And I intend to hold this line with everything in me. No matter the cost.
28
DANICA
The sound of car doors slamming outside pulls me away from the sink where I've been washing the same plate for the past five minutes. My hands are pruned from the water, and I dry them on the towel hanging from the oven handle before moving toward the front window. Three vehicles are parked in front of the house hastily and men are climbing out. I count six of them before I spot Vadim among the group.
It gives me a bit of relief. I knew when he left here, he'd be going to hopefully pick up that Andrei character he's been hunting since the beginning. We spoke this morning about the fact that if he was successful it would mean a change for us, maybe going to Russia. And my mind has been stewing all afternoon now.
But something isn't right. Two of the men are pulling someone from the backseat of the middle vehicle and whoever it is clearly doesn't want to come. They haul him upright and Vadim says something I can't make out from this distance, then gestures toward the side of the house.
They're bringing someone here. To our house. To the back yard.
I let the curtain fall back into place and stand there trying to decide what to do. Part of me wants to run to the bedroom and hide until whatever this is has passed, but a larger part needs to know what's happening. Curiosity killed the cat…
I move through the kitchen and position myself at the window that overlooks the back yard. From here I can see them filing through the side gate one by one.
The prisoner stumbles as they force him across the grass and one of the men catches him roughly by the arm to keep him upright. Then they push him down to his knees in the center of the yard and Vadim takes up a position directly in front of him.
Nenad stands to Vadim's left and Vuk to his right, and there are three other men I don't recognize forming a loose circle around the scene. They look angry and intimidating, but at least I don't see any weapons visible. Hopefully, this is the last of whatever job Vadim has to do and then we can put all of this behind us for good like he said.
My pulse is hammering in my ears as I watch Vadim lean down slightly and say something to the kneeling man. The prisoner's response makes Vadim straighten up and look toward one of the strangers in the circle. That man steps forward and I can see even from here that he's angry about something. His gestures are sharp and aggressive as he argues with Vadim, though I can't hear any of the words through the glass.
I'm praying the neighbors can't hear it either. What happened with Petr next door was so nerve-racking, I lost a lot of sleep over it. I don’t want to see more bloodshed, and God knows the neighbors would just call the police.
Everyone seems coiled and ready to strike. Something is about to happen and I have no idea what it is or how bad it might get. Why would he bring that man here? I thought he was supposed to be killing him, not dragging him into our personal life. This doesn't feel right, and I wish I could hear what they were saying.
I can't just stand here watching through the window like some kind of voyeur. Whatever is happening out there involves my husband and is taking place in my back yard, which means I have a right to know about it. My hand finds the back door handle and I turn it before I can talk myself out of the decision. The hinges squeak as I push the door open and step out onto the wooden porch just as Vadim's foot connects to the man's gut hard, doubling him over.
The conversation stops mid-sentence, causing seven heads to swivel in my direction simultaneously, and the weight of their collective attention makes me freeze with one hand still on the doorframe. Vadim's expression shifts from intense focus to wide-eyed alarm.
"Danica, get back inside right now," he says, and his voice carries a sharp edge I've only heard a handful of times. He doesn’t get angry with me, not since I agreed to marry him and we got over the hump that first week. But he does get angry, a lot.
Before I can respond or retreat, the prisoner starts speaking. His voice is rough and labored from the blow, and each word seems to take effort to produce.
"I hired him… to do it," the man says between harsh breaths. "Ruslan was supposed to be the one to pull the trigger… because I knew there was no way I could get close enough myself." Every sentence he slurs out is clearer now. "Dominic had too muchsecurity and he was too careful, but Ruslan had access because he was part of the family."
The man who was arguing with Vadim goes completely still. His face drains of color and then floods red as his hand moves toward his jacket. The other men in the circle seem to sense something shifting because they all take small steps backward, creating more space.
"That's a fucking lie," the man says, and his voice shakes with rage or fear or possibly both. "He's lying to save himself." He gestures with his hand wildly, though he looks twitchy, like he might strike the man.
I'm frozen in place now, forgotten for the time being by Vadim and able to listen to what's happening. I take a few steps across the back porch to get closer, but I'm too afraid to walk right out there.
"Why would I bother lying at this point?" The prisoner actually laughs, though the sound is bitter and ends in a wet cough. "What possible reason would I have? You're going to kill me anyway, so I might as well tell the truth." He starts looking at the taller man, then turns to Vadim. "I found the shooter, I set up the logistics, and I made sure Dominic would be in exactly the right place at exactly the right time, and Ruslan pulled the trigger."
The taller man launches a nasty punch that snaps the prisoner's head sideways, and I let out a squeak at the violence of it. Then he backs away and I look at Vadim, who turns to scowl at me angrily.
"I told you to get inside," he says, but this time it sounds less like anger and more like desperation. Whatever is going down, hedoesn't want me to see it, but I can't move. I'm scared and I feel paralyzed by that.
Ruslan moves with startling speed for someone his size. His hand thrusts into his jacket and emerges holding a pistol with an extended barrel that I recognize from movies as a silencer. He raises the weapon and points it directly at the prisoner's head and pulls the trigger without hesitation. It makes all the men leap back and my legs go wobbly.
The sound is nothing like the thunderous bang I was expecting. Instead it's a muted pop, and the prisoner's head snaps backward from the impact. He topples sideways and hits the grass with a dull thud. Blood spatters every man standing there, including the shooter, and starts to pool under his crumpled body.
I'm screaming before I even realize I've opened my mouth. The sound rips out of me and I can't stop it. I cover my hands with my face and start backing up toward the door, but I can't seem to make my legs work properly. They feel heavy like they’re made of lead or glued to the ground, and I almost fall over.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Ruslan," someone says.
"What the hell did you just do?" another voice adds, deeper and angrier.
