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“Yes, pakhan,” he agrees, his voice rough.
Then he’s gone, through the door in three lithe steps, letting the heavy oak swing shut behind him.
As soon as the door closes, Pyotr releases a torrent of fury, launching the contents of his desk across the room in one sweeping motion. He goes to work tearing apart his office, upending his sturdy desk, leaving a path of destruction in his wake that puts me somewhere between stunned and impressed at the height of his rage.
In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Pyotr lose his temper before. Cold indifference is something the Matron hammered into him from a young age. I’m the one who can snap. It’s taken me years of practice to demonstrate a glimmer of the self-restraint Pyotr has, so seeing him lose it now disturbs me.
But we’re out of options. And Pyotr knows it. It seems more and more like our only answer is to fight.
But for the first time, I wonder if this is a war we can’t win.
Mikhail has been chiseling away at us, wearing us down for so long that Pyotr’s efforts to preserve and grow our brotherhood over the last few months seem nearly ineffectual.
And the farther into a corner Mikhail backs us, the less in control of the situation we become. The time for conversation is over. We needed Marchetti guns from Silvia’s brother yesterday, and we need to take a stand. No matter how impossible it might seem that we’ll win.
Even so, I’ll fight to the end for Pyotr—no matter if we die to the last man.
I owe him that.
But the knowledge of what’s to come fills me with remorse. Because as I think of death, only one person’s face comes to my mind. Dani’s. I might not get to kiss her before I die, might never hold her in my arms again.
With how quickly things are escalating, I don’t see earning her forgiveness before this showdown happens. And I can’t bring myself to intrude on her more, to cause her more pain than I already have.
That’s all my presence does for her anymore.
And as agonizing as that is, it’s the reality I must face.
My mind turns back to the scene at hand as Pyotr finishes his tirade.
Chest heaving, he stands in the midst of his wreckage, looking around the room as he assesses whether there’s anything else he might be able to smash. Then he straightens, composing himself once more.
A firm knock raps on the door, and Pyotr commands them to enter, ignoring the debris around him as he combs his hair back into place.
Maks, Pyotr’s often outspoken red-bearded captain, steps into the room next. I’m rather impressed by his ability to avoid gaping at the state of the floor once he enters, closing the door behind him. Once he’s given it a cursory glance, he lifts his gaze once more.
“Pakhan,” he says, inclining his head respectfully as he keeps his eyes trained on Pyotr.
“Yes?” Pyotr demands, his mood souring as he takes the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“I just got word that Mikhail has fled to his estate in the north—Upstate. He did so shortly after Imperia was targeted.” Maks’s voice is factual and emotionless.
Pyotr’s attention fully focuses on his captain for the first time tonight. “He’s gone?”
Maks nods.
And rather than the frustration I expected, Pyotr’s lips break into a broad smile. “Do we know how many men he took with him?”
“My sources would indicate just a few.”
“Good.”
“Sir?”
Pyotr’s responding smirk gives me a sliver of hope I hadn’t thought I could find in our ongoing conflict.
“As far as I see it, this is a golden opportunity. We can cut off the head of the snake while he’s in hiding, thinking he’s safe.”
Seeming intrigued by the idea, Maks bobs his head.
