust of wind that tugs at my thick, knee-length jacket. The chill of winter is unmistakable in the air. “You’re sure this is the place?” I ask.
“I don’t fall for false information,” she huffs.
Shoving her hair from her eyes, she nods at the large building in the distance. It’s a warehouse for storing shipping containers. Or that’s what it looks like on the surface. If Mila is right, waiting for us inside are multiple armed men.
Allies of Yevgeniy.
My fingers itch under my jacket. I can’t keep them away from the handle of my gun. I’ve brought two, but it’s the Colt Python that’s my favorite. Nothing beats the barrel spin of a six-shooter. “How many?”
Mila gives me a pensive look. “When I counted, I saw twenty-two. Arsen, are you sure you want to do things this way?”
“Yes, very sure.”
“It’s pointlessly dangerous for just us two to go in there. Why not call for reinforcement?”
I can’t, I think. But what I say is, “I don’t need any.” Galina’s absence from the house has not gone unnoticed. My soldiers have started to whisper rumors. I don’t believe the news that Yevgeniy is her father has gotten around, but it’s only a matter of time.
Without Galina, I have no trump card.
And I have to remind them why I’m still the pakhan.
Pulling out my Colt Python, I check the bullets. Mila watches in silence. After examining my Glock next, I catch her eye. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask bluntly. “I can always go without you.”
“Please,” she snorts. “As if I’d let you have all the fun.”
Grinning helplessly at her snark, I cast my attention back to the building. “You’re the expert on keeping a low profile. How should we enter?”
“The way they won’t expect.” Mila flips her leather jacket up; I glimpse the pistol on her hip, sitting above the band stacked with three different knives. She’ll use a gun in a pinch, but her preference for a blade can’t be overstated. “Through the front.”
There are no lights outside, but through the windows comes a yellow glow that diffuses the night. Excitement flares through my blood. It makes me lighter, like I’m floating as we cross the quiet, empty docks toward the building. This feeling is a welcome change to the misery I’ve been wallowing in.
Galina is gone ...
I can’t change that. Not yet.
