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I grip his wrist and move his hand away. “Of course it’s a fucking trap.”
“Mr. Volkov,” he says carefully, holding my gaze. “You have to consider the fact that she may already be dead.”
Before he can blink, I grab him by the lapels of his jacket and smash his body against the wall. “She’s alive and well.” I need to believe that.
“For now, maybe,” he says, unfazed by the violence. “Once Stefanov has you, he won’t need her any longer. If we launch an attack on his house, what guarantee do you have that Stefanov won’t slit her throat? He’s not going to wave a white flag and simply hand her over. If he thinks he’s going to lose, he’d rather take her with him to the grave than give her back to you.”
That’s not what I have in mind. I’m not going in guns blazing while hoping for the best.
Leonid must see the intention in my eyes because his jaw goes slack.
“You’re going to suggest a trade,” he says, sounding flabbergasted. “Your life for Kate’s.”
“What else?” I growl, letting him go with a shove.
“Think about it,” he says, coming after me as I make my way down the hallway. “That’s what Stefanov expects you to do. That’s what he wants.”
“Then that’s what he’ll get.”
I send a text message to Dimitri, telling him to round up the men, all fucking two hundred of them. Then I fire off a message to Igor to bring him up to scratch and to inform him that our rendezvous point is Stefanov’s house.
Outside, Yuri leans against the hood of my car. He straightens when I approach. I check that my gun is loaded and get into the car.
“Mr. Volkov,” Leonid says.
I slam the door, cutting off further conversation.
Pounding a hand against his forehead, Leonid paces next to the car.
I wind down the window. “Are you coming or what?”
He drops his hand on his hip, regarding me with a defeated look. “I work for you because I respect you. We all do—Igor, Dimitri, and every guard in your employ.”
“Are you getting sentimental on me?” I ask with a cold smile.
“None of us is the leader you are. That’s why you’re the boss. That’s why we follow your orders. If you die, everything you’ve built will be wasted.”
It’ll go to Katerina. I’ve already set it up with my lawyer. Not that I have any intention of making it easy for Stefanov. “I’m leaving. If you’re coming, get in. If not, it was good to know you, my friend.”
With a curse, he gets into the front passenger seat.
Yuri starts the engine. We don’t speak during the ride. I stare through the window at the familiar landscape, but inside, my blood is boiling.
On the way, I get the satellite feed from Nelsky on my phone. I watch the accident happen with balled hands, from the point when the fucker hits their car to where he carries an unconscious Katerina to a truck parked half a block down the road. From there, he drives straight to Stefanov’s house.
“Svoloch,” I mutter under my breath, squeezing the phone so hard the plastic casing cracks down the middle.
“We’re here,” Leonid says, pulling my attention from the scene I’m replaying on my phone.
I glance up at the imposing gates of Stefanov’s house. “Are the men on their way?”
“They’ll be here in five minutes. They left shortly after us.” His gaze is pleading. “Don’t go in there alone, Mr. Volkov.”
If I don’t, Katerina is dead.
Not bothering to answer, I dial Stefanov.
“Volkov,” Stefanov replies in a jovial voice. “I was expecting your call.”
My voice is tight with repressed fury. “I want to speak to her.”
“Of course you do. Hold on.”
Shuffling and footsteps sound, and then her sweet voice comes on the line. “Alex?”
I sag in my seat, physically weak with relief. “Are you all right?”
A choked sob.
“I’m coming for you, Katyusha,” I say, my voice harsh as I imagine what Stefanov has done or could still do to her. “Hold on for me, my love.”
“Don’t,” she whispers. “It’s a—”
“As you can see,” Stefanov’s voice interrupts, “she’s very much alive.”
I’m going to crush that motherfucker. “How do you want the trade to work?”
“Come alone, unarmed, and I’ll let her go.”
Leonid, who’s listening in on the call, shakes his head.
“Do I have your word?” I ask.
“I swear on my mother’s grave,” the fat bastard says.
In that case, “I’m here.”
I end the call and hand my phone and gun to Leonid.
“Mr. Volkov,” Leonid says with a plea in his voice as he takes the items. “Alex.”
Opening the door, I step out into the gray light of the day. The snow has lifted momentarily. An eerie quiet has dawned on the landscape.
Leonid follows suit.
Four guards armed with automatic rifles walk through the gates toward us.
The one in the front says, “You’re to come unarmed. No phone.”
