It happens so fast that later, it takes me hours to reconstruct it.
Six men move in, four from the back near the kitchen and two from the front door, all stepping up to Matvey and Rurik, who both turn with astonishing lethality and grace. Rurik lets out a muffled grunt and blood sprays out the back of his black jacket. There's screaming around us, chairs being knocked over in a mad dash for the door but my attention is 100% focused on that bullet hole.
Four shots. Five, maybe. Now six.
There's a spray of shattered glass as a bullet hits the table. Three of them are down, Rurik is listing heavily, like a cargo ship in a storm as he deftly disables another one with a strike to the throat.
There's a flash of silver. Gordi is charging across the store, black boots heavy on the checkered linoleum floor as he brings down his cleaver with a roar, sending it into the back of the fifth man. The last man falls from Matvey's bullet in his chest.
"Go! We are leavingnow."Matvey hauls me and Priya to our feet. He's in front, gun still up, speaking urgently into his ear piece, Rurik is behind us. I try to take his arm to help him, and he shakes me off with a grunt.
Gordi, our improbable savior, paces us to the door where the SUV has pulled up, double parked and already a blare of horns sounding behind it. I am more or less thrown into the back seat with Priya and Matvey close behind. Rurik gets into the front, making the car rock. Gordi slams the door. "Go!" he shouts, slapping the roof. As the SUV surges away from the curb, I look back at him, my guardian angel in a bloody apron, still clutching his dripping cleaver.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In which, who knew that surgery could be such a turn on?
Dmitri…
I'm on a Zoom call with our Australian arms supplier when my personal phone buzzes in my jacket. Three short bursts, then repeated.
"Excuse men, gentlemen."
Charles Petterman, weapons developer for his mafia, is in the middle of a verbal orgasm, describing the new sniper rifles and he blinks. "Oh. No worries."
Putting the call on mute, I answer the call.
"Miss Blue and her friend were attacked during lunch." Matvey's voice is gravelly with pain. "Six men. All dead. Rurik is shot in the shoulder."
Ava interrupts him. "And Matvey has two bullet wounds, one in his upper thigh, lodged in his femur, I believe. The other bullet hit him just under the ribs, a clean through and through. Would you please instruct him to go to the clinic? He's making noise about putting us in a "secure location."
"Are you and Priya all right?" My chest is tight. If I wasn't in excellent health I'd think I was having a heart attack.
"Yes! No injuries. Please tell him to go directly to the clinic so I can treat him! Someone needs to check on Gordi at the shop, too. I think he saved our lives."
"Agreed," I say. "Matvey, go to the clinic. I'll send over ten men for backup and I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Thank you Dmitri," Ava's relief is palpable. "Also, please tell Rurik I am allowed to treat him."
"You heard the lady. Unless it risks her safely, let her treat you. Use the back emergency entrance at the clinic, it's faster. Ava…" I want to tell her how proud I am of her for being so calm. For taking care of her bodyguards.
"Yes, Dmitri?"
"I'll see you soon."
Kir handles the rest of the meeting with the Australians and Demid drives like a man possessed to get me to the clinic.
***
Rurik and Matvey aren't the only patients. Three of our delivery drivers distributing party drugs - concealed in cases of alcohol - were attacked leaving the warehouse.
Mother is stitching up the head wound on the only conscious driver.
"Where are the other two?" I ask her.
"In surgery," she says, still focused on the wound. "Matvey and Rurik refused to be treated until the drivers were taken care of first. I'm going to take those bullets out without anesthesia to teach them a lesson about being noble and self-sacrificing."
The driver she's working on looks alarmed. "I guess I should thank you for numbing my wound first?"
