The edges of my vision darken. His grip is iron, crushing my windpipe. I think of my father. How he'd make deals instead of war. How he'd arrange marriages rather than choose love. How disappointed he'd be to see me here.
Oleg's right. I am weak.
Then I remember his threat and am bombarded with images of what men like him would do to someone like Lila.
Sweet, innocent Lila.
My hands find position—one on his jaw, one on the back of his skull.
"My father's dead," I say.
The crack is wet and final. Oleg's eyes go wide, then empty. The hands around my throat go slack and two hundred and forty pounds of dead weight drops at my feet.
Blood soaks through my shirt from the knife wound. The alley is quiet except for the distant sound of traffic and my own ragged breathing.
Headlights sweep across the alley mouth. Doors open and slam. Voices shout in Russian.
Backup. Fuck.
My phone's in my hand before I know it, thumb flying across the screen.
Me: Shit went sideways. Oleg's down. Backup arrived. Multiple hostiles.
Misha: Location?
Me: Warehouse alley. They've got me pinned.
Misha: Two minutes out. Don't do anything stupid, Boss.
Two minutes might as well be two hours.
I draw the Glock as the first man rounds the corner. Two shots hit center mass, and he drops. But there are more—three, four, five of them, armed and angry.
"Petrov killed Oleg!" someone shouts in Russian.
The alley becomes a war zone. Muzzle flashes strobe the darkness. Brick explodes near my head, showering me with dust and fragments.
I'm outnumbered. Outgunned. Blood loss makes me slow.
I return fire and down another man before ducking behind a dumpster. Bullets punch through the metal. My phone buzzes.
Misha: Almost there. Hold on.
There's no time. Sirens scream in the distance, getting closer. Chicago PD will be here in minutes. I have to get out of here.
More gunfire erupts, metal striking metal. They're advancing, trying to flank me. I'm down to one magazine. The math is unforgiving—there are more of them than I have bullets.
Another text.
Misha: Where are you? Don't see you.
Me: Change of plans. Going dark.
I shove the phone in my pocket. I can't tell him where I'mreally going or implicate him in this if things go wrong. Well, more wrong.
But I'm pinned. They've got the alley mouth covered, and there’s no back exit.
Except...
