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“I can gather our men,” Samuil offers. “I’ll have them ready within the hour to move out.”
I stare at them all in disbelief. They want to go to work?Now? I guess it’s true what they say—crime never sleeps—but I’m not in the proper headspace to be leading the Nicolaevich Bratva to victory.
“Handle it,” I tell Leo with a dismissive wave. “Leave me be.”
Roman frowns. “Andrei, we’re sorry about your woman, but she was an Antonov. It was never going to work.”
Silence weighs heavily in the air. I can’t stand it, can barely look my brothers in the eye. I don’t want their pity, but I can feel it crawling all over my skin.
“Andrei…” Damien starts slowly. “What do you need?”
“I just… need some time.”
He warily glances at the gun in my hand. I’ve picked up Mikhail’s pistol again. “Maybe we should stay with you tonight.”
“You think I’m going to do something stupid?” I snap, my irritation rushing forward without warning. “Leave me be.”
Understandably, my outburst does little to persuade my brothers to move. I don’t know what frustrates me more—the fact that they aren’t listening to me, or the fact that they’re taking up precious breathing room. The walls are caving in, and all these extra bodies are making me claustrophobic.
“Get out!” I hiss. I swear to God, I’m two seconds away from fucking losing it. “Get. The. Fuck. Out!”
“We’re not leaving you like this,” Samuil says gravely. “Put the gun down, Andrei. Let’s talk this through.”
I know I must be a mess ifSamuilstarts to sound reasonable. He’s always been more of a punch first, ask questions later kind of guy—which tells me I’m royally fucked.
I don’t want to be here. I need space.
I need revenge.
If there’s one person in the whole world who deserves the blame, it’s Detective Gregor Ivanovich. Were it not for him and his set up, Sandra would still be alive. This is his fault. Mikhail Antonov gave me the gift of one bullet—and it has the detective’s name written all over it.
My brothers may have me outnumbered, but I have my unwavering determination. Before any of them has a chance to realize what’s happening, I lurch out of my chair and head straight out the door. Leo calls after me. I just barely escape Samuil’s grasp. Roman and Damien chase me out into the hall, but I’m long gone.
Revolver in hand, I slip into the night.
This is for Sandra.
Chapter 36
Andrei
If obsession is a disease, then I’m sick and suffering.
My waking thoughts bounce back and forth between Sandra and Ivanovich, trapping me in a never-ending cycle of cause and effect. I can’t stop thinking about her, about how cold and small she was in my arms as the lights faded from her eyes. My chest tightens at the realization that I’ll never get to kiss her again, speak to her again. Ivanovich has to pay—hehasto.
Tracking the man down this time is a whole lot easier. He’s paraded around like a damn war hero, showing up for interviews and public award ceremonies. I lie in wait, watching from the back of the crowd, dressed in an unassuming pair of jeans, a black sweatshirt, and a baseball cap. The hood’s drawn over to obscure my face. A whole line of TV cameras is here, along with nosy reporters and a handful of uniformed cops. I can’t just approach him. I may want vengeance, but I’m not suicidal. This place is too public, too many witnesses. I need to bide my time until I can get the man alone.
“Detective Ivanovich is a shining example of hard work and determination,” the police chief says into the microphone stand. “The success of last week’s raid saw the decimation of the Russian Bratva. For his services, we would like to bestow upon him this medal of honor.”
There’s a smattering of polite applause as the detective takes center stage in front of the police station. I expect him to gloat, to look like a man on top of the world… Except he’s just as exhausted, empty, and sorrowful as always. There’s no color in his face, no spark in his eyes. This man is a walking husk, alive only in function.
“Thank you,” he murmurs into the mic. The detective is so distant and far away it’s hard to tell who he’s really addressing. “Over twenty years ago, I lost my wife and child to the senseless violence brought upon Moscow and its people by the Bratva. It brings me immense joy to know their souls will finally know peace.”
As he gives his speech, I can tell he doesn’t believe his own words. His tone is cold and flat. Any trace of joy, warmth, or any other semblance of what makes him human has been sucked right out of him. This is a man with nothing left to lose. He’s achieved his ultimate goal, and now there’s no reason to remain. It’s as he said: no family, no plans for his future. Ivanovich got to watch us all burn in real time, and now he has nothing.
NowIhave nothing.
Have you ever had that kind of love, Nicolaevich?
