“Tell us more,” I grit out. “What women? What girls?”
“There are those he buys and sells—yes,” the Russian explains darkly. “But the pets are different. Those he keeps. He collects them like trophies. Keeps them locked away where no one can see what he does to them. They are at his mercy.”
My hands clench into fists under the table as my mind lands on Jhene and her baby sister. They must’ve been pets.
From what Jhene described, for years she livedinsideFedorov’s house. It wasn’t ’til much later he moved her to the cages.
“You saw what he was doing?” I ask.
“I saw many things. I stood by and watched because that was my duty. My father was a soldier for the Raguzins. His father before him. I would have gladly died for the Bratva. Would have done anything Fedorov asked.” He reaches for the bottle of vodka, foregoing the glass this time. “But even loyalty has limits.”
“This have to do with why they took your eye?” Lochlan juts his chin, a vague gesture toward the eyepatch.
“I finally had enough. For years, it was the women,” Aleksei says. “They were his girlfriends. But then he turned his attentions onto someone new—a young girl who hadnotreached eighteen. She was frail and weak. I could not stand by and allow it to happen. I interfered and stopped him.
“Fedorov deemed me a traitor. He took my eye and banished me from the Bratva. Said if I ever returned I would lose the other eye… and more. He is a monster in human form. He has no mercy or care for anything but himself. So yes, I will help you take him down. And when he is dead, I will spit on his grave.”
Lochlan clears his throat and then steers the conversation back to strategy. “We need to know his weaknesses. What are they?”
“He has many. His pets—he is obsessed with them. He cannot stand the thought of losing them. Rare valuables—art, jewelry, things that make him feel powerful and cultured. He spends millions on them. It was the reason for the Bratva’s financial troubles in the early 2000s. But in his old age? His greatest strength is also his greatest weakness.”
“Which is?” I ask impatiently.
“The men he surrounds himself with. Without them, he isnothing. A frail old man with delusions of grandeur.” Aleksei leans forward, his one eye gleaming. “Men like The Deathless.”
“The hitman?” I say. My mind goes back to the business card Ronan found in Simone’s coat pocket months ago.
“We call him Koschei. He is Fedorov’s most valuable asset. A Soviet-trained assassin, raised from childhood to kill without hesitation or remorse. He is the one Fedorov sends when he wants to send a message.”
“You mean like murdering my father in his hospital bed,” Lochlan snaps.
“Yes. Only Koschei could pull that kind of job off.”
I lean back in the booth, my mind racing. “Then we take him out first. Cut off Fedorov’s right hand before we go for the throat.”
Aleksei nods slowly. “It is a sound strategy. Without Koschei, Fedorov loses his greatest weapon. He becomes vulnerable.”
“Do you know where to find him?” Lochlan asks.
A rare, grim smile crosses Aleksei’s face. “You are in luck. I know exactly where to find him.”
Lochlan heads back upstate. The elder Callahan brother admits he’s paranoid as fuck and doesn’t like leaving Chantal in their estate alone for too long, even with his hired security.
I don’t push him on it—as far as Jhene’s concerned, I’m just as paranoid.
Aleksei and I hit up the location he claims Koschei visits every Sunday evening. One of the few known places the assassin can be found in the city when he’s otherwise untraceable.
I cock a brow at the ex-Bratva enforcer when we arriveoutside the Russian Orthodox Church. It sits on a quiet street in Brighton Beach, its golden onion domes rising against the dusk sky.
It’s admittedly picturesque and reminiscent of a fairytale.
Not the location I’d expect to find the most dangerous assassin in New York.
“You’re sure he’s here?” I ask as we approach. “This is a church.”
Aleksei nods. “Yes, it is. Koschei comes every Sunday. He visits the cemetery behind the church. Even killers have ghosts they cannot escape.”
We slip through the heavy wooden doors and into the church’s low-lit interior, the smell of incense and melted wax thick in the air.
