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The air splits as my shot rings out. Morgana drops to the ground, taking her baby with her as Vlad spins in place, blood spattering the stone. He falls heavily and rolls down onto the sidewalk, a crimson pool creeping out from below his unmoving body.
I stare at the sickening tableau, pinioned by a searing sense of exhilarated terror. I did it. I shot Vlad Kislev.
Snap out of it—time to move.
I put the car in gear and screech away, Morgana’s screams drowned out by my engine.
40
Arman
Hospitals all have the same distinctive scent, even in a private suite in Mount Sinai. Disinfectant, thick, stale air, and countless microscopic particles of something else. Fear, desperation, panic. The tears of those who arrived too late and those who had a chance to say goodbye. That’s what drags you down in these places; it’s knowing that you are going through the same pageantry as every other poor soul who had to see a loved one suffer.
When Morgana called me, all she could do was sob, and it wasn’t until Sasha rang me back that we knew for sure. Dulcie took Steffie to Sasha and Josie’s home to be with her cousin, and Josie volunteered to stay with them, so Morgana had nothing to do but sit beside her husband and hold his hand.
Vlad was shot through his throat. He lost a tremendous amount of blood, and much of it is still on the steps of our family’s mansion. He’s had an emergency procedure to close the in-and-out wound in his neck. Due to hypovolemic shock, his blood pressure tanked, and he’s in an induced coma while they try to level him out with fluids and blood transfusions.
It’s past the end of visiting hours, but no one asks us to leave. The nurse is brisk but kind and doesn’t get involved other than to bring the occasional cup of coffee or a box of tissues. She seems to have a soft spot for Avel, who hasn’t spoken since he arrived.
I sit beside Lilyana and watch Vlad’s face. It’s frightening for my wife to see her brother hooked up to tubes and machines, and I take her hand, nestling it in mine.
“Someone will die for this, tsvetok,” I say. “You mark my words.”
“You think it was the Morettis?” she asks.
“Maybe. Vlad has a lot of enemies, so who can say for sure?”
I glance at Morgana. She sits on the other side of Vlad, her eyes puffy and ringed with red. She’s more afraid than I’ve ever seen her, and I want so much to say something that will help, but nothing seems right. What can any of us say?
Vlad may be dying, and that’s the same as the world ending, but everyone in this room loves him. If he slips away now, at least he didn’t die on the cold stone, with his screaming wife and child as witnesses.
Whoever committed this atrocity was way out on a limb. Giovanni Moretti will be returning from Europe right now, ready to explain to his commission why his brother has been tangling with the most powerful bratva family in New York. If this was a Moretti hit, what was the point? The komissiya will convene without Vlad, but the charges will be much more severe. You can’t attempt to assassinate a pakhan and get away with it, so if there’s any evidence at all, they’ll pass a death warrant without hesitation.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I head into the hallway to answer it. It’s Timur.
He starts speaking as soon as I pick up. “Arman. How’s it going? Just wanted to apologize again for earlier—”
“Some fucker shot Vlad,” I say, my voice flat.
“You’re kidding me. Who? Is he dead?”
“No, we don’t know, and no, in that order.”
“And is he gonna make it? Will he be alright?”
“He’s had surgery and infusions, but they are keeping him under. If his blood pressure stabilizes, they’ll bring him around in the morning.”
I watch Lilyana through the small window in the door. She’s crying, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. Timur says nothing, but such is my focus on my wife that I don’t notice until he suddenly speaks again.
“So shall I notify the komissiya and bring the conference forward? Seeing as it’s an emergency?”
“Ask Sissi to sort it out. You haven’t the authority.” A thought occurs to me. “Do you have any information to suggest the Morettis are responsible?”
“No, but that’s not important. Someone did this under orders, and when they realize what’s at stake, they’ll rat out their boss in the hope of saving themselves. That’s what I’d do.”
That, I do believe. “Give me a time and place, and I’ll be there,” I say. “It can’t wait until tomorrow night.”
“I can attend as your proxy,” Timur says. “Wouldn’t you prefer to stay with your family?”
