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“How did Levitsky go about hiring you? Did he approach you individually?”
Olaf licks his lips. “If I tell you, will you let me go?”
“Only if your information is useful.”
He considers it for a moment. I can tell from the look in his eye that he knows this is as good an offer as he’s going to get. It’s amazing how quickly people change their tune when their lives are on the line.
“An agency hired me,” Olaf says. “Me and a bunch of other guys.”
I lean forward, intrigued. “I need a name.”
Chapter 31
Natalya
The Lyublino District is the ninth biggest district in all of Moscow. Mostly high-rise apartments and parks, but nothing else noteworthy. The only thing noteworthy is the gambling den tucked away in the basement of a rundown old complex. From what I can gather, it belongs to the Rachman Bratva, the fourth most powerful criminal organization in all of Moscow.
I’m not here to help them, though. My reasons for being here are much more personal.
The phone I managed to lift off one of Levitsky’s men at the restaurant earlier this morning turned out to be a treasure trove of information. I’ve got an entire conversation log spanning the last few months between Edvard and his top lieutenants. While his overall plan isn’t clear to me, his next steps are.
I lie in wait, shivering against the chilly breeze atop the roof opposite the gambling den. My vantage point is perfect. I can see the roads clearly, as well as the front entrance. I took a big risk going into the restaurant earlier, but I had no other choice. From here on out, I need to keep my distance, not just for my sake, but for my baby as well.
As I wait for the Levitskys to arrive, I ready my tranquilizer gun. Just because I want Edvard in the ground doesn’t mean I want to kill any of his men. For all I know, they were manipulated into working for him the same way I was. What if they’ve got families waiting for them at home, people they care about?
I refuse to use a gun, refuse to use real bullets. Tranquilizers are really the only alternative. They’re effective and don’t add to the bloodshed. In my mind, that’s already a win. I won’t stoop to Edvard’s level of hostility. I’ll never allow myself to become a monster like him.
My rifle is technically designed for pest control. Raccoons, bears, and the like. But I’ve found, once I’ve manually adjusted the tranquilizer’s dosage, they’re incredibly useful against big hulking Bratva men too.
The breeze sweeps my cropped bangs over my eyes. I brush my black hair out of the way, peering down my rifle’s sight. Staying in Moscow necessitated a change in my appearance. I didn’t want to run the risk of Edvard recognizing me. All it took was a pair of scissors and some box dye. Even though it was a rush job, it was almost shocking how drastically it changed my look.
I lick my lips as a vehicle rolls up to the curb. A large SUV. Black. The windows are tinted. Could Levistky’s men be here earlier than scheduled? I suppose it doesn’t matter. My ultimate goal is to throw a wrench in his plans. Throw him off, waste his time. I’ve learned by now that the only way to locate Edvard is to make him desperate enough to draw him out of hiding. If I can cause enough trouble for him, I can lure him out and finally avenge my father.
It’s been three long months, but the promise of victory is sweet on my tongue. Revenge is a marathon, not a sprint. If I pace myself and play it safe, the only gun I’ll ever fire will be aimed between Edvard’s eyes.
A team of six men exit the SUV. Their throats are missing the Levitsky’s easily identifiable snake and dagger tattoo. Clearly it isn’t them, just some people in the wrong place at the wrong time. My heart thuds loudly in my chest. I sincerely hope they leave sooner rather than later. I’d hate for them to be caught up in the crossfire. Levitsky’s mercs aren’t exactly known for pointing and shooting. They’re more of a spray-and-pray type. All they care about is maximum damage in minimal time, regardless of who might get hurt.
I continue to watch the men as they mill about. One of them catches my eye. I have to squint through my sight to get a better look. When I finally get a good look at his face, my heart plummets into the ravine of my stomach.
Dimitri.
His dark brown hair is shorter than I remember, cropped at the sides while longer on top. He’s grown in a thick, well-trimmed beard that gives him a dangerous edge. I’m too far away to see all the details of his face, but it’s evident in his stance and the way his shoulders slump that he’s incredibly tired. Agitated. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but his fast movements and gestures suggest he’s pissed.
Reallypissed.
From my vantage point, I see an entire convoy of vehicles approaching. It’s not one or two rogue men Dimitri is about to square off with—but an entire army.
Panic grips my throat and chokes the air out of my lungs. What on Earth is he doing here? Does he realize he’s about to walk into the middle of a bloodbath? I know I’m probably the last person in the world he wants to see, but I can’t just stand idly by while he waits for his death. I need to get him out of there, but how do I do so without exposing my position? They don’t notice Levitsky’s men are coming. I have to warn them somehow.
“Shit,” I hiss, loading an empty tranquilizer.
With a deep breath, I aim at a window behind them. My finger wraps around the trigger. I wait for a clear shot—and fire.
The sound of my rifle firing isn’t loud, nor is my empty shell strong enough to break through the glass. That’s not what this thing was designed for. It does, however, crack the window, just enough to capture Dimitri’s attention.
All I can do is watch from afar as it all unfolds, my heart railing against my ribcage.
Alerted by my deliberate misfire, Dimitri notices the incoming vehicles. He shouts something at his men. They all get into position, ducking low behind their own car as they produce pistols and rifles. The Antonovs are outnumbered, but my quick thinking might have bought them a little time.
