And that’s when we decided.
That dacha would be his grave.
We had arrived an hour early.
From the outside, the place looked quiet and obsessively maintained. The garden beds were trimmed, the windows spotless, the paint fresh like someone was constantly touching it up. Everything about it had that warm, cozy look people try to create when they want a house to feel perfect.
She opened the door, expecting him. Probably thought he’d come early to surprise her. Maybe to fuck her in that silky robe she wore like bait.
Instead, she got me.
She barely had time to gasp. I stepped in fast, yanked the black gaiter over my face, and slammed the muzzle of the gun straight into her lips.
“Shut up, bitch,” I said, calm as winter.
The word hit harder than the steel. Her scream collapsed on itself, dying into a strangled, terrified whimper as she stumbled backward.
Sashko slipped in behind me and turned the lock with practiced ease. He didn’t make a sound—just a quiet click of the latch and a glance to confirm it was done.
She crumpled to the floor, shaking, her wide eyes glued to the gun like it had already gone off. Her fingers twitched against the tile. No shoes. Red toenails. Stupid detail to notice, but I did.
“Good,” I said. “Now listen.”
I crouched down in front of her, easing myself lower until our eyes met on the same level.
“Do you have cameras in this house?”
She shook her head, too fast.
“Say it.”
“No,” she breathed. “No cameras. He doesn’t like them.”
I studied her face. She was trying not to cry, but the tears were already there, pooling beneath her lashes. People lie all the time—but not when they’ve stared death in the face and watched it smile back.
I gave a single nod.
Sashko moved quietly through the house, checking every corner with methodical precision. He inspected the windows, secured the doors, examined the alarm panels. Each sweep was deliberate, efficient, leaving nothing to chance.
I kept my eyes on her.
“I won’t hurt you,” I said, my voice rough as gravel. “If you do exactly what I say.”
She nodded, lip trembling.
“But if you scream... if you run... if you so much as blink wrong—” I tapped the gun against her cheek. Light, but loaded with meaning. “—I’ll put a bullet in your skull. Understand?”
“Yes,” she choked.
I stood, took a slow step back. Let her breathe. Let her think she could survive this. Fear is sharpest when hope’s still alive.
“Good girl.”
She flinched at that, like the words themselves hurt more than the gun.
“You’re going to calm the fuck down,” I said dryly. “You’re not in danger—unless you decide to get dramatic. Keep it together. Play your part. Channel your inner actress.”
She drew in a shaky breath and wiped her face with the back of a trembling hand, forcing herself upright with a steadiness that didn’t quite match the terror in her eyes. It was as if she’d done this before—faced down violence, stared into the barrel of power wielded by dead-eyed men. Men like me. Men like Sashko. We weren’t her first nightmare.
