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One of Lorenzo’s men.
Then, one of mine.
Another is kneeling beside him, trying to give him aid as he bleeds out in the tight hallway. There’s barely enough room for him to lay down, much less to be worked on.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my eyes flicking up and down from the body to the door at the end of the hallway.
It’s quiet. There’s no more shooting.
“They moved down the hallway. All of them,” he replies, pulling a piece of fabric tight around the other man’s leg. Blood is soaked into his sleeves, but he works diligently, ignoring the crimson mess.
“How many are there?” I ask.
“At least a dozen,” he replies, looking up at me for the first time and shaking his head. “More than we thought.”
I grip my rifle tighter, my knuckles yellowing from the pressure. “We can handle it. Did you see Lorenzo anywhere?”
He nods, and I feel a fresh surge of energy. “He was there, somewhere near the middle of the group.”
Of course, he was. He was using the bodies of his men to protect him from bullets, which means he’s probably still alive, cowering somewhere further down the train.
But he won’t be able to get out. The doors are locked, we have men on both sides of him, and there only way out is through me.
I utter a prayer for our fallen comrade before walking quickly to the next compartment. Further down, I hear a single gunshot, then silence again.
Some of Lorenzo’s men are still alive. The fight isn’t over yet.
Moving through the train is slow despite my growing desire to confront and kill Lorenzo before anyone else can get to him. I have to check every cabin, sweeping it up and down to make sure there’s nobody hiding there who will spring out behind me and shoot me in the back after I pass by.
I take none of the risks I usually would, and it feels like I’m walking through cold syrup because of that.
“I love you, Lola,” I say under my breath to remind myself why I’m doing this. “And I love you, baby Antonov.”
I sweep the next compartment, stepping over a couple of Lorenzo’s deceased men, counting them as I go. There can’t be more than a handful of them left with how many are dead here. I find clusters of them, likely caught by surprise and gunned down as a group.
I slow down when I see the backs of four of my men, blocking the doorway to the next section of the train.
I say my greeting in Russian, so they know it’s me, and they all turn, wide-eyed and tense.
The fight definitely isn’t over. Maybe it’s only just begun.
“How many left?” I ask, coming closer. “What’s the current situation?”
“Just a few left, including Lorenzo,” one of the men replies, sweeping his hand through a sweaty buzz cut. “They’ve barricaded themselves in the middle of the train. We can’t get in from either side without taking a major risk. Both hallways are pinned down.”
I rub my chin, thinking so fast that I nearly lose the solution when it races through my brain. “We need to negotiate with Lorenzo. He’s not going to stay there forever and starve. We can end this early, before he has the chance to call for reinforcements.”
“We can send someone in.”
“No,” I snap. “I’ll do it. Lorenzo isn’t going to listen to anyone but me.”
“Respectfully, boss, that’s extremely dangerous,” he replies, worry showing in his pale grey eyes.
I think of Lola, about how much she would hate me if I got myself killed, and suddenly, it all becomes too real. I never feared death until now, and it feels far too close for comfort.
I clench my teeth so hard that my jaw muscles beg me to release them. Every nerve in my body is on fire, burning so hot that sweat obscures my vision. I have a choice to make, and it feels like every answer is the wrong one.
If I do this, I risk breaking my promise to Lola.
