Page 95 of Then We Shatter

I’m whistling to myself as I walk between two cars, flexing my hands to get the circulation going before fixing a silencer to one of my handguns. I use my left hand to return it to my shoulder holster, swapping it for one of my knives.

I grip the handle tightly. There shouldn’t be any discernible weakness, but it does no harm to check. I’ve been following my physiotherapist’s exercises to the letter for the last three months, as well as rebuilding every drywall on the little Scottish isle I now call home.

As I reach the elevator, the console warns of approaching visitors and I slip into the stairwell to wait. Two sets of boots step out onto the concrete floor, but only the shadow of one soldier crosses the door I’m standing behind. The pair are going to circle the parking garage in opposite directions.

The patrol is perfunctory. No one could ever reach the bowels of Bratva’s hideout without the alarm being raised, and I’m an anomaly neither guard is looking for when I step out from my hiding place. I can see the backs of both men and it’s the one on my right I follow.

His pace is slow and heavy, mine is stealthier and faster. He’s almost at the first corner when a gurgled cry echoes through the underground chamber. My soldier almost slices his own throat as he spins to see what’s happening only to greet my knife.

“Oops,” I say, keeping my blade pressed firmly to his neck while I use my free hand to relieve him of his rifle.

Judging by the bleats coming from the other side of the garage, my guy’s comrade isn’t being as compliant. I don’t speak fluent Russian yet, but I know enough to follow his desperate pleas for mercy. “Please, don’t! I didn’t… I’m sorry–” His words transform into an ear-splitting scream. Then… silence.

My smile is full of pride. “That’ll be the missus.”

The remaining soldier’s jaw tenses. “And who the fuck would she be? What do you want?”

I’m in a generous mood and I answer his questions. “She would be Katarina Barkov, and what I want is justice.” His eye tics and I cock my head. “Do you know her?”

The sharp tap of stiletto heels grows closer. “Yes, he knows me.”

Before the soldier’s curse can leave his lips, my blade slices through his neck. Blood spurts and I push him back before he sprays us. I need to find a less messy way of cutting someone’s throat. Fortunately, I’ll have plenty of opportunities to practice.

I don’t see the guy hit the ground because I’ve already turned towards my partner in crime. Katarina’s outfit is tight leather and her hair is cut into a blunt bob that grazes her shoulders. She’s wearing red patent leather stilettos that match her long nails and perfect lips.

I step her back from the viscous pool of blood creeping towards us. “Watch you don’t mess up your pretty shoes, wife.”

Katarina’s smile is feline as she rests her hands on my chest. “Always looking out for me, aren’t you, Shorty?” When I clear my throat loudly, her smile broadens. “Fine. Husband.”

“Better.”

“Shouldn’t you be bored with calling me wife by now? We’ve been married four weeks. Please tell me the novelty’s going to wear off soon.”

“I think you already know that answer to that, wife,” I say as I lift her hand and kiss the simple gold band on her wedding finger.

There was no engagement and no diamond ring. Katarina had had quite enough of those. Our marriage ceremony was a simple affair in a Scottish registry office. It confirmed what we already knew. Our souls are eternally bound, and it doesn’t matter that our marriage license is in the names of Patrick Freeman and Inessa Rudenko. Neither of us miss the family names that stood in the way of our union.

I keep my lips pressed to Katarina’s finger and savor the warmth of her skin. Her heart kept beating for me, as mine did for her, and we’re not about to waste the life we’ve been gifted. I straighten up.

“Come on, lovely. We have a job to do.”

No alarm is raised as we take the stairs, enter the main house and go through every room systematically. Katarina and I work as a single unit and our first targets are the lower ranks, the Bratva soldiers who helped keep my wife prisoner, and those that arrived today to protect their overlords.

The largest group are gathered in the kitchen and in less than two minutes, three men lie on the floor with bullets in their heads and another two have their throats cut. It takes more time to convince the house staff not to give us reason to shoot them too, but eventually they all cooperate.

While we’re locking them in the basement, we find a holding cell with a dozen young women chained up inside. They’re tonight’s entertainment for the men gathered upstairs, and not all of the captives are fully grown women, which makes me all the more eager to get back up there and finish the job we came to do.

Once the rest of house has been cleared, I turn down the final corridor. Two soldiers stand guard outside the council chamber where six Bratva brigadiers think they’re about to crown their next pakhan. Neither guard notices me because they’re staring open-mouthed at the figure at the opposite end of the corridor. Katarina smiles at them like a ghost from Christmas past.

They won’t get to see another Christmas and I shoot both in the back of the head, the execution muffled by my gun’s silencer.

Katarina and I come face to face and the spark in her eyes says more than a thousand words. All the hard work is done. It’s time to have fun and bring down the Barkov empire once and for all.

I press my ear to the door of the chamber and, unsurprisingly, there are raised voices. The pakhan’s successor would normally go unchallenged to whoever his predecessor had named, but Vasili’s heir-in-waiting had been his nephew, Ilya, until the Griffins killed him a year ago. With Katarina also presumed dead, there are no living relatives within the ranks. The top job is up for grabs.

Grigor is acting pakhan, but he has as many detractors as he does supporters. Two of those detractors smuggled Katarina and I into the compound. It was a risk telling Anton and Yuri that Katarina had survived the jump from Blackwater Rock, but the two persistently overlooked brigadiers have swallowed our conspiracy story that Grigor had ordered Vasili’s assassination, and Katarina had only gone into hiding so he wouldn’t kill her too.

Our gullible allies are under the impression that Katarina has formed a secret alliance with the Irish mafia so we can feast on the souls of the weak right across the globe. Anton has positioned himself as Katarina’s second in command and Yuri is creaming his pants for the chance to become the Bratva’s new enforcer.