Chapter 107
2865words
The lake is frozen solid, blending into the land. Everything covered by a uniform blanket of snow. The only markings on the surface are the triangular tracks made by geese and other animals in search of food. My own boot-prints cross on top of them as I make my way slowly over the ice.
I'm cold enough that I can't feel the tips of my ears or nose. But I don't mind. The mild pain is worth it. This weather is clearing my head. My bare hands clench in my jacket pockets, feeling for my phone, trying to summon a call from Jonah or Mila or, God willing, Camila.
Camila... please be okay. You have to be okay.
If she's still wearing the prayer beads, I should be able to track her location. But I can't do that from my cabin. The cops need to get away from my mansion. I can't do anything until they're off my back.
A sharp honk echoes through the air. Craning my neck, I watch as a flock of geese, their black heads contrasting against the white clouds, soar overhead. I marvel at how effortlessly they sync together. Wordlessly, they fly as a unit through the sky like they were born to be there. One by one, they land on the far side of the lake, wanting to be as far from me as possible.
Pulling my hands from my pockets, I breath on them to warm them up. The clouds overhead split enough to create a few beams of sunlight. One of them dances on the silver ring wrapped around my finger.
I stare at it hard, like it's the first time I've seen it. Holding my hand high with my fingers spread, I frown at the memory of that day. If I hadn't forced her to marry me... Yannick might have left her alone.
My phone buzzes to life. Ripping it out, I press it to my ear. "Hello?" I ask eagerly.
"It's me," Jonah says.
I don't bother to keep my voice calm. "What is it?"
"It's done, just like you wanted. The police are backing off for now."
My pulse rockets higher. "You're sure?"
"The current task force the commissioner put together to hunt you down is temporarily suspended."
"That's good."
"Don't get too excited. It's only temporary. They're looking for any and all reasons to get it back up and running in full capacity."
"You couldn't convince them I'm not the problem?"
"It's hard to make a case for you when I'm still not sure what to believe. I've staked a lot of my own reputation for you, Volkov."
"Fuck your reputation. Your life is on the line," I remind him. "Yannick wants you dead just as much as he wants that for me."
"So you say."
"You'll thank me when this is over."
"I doubt that very much. But it's not like I've got much of a choice at this point. What are you going to do?"
I start walking across the ice, my strides as quick as I can risk without slipping. "I'm ending this tonight. But since we're erring on the side of caution, keep the cops off my back for forty-eight hours."
Without another word, I hang up and start running.
The geese see me and begin to cry out in alarm in the crisp cold air. I watch as they launch themselves back into the sky, wings flapping against the canvas of golden clouds above.
Scaring off the peaceful animals wasn't intentional.
I wish I could have watched them a while longer.
"Asher?" Mila asks when I burst through the front door. She was reclining on the large couch... the place Camila took a nap our first night here.
"We're leaving," I say, moving towards the kitchen table. I unzip the black bag I'd set there earlier, checking the contents.
"Kuda?"
Lifting out a rifle, I make sure it's loaded. "Back home." Assuming nobody gets in the way. But if they try... I chamber the gun, put it back in the bag, and sling it over my shoulder.
Mila jumps off the couch, rounding on me with her eyes wide in shock. "That son of a bitch actually did it?"
'I'm as shocked as you are, Mila."
'What do you need me to do?"
'We need as many men as possible. Organize everyone, and tell them to meet me at the mansion, then call Kos—" I stop short. For a moment, I'd forgotten he was dead.
Mila watches me closely. I lift my head higher, trying to keep my voice as flat and emotionless as possible. "Call Maximus and have him collect men across the city. We're ending this today. Do or die."
"Do or die," she agrees, more enthusiastically than she needs to. "I'm on it."
I nod and make my way towards my car. There's no time to get buried under regrets. Not now. Another time will come to mourn for all the lives that we've lost.
And by morning, I'm sure there will be many more graves to dig.
Layla dips her head. "Welcome home."
She's not alone in the foyer. Word of my arrival has spread fast. I spotted the faces of my staff through the windows of my mansion, watching eagerly as my car rolled up. Many of them have chosen to arrange themselves in the main room, but the staircase is lined as well.
