The bastard.
If there’d been a clean way out, I would’ve taken it weeks ago.
But Gavriil didn’t make mistakes with prisons. Only with people.
“Feels like I’ve been disassociating for a week straight,” Renat mutters from the cell to my right. “What the hell’s been happening? Anything?”
I lean my shoulder to the bars, angling my head to catch every word. “A lot. And it’s all pissed me off.”
The only good thing that’s happened lately is Alina being sent down here for a little while before she gets ripped away, taken back up to my brother.
“Fill us in,” Viktor says from my left.
“Gavriil is losing a war with the Irish,” I reply with a disappointed shake of my head. “His moves are sloppy. Reactive. He’s thinking in minutes, not months ahead. He always has.”
“What’s he doing?” Viktor asks, sounding wary.
“Too much. He keeps changing things up too fast. He’s spreading us thin,” I bite out because it’s not just strategy, it’s bodies.
Gavriil isn’t giving anyone time to adjust. Confusion turns into hesitation, and hesitation gets people killed.
“Have there been more attacks?” Renat asks.
“Yes. Bombings. Men being gunned down,” I say, and my throat tightens. I don’t even know the full count yet. “They’re slipping past our patrols and hitting whatever they want again and again.”
“A full-scale assault will be devastating,” Viktor says. “They’re probing, testing, mapping out our weak spots.”
It’s the precursor to a bloody fight that’s bound to happen any day now. I’m sure the Irish and whoever is helping them are getting antsy.
They’ve already drawn blood. Next, they’ll go in for the kill.
“Gavriil needs to do something to stop them. His retaliation backfired and didn’t scare them. It cost us men,” I mutter as I scratch the back of my neck, wishing I could take the damn reins from my brother. “He needs a new approach. This one is killing us.”
“How do you know any of this? He’s been talking to you?” Renat asks.
“He let Alina sit in on a meeting,” I say, and the words taste wrong. “I don’t know what game he thinks he’s playing, but he wants her close.”
“Think he’s flaunting?” Viktor replies.
“He’s not the type,” I murmur as my brow furrows in thought. “But the way he is with her … it’s different.”
“She’s different,” Viktor points out. “She stands up to him. She doesn’t drop to her knees at his feet like all the others.”
She did give him something, though. And she probably will again. Whatever desire that she feels toward him, I hope it doesn’t weaken her. Gavriil is the type to pounce when that happens. Alina has to stand strong and turn things around on him when he least expects it.
“He’s let her come down here a few times,” I tell them. “He refuses to talk to me about the war, but he must know that she’ll tell me everything that she finds out.”
“Your brother’s a proud bastard.”
I pause at the sound of Petrov’s voice. He’s a little farther down than the others, but I know it’s him. “Alina told me you were still alive, that she saw you.”
“I’m sorry,” Petrov says, voice rough. “I didn’t know he’d use me like that.”
“You mean to make her shower with him?” I ask. The words scrape my throat raw. Like saying them makes them more real.
“I didn’t see anything. I swear,” Petrov tells me, panic bleeding into his voice.
I believe him because he would’ve apologized for even glancing at her if he did.
