I just need to keep her alive until then.
And convince her to let someone else pull the trigger.
28
Daria
I’ve been staring at the ceiling for two hours, watching shadows crawl across the plaster while my mind cycles through every possible outcome of tomorrow, along with the timeline Alexei outlined this afternoon with calm detachment.
We have good odds, according to Boris. Better than good, actually. Overwhelming force applied with coordination and surprise.
So why can’t I stop shaking?
The apartment is still, except for the occasional clink of metal from the kitchen.
Pyotr is cleaning his weapons. He does it whenever he needs to think, the same way I play the piano. The repetitive motion keeps the hands busy while the mind works through problems too big for words.
I throw off the covers and pad down the hallway in bare feet. Pyotr is sitting at the table with his back to me and a disassembled pistol spread across a cloth in front of him.
“You should be sleeping,” he complains without turning around.
“So should you.”
He picks up another piece and runs the cloth along its surface.
“Can I sit with you?” I ask.
He nods toward the chair across from him. I take it, pull my knees to my chest, and wrap my arms around them. Gun parts cover the table alongside cleaning supplies and a half-empty glass of water. No alcohol. He mentioned once that he never drinks before an operation. Clear head, steady hands.
“I keep running the numbers,” I admit. “Eleven against ten. Three entry points. Less than ten minutes from breach to extraction. It all sounds so clean when Alexei explains it.”
“Clean is the goal.”
“But it never actually goes that way, does it?”
Pyotr’s hands pause on the gun barrel. He stares at the metal for a long moment before setting it down.
“No,” he admits. “Plans tend to fall apart once the first shot is fired. Someone moves when they should stay still. A door is locked that should be open. Communications fail, and targets aren’t where the intelligence said they’d be.” He picks up another piece. “The plan isn’t really the point; it’s just a framework. Something to fall back on when everything goes sideways.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“I’ll always be honest with you, golubka. Even when it isn’t comfortable.” He glances up at me. “You asked me once to stop protecting you from the truth. This is the truth. Tomorrow is dangerous, and people might get hurt. But dangerous doesn’tmean hopeless, and the men going into that warehouse know what they’re doing, including me.”
I rest my chin on my knees and watch him work. His hands move through the cleaning process on autopilot after years of practice. Those same hands have touched me with impossible gentleness and braided my daughter’s hair. They’ve also killed men without hesitation. It should make me sick to my stomach, but it brings me comfort.
“What was your first operation like?” I ask. “The very first one, when you were young and new and didn’t know what to expect.”
Pyotr considers the question while he reassembles the pistol. “Grozny. Fourteen years ago. I was twenty-two and invincible.”
“Were you scared?”
“Terrified.” He slides a component into place with a soft click. “But that was the night I learned that plans are just wishes with better formatting. What matters is the people beside you, and their training, instincts, and willingness to adapt when everything falls apart.”
“Do you trust the men going in tomorrow?”
“With my life.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Boris trained me when I joined your family. Alexei has more combat experience than almost anyone I’ve served with, and the others are professionals who’ve proven themselves over and again.”
“Then why do you look worried?”
