But I won't have to. Because I'm going to kill this man first.
"Hold your fire," I say in Russian, my voice carrying across the cabin. My men freeze, weapons still trained on the soldier.
The soldier's eyes dart between me and my men, calculating his odds. He's young, maybe twenty-five, with the kind of desperation that makes men dangerous. His hand shakes slightly where it grips the gun, and I see a bead of sweat roll down his temple despite the cold.
"Stay back!" he shouts, his voice cracking. "Stay back or I'll kill her!"
I raise my hands slowly, showing him I'm unarmed. It's a lie, of course. I have a Glock at my hip, a knife in my boot, another blade at the small of my back. But he doesn't need to know that yet.
"Easy," I say, taking a step forward. My boots crunch on broken glass and spent shell casings. "Nobody needs to die here."
"You're lying." He presses the gun harder against Alina's temple, and I see her wince. Red rage floods my vision, but I force it down. Emotion makes you sloppy. "You'll kill me the second I let her go."
"Maybe." I take another step, my movements slow and deliberate. "But if you hurt her, you're definitely dead. So let's talk about your options."
Alina's eyes meet mine, and I see the question there.Trust me, I try to tell her silently. Just trust me a little longer.
"I don't have options," the soldier says, but his voice quavers. "You're Dimitri Morozov. You don't make deals."
"I make deals all the time." Another step. I'm ten feet away now, close enough to see the individual beads of sweat on his forehead, the way his finger trembles on the trigger. "That's how I've survived this long. So here's my offer. Let the girl go, and you can walk out of here. I'll even give you a head start."
He laughs, a harsh sound that has nothing to do with humor. "You think I'm stupid? The second I let her go, your men will cut me down."
"Probably," I admit, and his eyes widen at my honesty. "But you're dead either way. The question is whether you take her with you."
I see the calculation in his face, the desperate hope warring with the certainty of his death. He's Kozlov family, which means he knows the stories about me. Knows what I'm capable of.
Time to remind him.
"Your name is Pyotr Volkov," I say, my voice dropping to something cold and conversational. "You're twenty-six years old. You have a mother, Svetlana, who lives in an apartment on Fourth Avenue. Third floor, blue door. She has a cat named Misha."
The color drains from his face. "How do you…"
"Your sister, Irina, works at a bakery on Sadovaya Street. She has a boyfriend, Anton, who wants to marry her but can't afford a ring yet." I take another step, and he doesn't even notice. He's too focused on my words, on the implications of what I know. "Your cousin just had a baby. A little girl. They named her Anastasia."
"Stop." His voice is barely a whisper.
"Your mother has a heart condition. She takes medication every morning, the pills in the white bottle on her kitchen counter." I'm close enough now to see the individual hairs of his beard, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "She worries about you. Calls you every Sunday to make sure you're eating enough."
"Please." Tears are streaming down his face now, mixing with the sweat. "Please don't."
"If you hurt Alina," I continue, my voice never rising above that calm, conversational tone, "I will find your mother. I will find your sister. I will find every single person you have ever loved, everyone who has ever mattered to you, and I will make them suffer in ways you can't imagine. I will make it last. I will make sure they know it's because of you, because of this choice you're making right now."
The gun wavers, pulling slightly away from Alina's temple. Not much, just a fraction of an inch, but it's enough.
"I will burn down that bakery with your sister inside," I say, each word precise and measured. "I will make your mother watch. I will find that baby, that innocent little girl named Anastasia, and I will make sure she grows up knowing her family died because her cousin was too stupid to take the deal I offered."
"I'm sorry," he sobs. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to do this, they made me, Kozlov said…"
"I don't care what Kozlov said." I'm five feet away now. "Kozlov is dead. His entire family is dead or scattered. You're alone, Pyotr. You have no backup, no support, no way out. But you still have a choice."
His hand is shaking so badly now that the gun is barely steady. Alina's eyes are locked on mine, and I see the trust there. She knows what I'm doing. She knows I'm going to save her. But she also looks sickened by the threats I made and I can see the question in her gaze, wondering if I would go through with them.
"Let her go," I say softly. "Let her go, and I'll make it quick. You won't feel anything. Your family will never know what happened here. They'll think you died in the firefight, a soldier doing his duty. Your mother will mourn you, but she'll be proud. Your sister will name her first son after you."
"You promise?" His voice is that of a child, desperate and afraid.
"I promise."
