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They hurried down a second hallway, hearing voices down it, Misha slowing his step before signaling for them to slide in through a half-open door. They did, the door making a soft squeaking noise as Misha pushed it shut and he stopped the movement, motioning for them to find a place to hide.
Quickly.
The room was one of the smaller libraries and there weren’t that many places. Alina slid down along the wall next to a large chest of drawers, hiding out of sight from the doorway. Dmitri wished he could make sure she was shielded from view, but there was no point in getting himself killed when they were finally making some progress. He dipped down behind one of the armchairs, placing his arms on the seat, ducking his head as the voices grew louder outside the door. The men were approaching.
He still couldn’t believe so many of them had defected. He’d always thought he’d run a clean operation in this house. He’d hand-picked every last man on his team and, if he hadn’t chosen them himself, Misha had recommended them. The betrayal was still stinging, his trust shaken. What else had he missed? Why would they mutiny for money? Was he paying them so little? Most of them drove what they wanted, got time off when they needed to, saw their families more than most. It wasn’t as though he'd chosen this life for them. Why would they turn around and stab him in the back?
He clenched his hands into fists, keeping the fury down as the door was pushed open.
“Yeah, did you hear what happened to Ivan?” one of the men said.
“Fucking shame.”
“He picked the wrong side.”
“Clearly.”
They shared a chuckle. Dmitri clutched his gun harder, about to get to his feet when Misha caught his eye, giving a shake of his head for Dmitri not to let his emotions run away with him. Misha was reliable, Misha was staying right where he’d been for over a century—by his ruling head’s side. Dmitri forced himself to calm, giving Misha a nod.
The men retreated out of the doorway, heading back down the hallway, apparently content in thinking the rooms they had checked were empty.
Misha made a gesture to the door, holding up one finger, then two, then three. Dmitri nodded. Alina frowned.
“What?” she more or less mouthed, barely making a sound of the word.
“Stay here,” he gestured, keeping as quiet. “Misha—one,” he added, holding up one finger. “Me—two. You—three.” He finished with three fingers held up and her frown deepening. “Misha will—”
But Misha moving up to her, pressing his mouth to her ear to fill her in, stopped him. Thankful to his second in command never failing to think on his feet, he watched as Misha left Alina’s side and moved up to the door. Misha would go first, check the parameter. Dmitri would wait ten seconds, then follow unless Misha returned. Alina would do the same. This way they didn’t move as a group and tactically there was less chance of them all getting caught if they met with any interference.
Misha disappeared through the doorway.
Dmitri stayed low, waiting.
He caught Alina’s eye, tried an encouraging smile.
She made her fingers into a gun, mouthing what he assumed was ‘wish I had one’. He stifled a chuckle at how matter of fact she was being about weapons in general. He was glad she didn’t have one if what she might do with it was accidentally shoot him, or herself. He still had her scent all over his skin. He breathed in softly.
Then realized ten seconds had definitely passed, getting to his feet, slipping up to and through the door, glancing back once at the edge of the chest of drawers to make sure Alina was staying hidden. She was.
Good.
He crept down the hallway, both hands holding the gun, pointing it to the floor, ready to lift it at any small movement. Misha was waiting where the hallway cornered to the left. They still had a way to go to get to the Yellow Room, but hopefully, they’d manage to avoid any more patrols. He thought he’d never heard the floor make so much noise, though the boards were barely groaning under his weight. Adrenaline was pumping, his senses sharpened. He scented cigarette smoke from somewhere outside, chest constricting with the anger flaring back up again at the blatant disrespect. He didn’t allow smoking in the courtyard. These fucking dickheads, he’d show them exactly what betrayal got them.
“Hey,” Misha said.
“What?” he growled.
“Get that look out of your eye,” Misha growled back. “This isn’t all about you. You’ve got men loyal to you, ready to die for you, and a family in hiding. Get yourself killed and all the rest of us are as good as dead too.”
He drew a slow breath, acknowledging the truth of that statement.
Fine. Revenge would have to wait, but he would make sure that it was sweet and rich as wine.
“I thought we had him followed,” he whispered, feeling Alina’s hand slip back into his when she joined them, keeping behind him. “Gregor,” he clarified at Misha’s frown.
“Oh, yeah, the tail is our guys,” Misha said. “They were following his empty town car, but I got a hold of them an hour or so ago. They’re on their way back. Be good to have feet on the ground.”
“How far out?”
