"I'm in," Leo says finally. "My loyalty was to your father, Maksim. That loyalty extends to you. Whatever you need."
"Same," another voice. Then another.
One by one, the men declare their allegiance.
"Thank you," I say, and I mean it. "Load up the weapons. Distribute them to people you trust. Four days. That's all we have to prepare."
"What about Roman?" Leo asks. "He's not going to just let you waltz into the council meeting."
"I know."
"You really are your father's son,” Leo says. “He would fight anyone that threatened what was his.”
"And look how that ended for him," I say bitterly.
"He died with honor. With dignity. Can you say the same for Roman?"
No. I can't. Roman is a snake who murders from the shadows and tortures for sport.
If I'm going to die, I'd rather die like my father—trying to do the right thing—than live like Roman.
"Let's get these weapons loaded," I say, pushing away the dark thoughts. "Time's running out."
We spend the next hour transferring crates to various vehicles. The work is methodical, careful. No one speaks much. The weight of what we're planning hangs over everyone.
Finally, Semyon and I are back in our car, trunk loaded with enough firepower to start a small war.
"You really don't know?" Semyon asks as we pull away from the warehouse. "About taking over?"
"I really don't." I stare out at the gray streets. "Part of me wants to walk away. Take Kira and disappear. Raise our child somewhere normal."
"And the other part?"
"Knows that's not possible.” I glance at him. "My father wanted change. Wanted to modernize, make things less brutal. Maybe that's what I owe him. To finish what he started."
"That's a heavy burden."
"Everything about this life is heavy."
"We need to scout the location," I say finally. "Where they're holding him."
"Maksim—"
"I know it's a trap. Help me figure out a way to do this that doesn't get us killed."
He sighs, but I see the resignation in his eyes. He knows I'm going after the old man regardless. Might as well help me do it smart.
"Tonight," he says. "We scout tonight. See what we're dealing with. Then we decide if it's even possible."
"Deal."
We pull up outside the safehouse. I grab two of the smaller bags from the trunk—handguns and ammunition we can store in the apartment.
Inside, Kira is on the couch, but she sits up the moment I walk through the door. Her eyes immediately go to the bags.
"That's a lot of supplies," she observes.
"Told you we were picking up weapons." I set the bags down carefully. "Everything went fine. No problems."
