The question cuts through my spiral. I think about Kira at the compound, surrounded by guards and gates and people who would die before they let anyone hurt her. And then I think about Kira here, in this apartment, with Bogdan’s men watching from across the street.
“No,” I admit. “She’s safer there.”
“And Bogdan knows it. That’s why he sent the video. He can’t get to her, so he’s trying to get to you.”
“Well, he succeeded.”
“For now. But panic doesn’t help Kira. Planning does.” Pyotr gestures toward the living room. “Sit down. Breathe. Let me tell you what happens next.”
I want to run to Moscow and wrap my arms around my daughter and never let go, but Pyotr is right. Panic won’t protect her. So, I force my legs to carry me to the couch and sink into the cushions while he takes the chair across from me.
“Alexei’s men intercepted Bogdan’s surveillance team twenty minutes ago,” he begins. “They found three guys in a car outside the train station, the same ones who’ve been watching this building. They’re being taken somewhere quiet for questioning.”
“Questioning?”
He ignores the question and adds, “By the time we’re done with them, we’ll know every safe house Bogdan has access to, every contact he’s been using, and every hole he might crawl into when things get worse for him. And Kira arrives at the compound in—” He checks his phone. “Thirty-two minutes, Mila is waiting at the gate with Sofia. They have a whole princess welcome planned.”
Despite everything, a small smile tugs at my mouth. “Kira will love that.”
“She will. And she’ll be so busy playing princess that she won’t even notice the guards. Bogdan made a mistake today. He showed us how desperate he’s become.”
“What do you mean?”
“He tipped his hand because he couldn’t resist scaring you.” A cold smile crosses Pyotr’s face. “Desperate men make mistakes like that. Fatal mistakes.”
I mull that over. Bogdan has always been so careful.Every move is premeditated, and every threat is measured perfectly. The man in the video, waving at the camera like a child showing off, doesn’t match the monster I married.
“He’s losing control,” I realize aloud.
“He’s been losing control since you stopped cooperating. Every day that passes without you giving him what he wants is another day his network crumbles.” Pyotr turns back to face me. “He wanted to hurt you because hurting you is the only power he has left.”
“Itdidhurt.”
“I know, but pain and danger aren’t the same thing. He hurt you with a video because he can’t hurt you any other way. Kira is beyond his reach.”
“Then why doesn’t it feel like we’re winning?”
Pyotr crouches in front of me, the same way he did the first time I fell apart in this apartment. His hands find my knees, grounding me.
“Because you’re a mother whose child is far away, and three years of terror don’t disappear just because the tide is finally turning.” He slides his thumbs against my legs. “But the tide is turning, Daria. Bogdan just doesn’t know it yet.”
27
Pyotr
The call comes at 3 a.m.
I’m already awake, sitting in the dark with my back against Daria’s bedroom door. She fell asleep two hours ago, exhausted from crying and planning and trying to hold herself together. I haven’t moved since.
“We got them to talk,” Alexei states without preamble. “Took longer than expected. Bogdan pays well, and these idiots thought loyalty meant something. They were very cooperative. His base is a warehouse on the outskirts of the industrial area. Primorsky District, near the old fish processing plants. Building’s been abandoned for years on paper, but the power bills tell a different story.”
“How many men?”
“The ones we grabbed say eight to ten, on rotating shifts. Bogdan always keeps a core team of four with him, plus that Semyon character. The rest cycle through for perimeter security.” Alexei’s voice carries an edge I recognize all too well. It’s thesound of a man ready to end something. “Boris is already in the city. He’s got six men with him. I’m sending three more from Moscow tonight.”
“That’s ten total, including me,” I say.
“Eleven. I’m coming back,” Alexei responds.