Ignoring their gazes, I focus my attention on Layla. "Is Matvey here?"
"He is."
"Good," I say, passing her by and nearly sprinting up the stairs. The two maids by the banister press against the wall to give me space.
"Asher?" Layla calls out. She watches me with her body in a stiff line. Her outfit is as crisp and perfect as ever. She's acting like this is just another day, but the angle of her lips and brow says otherwise.
"Bring her back. This place is too quiet without her."
I allow myself a tired smile. "I will."
Dashing up the stairs, I dodge more of my staff. All of them offer kind smiles or happy bows. My home is packed with people who are invested in my existence. And yet, as full as every floor is, it feels... wrong. It's in the smell of it, the quiet, pregnant pause that grows as I walk across the lengthy rug.
I pass a door—her door—and pull up short. Staring at my own warped reflection on the brass knob, I hold my breath. Logically, I fucking know she isn't inside. Yet I thrust the door open anyway.
The bed is pristine and perfect and miserably empty. Everything is clean, and the stringent smell of disinfectant hangs in the air, reminding me of a hospital. Her scent has been eradicated.
There's no evidence she was ever here.
This may be my house. But as long as Camila isn't here, it's not my home.
My hand trembles as I shut the door. I can't bear to be in that room a second longer. Not without her. Marching further through the house, I arrive at the computer room. The door is half-open, three computers lit up, the glow of their monitors make me squint uncomfortably.
Two men in wheeled office chairs spin to face me. Matvey rips his headset down to his neck. "Asher Volkov."
I motion at the computers. "Pull up Camila's tracker."
"Already have it." He taps the keyboard, then the screen, indicating a flashing dot on a darkened program. It's a top-down view of the city, the buildings and roads outlined in pale gray. "She's there."
Hunching over the back of his chair, I frown in disbelief. "She's only fifteen miles away?"
"The tracker is." He hesitates before he corrects me. "I can't say if she's with it or not."
I fight down the urge to snap at him. I can hear Layla's words again. In here, your people should trust you. They should be eager to come to you with their fears and worries and doubts. Yet they don't.
"She's there," I finally say after I compose myself. 'I'm sure of it." Yannick could have removed the bracelet himself. Camila, too, if she thought she had no other choice. I have to hold out on hope. It's all I've got at this stage.
Well...
That, and an army.
"Send this location to my phone," I continue as I exit the room. I can't linger any longer. There's no time to lose. My head is abuzz, like a bloodhound that has caught a scent. Camila... I'm coming for you.
I step through my front door; the sunlight on the snow blinds me briefly.
"Pakhan!"
Shielding my eyes, I barely make out the stern face of Maximus. He's waiting for me in front of my car in the driveway. Behind him is a full double row of men, all of them standing at attention. On their hips, or strapped over their chests, are guns of every shape and size. From young faces to the stern and scarred, muscular frames to lean, they all share one thing—their attention is devoted to me.
"We're ready," Maximus says with pride.
I nod sharply. "Let's go pay Yannick a visit he won't fucking forget."
When I arrived, I was alone in my black Escalade. Ten cars leave my mansion. We form a single line, bumper to bumper, along the quiet strip of asphalt that leads from my secluded mansion towards the city. From above we'd form an elegant shape. Like the geese, I think suddenly. The image sticks in my brain.
I'm at the front of the pack, and when we reach the first split, I speak into my phone hooked up to my car's Bluetooth system. "Split up and maintain dispersion. We don't need to look too obvious. I want every bit of surprise we can get"
"Ponil," Maximus responds, and relays the order to the others.
When I pull down a backstreet, an engine revs loudly near my tail light.
A motorcycle pulls beside me, the helmet a mix of white and blue. It matches the moto jacket zipped to their chin. The rider turns to me and signals me to roll my window down. When I do, she yanks the helmet off, and shakes out her hair. It's Mila.
"When did you get the new gear?" I ask her.
"How I spend my money is none of your business. I'm going to go ahead, scope the situation out."
"Be careful," I warn her. 'Eto moi prikaz."
Instead of answering she covers her face again. The motorcycle roars like a grizzly bear, and she zips off around the corner, leaving my sight. At the speed she's going, she risks getting pulled over. I stare at the streak of rubber she left. She's eager to get to the scene. This fight isn't just about Camila.
