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Mila catches my eye from where she stands by my front door. She’s not normally so quiet. Her favorite habit is to send out snide barbs during inappropriate times like this. Lately she’s been more withdrawn. More aloof. Madison’s appearance and desperate actions have affected Mila deeply.
And from what I can see, far more deeply than even Mila herself expected.
I should talk to her about it. But I’m doubtful she’ll want to listen.
She’s never been great with heart-to-hearts.
I’m no different.
Her silent frown in my direction communicates that it’s time to go. I hug Galina a moment longer before releasing her. “When I come back, it will be with Katya.”
The Winter Palace used to be a bus depot over half a decade ago. The rounded front hints at the interior that follows the same shape, the massive, curved walls designed to allow easy access to the buses that would line up along the streets in front and back. Those walls create a perfect acoustic experience. This was part of the reason Yevgeniy bought the building to turn it into a club in the first place.
I was with him that day. He strutted around the large rooms, his voice an intonation of pride as he waxed on about the money the place would bring into the Grachev Bratva. The music would lure in crowds. But that wasn’t where the cash would come from.
“Noise up top drowns out what we’re doing below,” he explained with a smirk. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting to hear his voice reverberate, each echo softer than the last. “Let them get loud!”
All the sweating, dancing people, screaming to the beat … yes.
No one would hear the poor girls. It was a perfect business, as Yevgeniy said.
“We should have burned that place down years ago,” Mila growls beside me. We’re crouched across the street on the roof of a flower shop. The fire escape built into the brick gave us easy access.
Eyeing her curiously, I keep my voice even. “Will you be able to control yourself in there?”
She juts out her chin and doesn’t respond.
I watched the way she gleefully eviscerated Yevgeniy’s men. It made me think she was getting satisfaction by fulfilling her need for vengeance. I thought she’d cool down afterward, but she never did. A Band-Aid was ripped off, but instead of being a healed scar, the wound still bleeds.
And after Madison, Mila’s urge to hurt the ones in charge of the brothels has returned in full force.
No, it was never gone.
Following her gaze, I survey the Winter Palace with intense scrutiny. It’s nearly midnight, but unlike the other businesses in the city, the club is just waking up. The signage is a vibrant neon blue and pink. It draws young people like moths to a flame. There’s a line of people waiting to pass by the guards at the front door. Even at this distance, I can make out the unmistakable beat of music inside.
It’s freezing out—I’m bundled up in a thick, long black jacket and gloves. There are women in the line wearing practically nothing. Skirts that graze their hips, heels that you could use as stepping stools, all to show off their bodies.
They have no idea that there are women in that building who wish they could cover their skin. I grit my teeth until my skull throbs.
Why am I worrying about Mila? I’m just as likely to lose control at this rate.
I scan the line closely, trying to pick out anyone who isn’t here to just drink and dance. But on the surface, every man looks the same. They’re all oblivious to the nature of the secret brothel just beneath their feet.
Or they might all have weapons.
Gripping my gun under my jacket, I let a puff of white air float from my nostrils. It vanishes on the breeze. “Are the boeviki in position?”
“Yes,” Mila replies. “Kostya has them organized into groups. When you’re ready, they’ll move to the street level, then go around the back to break in.”
I nod sharply. The goal is to slip into the club without being recognized. Once in there, we’ll search for both Katya and Yevgeniy. They could be on the main floor. But more likely than not, they’re underground.
I’m about to turn away when I spot something. “There. See them?”
“The cameras?” Mila slips out her small pistol. “I can shoot them, or?—”
I fire off a shot before she finishes talking. The lens on the security camera that sticks off the far-right corner of the building shatters. The sound is muted by the club’s music. Mila clicks her tongue in annoyance before taking out the second camera.
“Show off,” she mumbles.
