"Probably."
"It's also the most terrifying."
"That too."
We lie there, holding each other in the darkness. Two tortured people finding rest before the final battle. Two damaged people pretending they might survive what's coming.
Outside, the city glows and pulses, people living their normal lives, not knowing that tomorrow everything changes. That tomorrow we declare war on the Pakhan.
That tomorrow we both become free or we become corpses.
Either way, we do it together. And somehow that feels like victory regardless of how it ends.
CHAPTER 15
Volk
SONG: SUFFOCATE BY KNOCKED LOOSE (FT. POPPY)
Anatoly's waitingin the parking garage when I arrive at the warehouse. This is not unusual; we've been meeting here for years. Doing the kind of business that requires concrete walls and no witnesses. But something's different tonight. Something about the air around him, puts me on alert. He’s looking far too confident. Like a man holding all the cards.
"Volk." He straightens when he sees me. Grins like we're old friends instead of colleagues who'd kill each other if given proper motivation. "Nice to see you as always."
"What do you want?" I growl, not having patience for his bullshit games tonight. Not when Sofiya's at home thinking we have time to plan. Fuck, home? When did that place become home?
Because she’s there.
I can feel it. The end is approaching like a speeding train you hear before you see.
"I figured out who that bitch is." He pulls out his phone, holding it up to show me a photo. When I give him a questioning look, he continues. "The girl. Aleksandr's courier. I know who she is."
My blood goes cold, but my face stays neutral, years of practice keeping my reaction locked behind the walls I've built.
"Yeah?" I glance at the photo. It's Sofiya. Of course it's Sofiya. Well, Yelena really. An old picture of her with her father at a Bratva event. She’s looking directly at the camera, smiling like the innocent she once was. "Who is that?" I ask, playing ignorant and hoping he buys it.
"Yelena." He says her name while his eyes narrow on me slightly. It’s clear he thinks he's solved some great mystery. "The Pakhan's daughter. The one we had so much fun with in the desert ten years ago." He smirks and nudges my shoulder like we’re old buddies, reliving the glory days.
I should kill him right here. One less problem to worry about. But that would rob Sofiya of one of the most important kills in her plan. It would also make the Pakhan too suspicious.
"That's impossible. She’s dead."
“Is she?" Anatoly's grin grows wider, uglier. "Because I'm looking at a girl with the same eyes. The same face underneath all that makeup. Same attitude that got her in trouble the first time."
"You're seeing ghosts."
"Maybe. Or maybe I'm seeing revenge walking around in a pretty package." He pockets his phone. "Either way, I'm not taking chances. Already told the Pakhan my suspicions."
Of course he did. Anatoly's always been eager. Too eager. The kind of eager that either gets men killed or promoted.
"What did he say?"
"Said he told you to bring her in so he can see for himself and if it is her, then take care of it." Anatoly lights a cigarette and exhales smoke that curls like accusations. "But I'm not gonna do that."
“You’re not?” I ask flatly, ignoring a direct order for the Pakhan is a death sentence and we both know it.
“Nah, I’m gonna handle this myself. I got plans for her,” he says through a wicked smile. “And I'm not gonna go after her either. Too smart for that. I’m gonna make sure she comes to me.”
His words land like bullets, each one finding soft tissue.
