He wants me there to kill her. Wants his most trusted weapon to execute the girl I've been protecting. The girl I’ve fallen for in ways that compromise everything I've ever been.
"Understood."
"Good. Don't disappoint me, Volk. You’ve been invaluable as my second, but no one's irreplaceable." He hangs up, leaving me sitting in my car with orders to murder the only thing I've cared about in my empty life.
I start the engine and drive to the processing plant where Anatoly's set his trap. I need to see the layout and understand the angles. I have to figure out how to save Sofiya before she arrives.
I need to do the impossible. Again.
The plant looms against the night sky like a skeleton, all exposed beams and broken windows. The kind of place where screams echo and blood soaks into concrete that's already seen too much violence. I park three blocks away and approach on foot, quietly. Back to being the predator I've always been.
Two guards are at the main entrance. Anatoly's men, not the Pakhan's. That shows me how personal this really is to him. It also means he's overreaching, getting ambitious in ways that could be exploited. Overly ambitious men make mistakes.
I circle the building to the back entrance, the one delivery trucks used before the place shut down. It's chained but the chain's old and rusty. It would take thirty seconds to remove with bolt cutters, but I make do by hitting the chain with a piece of rebar I find lying on the ground. Five strong hits and the rusted chain falls apart.
Inside I hear voices, Anatoly’s angry tones, and a woman crying. Angel probably. I wonder if she’s realized she's bait in a game she doesn't understand. Scared in ways that make her useless for anything except the role Anatoly's cast her in.
I don't go all the way in. I can't risk being seen yet. But I've seen enough. I know the layout well from my years in the Bratva. I know where they're holding Angel. Know the exits and the angles and the places where violence can happen without witnesses.
I head back to my car and drive slowly, watching normal people living normal lives. Going to work. Coming home. Existing in ways that don't require constant calculation of death and betrayal. My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number. Sofiya must've gotten a burner. Smart girl.
Sofiya: Angel's missing. No one's seen her since her shift ended.
I stare at the screen. I should respond, tell her it's a trap, and warn her to stay away. But if I warn her, I risk tipping the Pakhan off. I don't respond. I watch the message sit there. Unanswered. A betrayal in the form of silence.
Another text
Sofiya: I know you're there. I know you're reading this. Tell me what's happening.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I want to tell her everything. I want to explain that I'm protecting her by staying away , that distance is the only strategy left that keeps us both alive long enough to end this.
I delete the message and turn off my phone.
Sofiya's going to walk into Anatoly's trap. She's going to try to save Angel. And the Pakhan expects me to kill her when she does.
Tomorrow I will betray everything I've ever been to become something new.
I think about kissing her, claiming her. About the terrifying vulnerability of wanting something you can't control. And I confirm my choice.
Not the smart choice. Not the safe choice. Not the choice that keeps me alive and powerful and positioned in the Pakhan's good graces. But she's worth it. Worth the betrayal. Worth the death that's coming. Worth everything I've built and everything I'll lose.
I turn the car toward the weapons cache I keep in a safehouse. Toward preparation for tomorrow's violence.
Tomorrow, I’ll save Sofiya. Tomorrow, I’ll help her kill Anatoly. Tomorrow, I’ll become free.
Tomorrow, I’ll tear it all down.
Tomorrow, we’ll find out if love and obsession are enough to overcome fifteen years of loyalty and violence.
Tomorrow, we'll find out if the girl from the desert and the man who saved her can destroy the monster who created them both.
I just hope she knows that when the time comes. Hope she understands that everything I do tomorrow is for her, even when it doesn't look like it. Even when I'm pointing a gun at her head and the Pakhan's ordering me to pull the trigger. Because tomorrow I'm giving her the same choice. Survive or die. Fight or surrender. Trust or run.
And I'm praying she chooses trust.
She has to trust me, believe I'm still hers. She has to know that distance is the only way I can protect her when the Pakhan's watching every move I make.
Tomorrow, we’ll find out if that's enough. We’ll find out if two weapons can become something else. Something human. Something that survives.
