"Russian names?"
"Or Spanish names."
"We'll compromise."
"Since when do you compromise?"
"Since I married a stubborn FBI agent who refuses to be controlled."
"Former FBI agent."
"Current pain in my ass."
"Current pregnant wife carrying your child."
"My favorite kind of pain in the ass."
She laughs, and the sound eases something tight in my chest. Tomorrow will come with all its dangers and uncertainties. But tonight, she's here, with me, safe.
"Mikhail?"
"Hmm?"
"Tell me about what happened three years ago. With Pavel and Mila's parents."
I'm quiet for a moment, remembering. "Pavel kidnapped them to get to Alexei. Used them as leverage. Mila and Alexei raided his warehouse to rescue them."
"And?"
"They shot him. Multiple times. Mila put at least three bullets in him, Alexei more. The warehouse caught fire in the shootout. Everyone thought he was dead."
"But he survived."
"Somehow. And at Pier 17, rather than be captured, he jumped into the Hudson. Probably had a boat waiting."
"He's like a cockroach."
"Harder to kill. So tomorrow we have to finish this. We can't let him escape again."
Tomorrow this ends, one way or another.
Chapter eighteen
Blood and Bullets
Mariana
The Riverside warehouse looks like a mouth waiting to swallow us whole.
"I don't like this," Mikhail says for the fifth time, his hands tight on the steering wheel. "Something feels off."
"We've been over this. Mila, Alexei and Boris have everything under control, as much as possible. We just have to make Harrison believe I’m turning against you. He needs to see me playing the part."
"We could make him believe it from a distance. With you safely—"
"Stop." I place my hand over his. "We do this together as we planned it."
Through our earpieces, Mila's voice crackles: "Thermal imaging shows thirty-two bodies inside. Pavel brought friends."
