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“I’d say this is a surprise, but let’s be honest.” I crouch in front of Oleg so we can at least see each other eye to eye. Probably for the first and last time. “You and I both knew this day was coming. I’m just surprised it’s not inmycourtyard.”
Oleg grumbles something into his gag. I’m not exactly inclined to remove the fabric so I can listen to whatever bullshit he wants to spout.
“I don’t want to be rude to our hosts, so I’ll make this quick. You’re a sick son of a bitch and you deserve far worse than this. You’re a traitor to your own family. You don’t even know whatbratvameans. But worst of all? You’re such a fucking coward, you’d sooner trade an innocent child to get what you want than find another way. All this pomp and parading around like you’re some international badass and you know what I found?Lies. All of it. You’ve been in debt to Raizo Watanabe for years and figured, what—you’d pay him off by buying my girlfriend?”
Saying it out loud makes everything we’ve uncovered sound far more ludicrous. It’s all true, too: Oleg barely has two cents to rub together. What money he does—did—make from his trafficking rings funded his extravagant lifestyle but didn’t go toward paying off his debts.
So he lied. He lied, he cheated, and he stole from not only his own men and allies, but from the same people who oversee our operation on an international level.
The other men now trembling on their knees, awaiting their own executions, are the same men who funneled account details to Oleg so he could skim funds without ever being noticed.
“You’re pathetic.” I sigh and shake my head. “And you’re just fucking sad. Sad, small, and insignificant. Once this is over, all you’ll be is a stain in this frozen garden. Was it worth it?”
I don’t wait for a response. I stand back up and rejoin Tolya, who watches everything with considerable trepidation.
Someone shouts a countdown.
“Tri!”
Oleg straightens his posture.
“Dva!”
Tolya holds his breath.
“Odin!”
One by one, and yet somehow all at the same time, heads explode. Blood splatters everywhere. Bodies hit the dirt.
And Oleg Alexei Zakrevsky is no more.
I don’t move. Neither does Tolya.
“You two are welcome to return home to the States,” the grandpakhantells us on his way out. “Get back to your families. Sort this mess out with the Yakuza.”
Both of us sigh like the weight of Oleg’s oppression has finally lifted. In a way, it has.
In other ways, it will remain with us until our own final days.
Tolya rests a heavy hand on my shoulder. “He’s right,” he grumbles. “We got shit to do.”
I hear him. I heard both of them. I guess I just need a moment to process the sight before me, of Oleg’s head scattered around an otherwise elegant courtyard garden. Of his blood pooling in the dark soil patch of a bed of ranunculus.
Clara would be proud I even know what those are called.
She’ll be even more relieved to know her worst nightmare is dead.
45
CLARA
So far, so good.
Martin tried taking advantage of our “bonding time” by putting on the physical romance when he got home, but I fended him off by running to the bathroom and shouting that I had explosive diarrhea.
It’s stupid, I know. But it was all I could think of.
Lucky for me, he bought it. He gave me a strange look after I made several (fake) ungodly noises in the bathroom and asked if I was still able to cook dinner. Willow came out of her room to ask if I was okay.
