The other man jumps as I shoot his partner, a trickle of blood coming from his swollen eye. “Look,” he says hastily, “all I can give you is the name of the man who hired us. I don’t know these assholes, but they’ve been speaking Polish. I know just enough of the language to be sure.”
Shouting and cursing, the others try to drown him out and I nod to Samuil, who takes out half of them, and the others are gunned down by David and Artur, who’s whistling a Christmas tune.
I glance at Samuil, who rolls his eyes. “I thought we wiped out the fucking Wozniaks.”
“Give me the name of the man who hired you,” I say, resting my Glock on my shoulder as I turn back to the last man alive. “No one will know you turned.”
“He’s a broker,” he stammers, “they call him The Butcher.”
“That’s not a name,” I say. “You know there’s Poles involved.” Gesturing to the rapidly cooling corpses, their wounds steaming in the winter air, “If you know enough Polish to recognize the language, you had to have heard a name. They weren’t bright enough to keep quiet.”
“I didn’t.” He shakes his head vehemently. “That’s all I have.”
Rising, I nod at Samuil. “Release him.”
“What?” Samuil corrects himself, “Is there anything else you need first, Boss?”
“Yes. Release him after he contacts The Butcher and reports that the job is done. Keep him on the connection as long as you can to see if we can trace it. If you can’t track this bastard through the confirmation, follow the deposit into his bank account.” My gaze returns to the kneeling man, his unswollen eye is wide with surprise and cautious hope. “I’m a man of my word. If you lead us to The Butcher, you live.”
A few flakes of snow fall on my head and I glance up into the grey sky.
“We’re supposed to have the first big snowfall of the season,” Artur says, switching to “Frosty the Snowman” in his whistling repertoire..
“I had no idea you were such a fan of the holidays,” I say.
“What can I tell you?” he shrugs, “Having kids changes everything.”
The vision hits me with startling clarity. Lucya, her stomach swollen with my child, sitting by our fireplace, smiling up at me. Suddenly, I want nothing more. Not my Bratva. Not my role asVor.
I want Lucya.
Shaking my head to clear it, I gesture to the rest of my men. “Clean this mess up and make sure the lumber shipment gets to the right warehouse.”
Usually, I’m at a scene like this to the end. AsVor,it’s my role to make sure everything is done correctly. Tonight, I’m speeding home after leaving everything to Samuil.
I can see the soft glow of the Christmas tree from the apartment windows before I turn into my building, and when the elevator doors open, Lucya is standing there, smiling nervously.
“So, I know you’re not used to celebrating,” she begins in a rush, “but you did say I could decorate, so…”
There’s a blaze roaring in the fireplace, too much wood, and too big for safety, but I’ve already accepted that my bride-to-be is a firebug. The biggest of the trees is set up in the corner by the bank of windows, decorated with lights and dozens of exquisite, spun-glass ornaments.
She has scattered boxwood wreaths tied up with big plaid ribbons on nearly every wall in the great room, the kitchen, the hallway, and I suspect even more in our bedroom.
Lit greenery is draped over the mantle and around the door frames, and even if it looks likeDed Moroz,Father Christmas has exploded all over the house, it looks…
“Beautiful.” I’m looking at myKolibrias I say it, and sheisbeautiful, even simply dressed in jeans and a sweater, no makeup and it’s possible she has a sprig of boxwood stuck in her hair. “So beautiful.”
“I’m so glad you like it,” she says, breathing a sigh of relief. “I was really worried you might think I’d gone overboard.”
“Well…” I smother a chuckle, “It is definitely festive. You’ve worked hard tonight. Come sit with me and you can tell me about it.”
She brings me a glass of whiskey and some wine for herself. I put her feet on my lap, rubbing her soles as she sighs.
“Wait! I should be doing this for you!” Lucya says, “You were the one out in the cold all night.”
“Your bonfire is keeping me warm,” I say, enjoying the feel of her soft little feet in my lap. “Tell me what other Yuletide surprises await me.”
Putting her hand on top of mine, she says, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about your night? It’s nothing that will surprise me. I am Bratva too, after all.”
