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“You promised your mama that you wouldn’t become like Dario. And I think that you are walking down that road.” Sara’s assessment leaves me locked in place; the chatter around us is muted, and I am unable to move or say anything. I loathe the mention of his name, and I hate it even more that I am becoming like him. My mother would have hated to see me like this; going after the woman I lo–
Anyways.
Since I’m not talking, Sara does. “If your mama did to Dario what Lana did to you, he would have behaved the same way. He would have killed her.” The thought of Dario doing something to mama sends shivers down my spine. But… Sara is right. He would have killed her.
“I promised my mama that I would try to be a better person, and I did just that.”
“How?” Sara genuinely asks me. I lean back in my chair, and the noise of the chatter resumes. My arms are crossed now, and my eyes soften.
“I loved a woman more than life. I didn’t give Lana my heart; she was my heart. Before her, there was nothing but destruction. Do you know…” I choke on my words, but I need to get them out. “I still dream about her smile? Every morning I wake up hoping to see her next to me. How fucked up is that?” I rip my gaze away from Sara and lay my palms flat on the table; otherwise, I might break down. She takes my right hand and pats it.
“Noa, loving someone is beautiful, and you don’t need to feel bad about that. It’s one of the best things you could have done in your life. Look around you, now.” The urgency in her last word made me look around. I see my team, and they are all preparing to ambush Emin. I snatch my hand away and give her a puzzled look.
“What?” She smiles my way, and now she is crossing her arms, shaking her head.
“We all love you, and you gave everyone in this room a chance to thrive. To be ourselves.” My mind can’t comprehend that I did something good in my life, especially to those around me. Who is to say that they love me or that they fear me? Yes, they are loyal, but love? Can loyalty exist without love?
“What are your thoughts on what I just said?” Sara is really tapping into her psychological knowledge, and I don’t know whether I should be mad or appreciative.
“I don’t believe it. Come on, how can I? I killed a father in front of his daughter. Her broken eyes will haunt me until the day I die.”
“Noa–”
“Don’t, Sara.” I raise my voice. “I just left her die. I didn’t even call anyone. I just left her there.”
“I’ll find her for you. You need to hear her out.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.” I scoff. Sara wants to say something, but we are interrupted by Adam.
“Little raven, M, we are ready.” Adam knew what the fuck he was doing calling me by my assassin name. It was the best thing he could have done, it snaps me out of my pitying state. We all gather and go over the plan one last time, then we gear up. Adam is the only one who is geared to the max; the rest of us look quite plain—jogging trousers, T-shirts, and baseball caps. With only one caveat, we all have a gun on the inside of our jogging trousers.
“Are you ready?” Adam asks me as we all get on our bikes. I nod at him.
I hope Emin is. And his precious boss, Lana.
1. Cejf is a Bosnian cultural concept that means taking deep pleasure, relaxation, and satisfaction in slow, simple, and unhurried moments
Chapter sixteen
Noa
“Is everyone at position?” I ask nonchalantly as I stir in my coffee cup. It’s a beautiful day, and I get why Emin loves coming here. The municipality has the kind of quiet that only Bosnia can offer. It looks like it survived in places forgotten by time. Just outside Sarajevo, the streets still wear the softness of early spring. Pale morning sunlight spills over terracotta rooftops, warming weathered stone facades scarred by decades-old bullet holes. Fruit trees blossom behind wrought-iron fences, clouds of white and blush petals drift lazily across the cobbled sidewalks whenever the breeze wanders through.
The café sits on a small square where life unfolds without urgency. Older men occupy the same tables they have for years, tiny porcelain cups of thick Bosnian coffee resting beside glasses of water. Their conversations rise and fall in low murmurs, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the click of backgammon pieces. Somewhere nearby, church bells chime the hour, answered moments later by the distant call to prayer rolling over the rooftops from a hillside mosque.
Nothing moves with urgency, except him.
Emin.
I’m sitting outside, facing the counter, while he is ordering a coffee to-go. The kind woman gives it to him, and he walks past, not noticing me. He is so caught up in his tranquillity he doesn’t realize it’s about to be shattered.
“He is walking towards the bakery now. Over.” Josh conveys to us.
“Do not engage. I will follow him now. Over.” I drink up my coffee and leave for the bakery. He ordered kajmak and kiflice, a typical quick Bosnian breakfast. So predictable it’s good; that means he is sticking to his routine. We are all in place, and the only thing left to do is deliver the final blow. He takes his breakfast and walks toward the park. I get up, and before I follow Emin, I turn around and wink at the surveillance camera. Knowing Lana will watch it.
I follow Emin, and he is almost at the park when I notice a couple of people following him, beside us. “Josh, Adam, Sara, there are three men following Emin. Copy that?”
“Copy. Hana, are there any men in Lana’s team that are over 6’ with short red hair, black wavy hair, and short brown hair?” Adam asks through his earpiece.
