I'm ready. I’ve been ready since that moment fifteen years ago when I left a girl in the desert and drove away knowing I'd just made the most important choice of my life.
Tomorrow, the end is here whether we're ready or not.
And God help anyone who tries to stop her. Because I won't. I'll burn them all first.
CHAPTER 16
Sofiya
SONG: ME AND THE DEVIL BY SOAP&SKIN
The absence crushes harderthan any physical blow. Angel hasn't answered her phone in fourteen hours. I've called twenty-three times, each ring echoing back my growing dread. Her apartment sits dark when I drive past at 3:00 a.m., then again at sunrise. The coffee shop where she always stops on Tuesdays remains Angel-free. I check her favorite taco truck, the nail salon where she gets those ridiculous rhinestone designs, even the sketchy convenience store she claims has the best energy drinks.
Nothing.
My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel, circling back to Lush for the fourth time today. The parking lot stretches empty under the brutal afternoon sun, heat waves distorting the asphalt into something liquid and unstable. Of course I know she won’t be there during the day, but I can’t help myself.
I should call someone. The police, maybe, except what would I tell them? My best friend, well the closest thing I have to one anyway, disappeared. And oh, by the way, we both work at a Bratva owned strip club that launders money and hosts all kinds of seedy criminals? That'll go well. We all know the few cops thatare not in the Bratva's pocket will not help a stripper. It's a high risk lifestyle. We don’t deserve their attention when there are normal, non-stripping pretty white girls to look for.
Brad doesn't answer when I call, neither does Jack. Aleksandr's phone goes straight to voicemail. Even the day manager, who usually picks up on the first ring, because he's perpetually anxious about everything, lets it ring out.
The silence speaks volumes I don't want to hear.
Something in my gut twists, that same animal instinct that kept me alive in the desert all those years ago. The one that screamedstopright before I walked into Father's office and watched my world end. It's screaming now, and I'm done ignoring it.
Because I know where Angel is. Father's men have her. And there's only one reason they'd take her.
Me.
The realization settles like lead in my stomach. This is my fault. Every decision, every step closer to revenge, has painted a target that apparently extends beyond just me. Father must know. Or Volk told him. Which would explain why he’s ghosting me.
I drive to my apartment on autopilot, muscle memory guiding me while my brain spins through possibilities. Inside, I clear every room twice, checking corners and closets. The security system shows no breaches, but that means nothing. These men are professionals. They've been doing this longer than I've been alive.
In my office, I stare at the wall covered in photographs, news clippings, schedules. Red string connecting faces to locations to dates. Ten years of research mapped out like a spider's web, and I'm the spider at the center, waiting to strike.
Except now I'm the one caught.
Anatoly’s photo stares back at me, he still makes my skin crawl even in two dimensions. The way he smiled while I screamed. The particular pleasure he'd taken in every violation, every cut, every moment of my humiliation.
Ivan's photo sits slightly apart. He'd been brutal but mechanical, following orders without the sick enjoyment Anatoly displayed. That doesn't make him less guilty. Just less enthusiastic about his evil.
And Father. Central to everything, his photo the largest, taken at some charity gala where he'd smiled for cameras like he was a legitimate businessman instead of a monster wearing human skin.
Volk's section remains notably empty. No photos, just a blank space with a question mark. I'd never managed to capture his image, had stopped trying after our encounter at the club. Now I know why. He'd been a ghost even before that night in the desert. After? He became smoke.
Where is he now? How could we have shared all the things we did, only for him to disappear when it matters most? Did he tell Father? Is that why Angel's missing?
The betrayal cuts deeper than it should. I'd been so careful not to trust him, not to let that one moment of mercy ten years ago mean anything. But somewhere between then and now , I'd felt it when I was in his arms. Recognition, yes, but something else. Something that felt almost like... No. I slam that door shut. Hope is a luxury I cannot afford, and feelings are weapons people use against you. I'd learned that lesson already, watchingMomachka'smutilated face as Father pulled the trigger. I tried so hard to stay away from Angel but failed, and look what that got her?
My phone rings. Unknown number. I stare at it for three rings before answering.
"Yelena." The voice is familiar, dripping with malice I recognize from nightmares. Anatoly. "Did you really think you could hide? That we wouldn't figure out that perfect little Sofiya was really the bitch who should have died in the desert?"
My throat closes. I can't breathe, can't think past the roaring in my ears.
"We have your friend." He laughs, the sound wet and ugly. "Pretty thing. Screams real nice. Reminds me of someone."
"Touch her and I'll?—"
