His meaning is clear. No doubt he’s beating himself up for letting Gabriella been taken earlier.
Two more of the fleeing group try to fall back to the alley, but they run straight into my flank team.
I’d told my men to take anyone who surrendered. No need to make this any more of a bloodbath than it needs to be. But as I watch the Irishmen raise their weapons despite thefact that they’re clearly at the disadvantage, I realize there won’t be any prisoners.
This is a battle to the death, to end a war.
Three openings of automatic fire sound from my flank team, then silence. I glance around. The men who’d come outside are down, but there’s no sign of Ruth or Gabriella.
“Rear is clear!” calls out one of my men.
I hold up my palm for a long moment, part of me hoping Ruth will come out, ready to surrender. But she doesn’t. More gunshots sound from inside—what’s happening in there isn’t over yet.
Time to move. I gesture to the men that I’m taking point. Bogdan forms up at my side, and we head toward the door with silent footfalls. I pause at the entrance, the bangs of gunfire like small explosions in the expanse of the warehouse.
I slip inside. The air is thick with cordite and dust. I spot a body just to my right—another of Ruth’s men. My boots crunch over shell casings as I push in and flatten my body against a stack of pallets. More gunfire erupts.
The rest of the team enters. I repeat the gesture that I’ll be taking point, and then I move. I swing my body around the pallet and train my sights on what’s in front of me.
It’s a goddamn slaughterhouse. A good dozen of Ruth’s men lay dead here and there. Peter’s at the far end, an MP5 in his hands, his men positioned around him.
And in the center, taking desperate cover, is Ruth.
With her is Gabriella.
Rage courses through me. It takes all the restraint I have not to rush into the fray, kill Ruth, and pull Gabriella to safety. But it would be a foolish move. Gabriella is at Ruth’s side, and Ruth has a gun pressed to her ribs. A half dozen Irishmen ring them—the last ones standing.
This is it.
I step out from cover. Peter sees me and gives the order to his men to cease fire. An eerie calm settles over the warehouse.
Ruth turns and sees me, sees my men. Her eyes flash. She’s fucked, and she knows it.
“Ruth,” I call. “This ends now.”
She laughs, breathless and sharp. “I suppose we agree on something for once, Sasha. How novel.”
“You give the word,” Bogdan says quietly at my side. “I’ll drop her.”
“Ruth,” Peter calls out. “Let the girl go.”
“Why?” she snaps, baring her teeth. “So you can kill me the second I do?”
Gabriella twists, but Ruth’s gun presses harder into her belly. She’s terrified. But she’s still there. Still present. My brave woman.
She looks at me, her eyes locking onto mine for a fraction of a second.
I’m here, I try to say with my gaze.I came.
Her chin lifts—just a bit. Then, loud and clear in the echoing warehouse, she shouts: “I’m your daughter!”
The words explode in the air just as surely as a gunshot. No one moves or speaks.
Peter stares at her, as if seeing her for the first time. He’d come in knowing she was his daughter. But in those moments, it’s as if he’s recognizing it truly for the first time.
He sighs. “I know. I know.”
Ruth’s head snaps toward him. “What? You knew?”
