The photo, a mug shot of Andrei Tsepov, overlays a blurry, shrouded body.
“Tsepov is dead.” Dmitri scans the article. “Shot through the back of his head, executed. The article says a rival organization is most likely responsible.”
“It wasn’t any of our fucking guys,” I bark.
“Of course not.” Dmitri seems offended by the suggestion. “No one wants the turf war to explode like that. All our guys know your orders not to touch Tsepov until you can get to him.”
None of my loyal men, no, but…
“We need to get home.”
Dmitri shoots me an odd look, confused by my sudden, unusual panic.
“Now!” I snap, and the SUV picks up speed as the driver takes the twisting, turning Palos Verdes roads.
Dread builds in the pit of my stomach, growing worse as I call first Eva, then one of the guards at home, and get no answer both times. A third call to Eva’s phone goes to voicemail again, and I curse, smashing the phone against the dashboard. The driver needs no further signal to push the SUV faster.
Around the last curve, I realize we’re too late.
Bright, flickering yellow and orange light bounces off the low clouds, glimmering in the sheets of rain on the windshield. I barely wait for Dmitri to stop or for the gate to roll open before I’m out of the car and running down the driveway, heedless of the driving rain soaking me to the bone.
A conflagration is consuming my estate, my home, my sanctuary, with flames licking the sky.
And Eva is inside.
35
EVGENY
“How the fuck did this happen? Where are all the fucking guards?” Dmitri’s already on the phone, talking to 911 and to me at once.
I can’t answer. I’m stuck in a different place, a different time, but with another fire. I feel the searing heat, hear the inferno’s roar, and feel it rake my lungs until I can’t breathe, and my clothes catch and char my skin until all I know is pain.
My mother’s screams ring in my ears, growing fainter, lost in the crackling flames and black, oily smoke. I can’t get to her. I can’t save her. Her screams finally fall silent, and I know she’s dead.
Dead.
“Evgeny!”
Dmitri’s shout pulls me from the deepest, darkest parts of my memory. His hands are tight on my shoulders, his gaze dragging me back to the present, to the flames and the rain, to my reality.
“Eva,” I gasp.
“Go. Find her. The fire department is on its way. I’ll see if I can find anyone else.”
He shoves me away, the push I need to get control of myself, to write a different ending. To save the woman I love this time.
“Keep yourself fucking safe!” Dmitri calls back as we split, each running in a different direction, our guns out.
I jog around the side of the house, hoping there’s a way to get in through the back to find Eva. Why the fuck isn’t the alarm blaring? It’s state-of-the-art, and the fire department should have been here ages ago. They should have beaten us to the house.
It’s dark, and the storm and rain combine with the setting sun to create shadows that are difficult to see through. Water drips into my eyes, which is why I almost don’t see the man dressed in black slumped against the wall.
Fuck.
I crouch and press two fingers to my man’s neck, and his eyes flutter open. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest, but I can see a red stain blooming just below it.
“What happened?” I demand, gripping his shoulder, not sure I’ll get an answer.
