The phone slips from my numb fingers, clattering to the ground. I stare at the warehouse ahead of me, where Ilya is waiting, and I feel my world start to spin. I see Ilya step outside, confusion in his face as he sees me standing there motionless, and then I reach down and grab the phone, leaping back into my car as I start the engine and back up, gravel flying as I hear Ilya shout something after me.
Svetlana is gone.
And I'm going to kill every single person responsible.
25
KAZIMIR
Imake it three blocks before reality crashes down on me, and I pull into an alley, nearly spinning out as I do.
I don't know where they've taken her. Don't know who "they" even are, not for certain. Svetlana’s father is the obvious suspect, but it could be Iosef coming after her again.
I try to breathe through the panic clawing at my throat. My phone is still clutched in my other hand, the screen dark now, but I can still see that photo burned into my retinas. Svetlana's face, pale with fear. The ropes binding her wrists. The gag cutting into her mouth.
Our child inside her, helpless and unprotected.
I want to put my fist through the windshield, scream until my throat is raw. I want to tear this entire city apart brick by brick until I find her.
But rage won't save her, and neither will panic. I need help. Real help. The kind of resources and manpower I don't have on my own.
I need Ilya.
The thought makes my stomach turn to ice. Going to Ilya means confessing everything. Every lie, every secret, everymoment I've spent with Svetlana while pretending to be his loyal soldier. It means facing his rage, his sense of betrayal. It means accepting whatever punishment he deems appropriate.
It might mean my death.
By every law we live by, I deserve it. I've betrayed his trust, compromised the organization's security, created exactly the kind of vulnerability that could bring everything crashing down. If our positions were reversed, I would have put a bullet in my own head without hesitation.
But if I die, who will save Svetlana?
The thought crystallizes in my head, and I make a decision. I'll go to Ilya. I'll confess everything. And if he decides to kill me for it, I'll only ask one thing: that he saves her first. That he gets her and our child to safety before he pulls the trigger.
I can live with dying. I can't live with failing her.
I shoot him a text, telling him I’m coming back and that we need to talk. His message comes back short and brief.
I’ve already taken care of the problem. Meet me there anyway.
By the time I get back, I see his men cleaning up whatever I was supposed to help him with. My hands are shaking on the steering wheel as I park, and I stare at the rusted front of the warehouse, realizing that this might be one of the last things I ever see.
I get out of the car and make myself move forward. One foot in front of the other. I find Ilya inside, in a large central room where men are balling up tarps and walking out. The room smells acrid, like blood and worse.
"Kazimir." His voice is neutral, but his eyes are sharp. "What the fuck is going on? I call you, you show up, turn around and leave, and then come back? What the fuck was that message?”
"We need to talk." My voice comes out rough, my throat feeling as if it’s scraped raw. "I fucked up. I fucked up so badly,and now she's—" The words catch in my throat. "They have her, Ilya. They have her and the baby, and I need your help."
His eyes narrow. “Who? That woman you made breakfast for? A baby… what the hell, Kazimir–”
“No.” I shake my head, swallowing hard. “Svetlana.”
Silence. Ilya's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his eyes, and his expression turns hard and dangerous.
"Sit down," he says.
"I can't?—"
"Sit. Down."