Mila wants Yannick to rot in a hole as much as I do.
She's the one who's been accusing ME of being suicidal.
Is that why she splurged on brand new motorcycle gear? To enjoy it in case this was her last ride?
Crushing the steering wheel, I press harder on the gas. I refuse to allow her to die for me. I'm done burying my friends.
It's not long before I dip through a section of the city that borders a number of old factories. The ocean frames my right side, the waves loud as they crash, refusing to be frozen by the icy weather. It's a relief it's not snowing—and I pick up speed around another bend in the road, passing by a number of barren stripes of dirty land.
The road splits again and I glance at my tracker, turning further away from the water. Yannick has positioned himself on the outskirts of everything. Before I see the actual building, he's barricaded himself in, I spot Mila.
She stands on the edge of the road, her helmet hooked on the handlebar of her motorcycle, waving frantically at me.
Parking behind her I jump out of my car. "We're still half a mile from where we need to go."
Her lips shape into a severe frown. "He's got a whole damn perimeter of cops around this place."
All the muscles in my upper back clench. Gazing over the horizon, I try to glimpse what she's talking about, but there are too many half-finished buildings blocking the view.
"Looks like Jonah wasn't as effective as he made it sound," I grumble.
"You think he's gone back on the deal?" she asks.
"No. If they're here, it's because they were already Yannick's men to start with." Popping my trunk, I unzip my large bag, shouldering my rifle. "Time to see if they're really that willing to die for him."
Mila taps her fingertips on her mouth. "That's risky."
"There's no other option."
Gravel crunches behind me; one by one the cars packed with my soldiers arrive. They park quickly, and exit even faster.
"At least we have the element of surprise," Mila chuckles.
"That we do," I say, motioning at the multitude of armed men all lining up in the road, ready to heed any instruction I give them. "I forced Yannick out of his position as Pakhan once. I'm going to make it permanent this time."
My men's faces light up with pride when they hear me. Maximus cocks his gun, his chin high as he waits for more instruction. Some of the others let out soft murmurs of excited agreement. Each of them is a coiled spring, ready to leap forth.
'Boys." Holding my rifle overhead, I point it down the road. "Are we afraid of a few little piggies?"
As a unit they shout NO! Shaking their heads or spitting on the ground, they pledge themselves to the cause. My heart floods with appreciation for my soldiers.
Using my gun like a flag, I wave it over the road. "Davai!"
They don't hesitate—they rush forward, lips pressed in scowls, some in wicked grins, their eyes alive with the fire of men ready to shed blood. This is what we've been building up to for years. I can't call them back now no matter how hard I try.
I start to follow them. Mila grabs my shoulder. "Not you."
"What do you mean?" I ask curtly.
"Let me direct the fight."
My eyes widen, taking in the solid way her shoulders are set. She fingers the knife on her hip. "Mila—" I start to argue.
"Let me finish!" She digs her hand into my shoulder tighter. " Your job is rescuing Camila. Leave me and the boys to do what we do best."
I'm already shaking my head furiously. "I need to be here for this."
"If something happens to her because you got there too late, you'll never forgive yourself. Even if we manage to take Yannick down, if it comes at the cost of Camila, the Bratva will fall apart. You will fall apart. That's no victory."
Biting my molars together, I gaze at the last of my soldiers as they head over the asphalt. The first gunshot cracks the air. Then a second, a third, until each staccato gunfire turns into a steady shriek.
"Let us be the distraction you need," she pleads with me. 'So you can do what you must."
The song of battle grows. Mingled with the crack of gunfire are the shouts of dying men. How many will fall in my name? How many are going to die because I brought them here?
Their deaths can't be for nothing.
I nod.
"Get it done," I tell her as another rattle of gunfire splits the air.
A savage smile twists on Mila's face. With a serrated knife in one hand, and a pistol in the other, she sprints over the hard packed dirt to join the fight.
Checking my earpiece, then my rifle, I follow after her towards the fray. Red and blue lights flash in a quick tempo as I crest over the hill. It's just like Mila said—there's a whole damn perimeter of cops blocking the road. They spill onto the gravel, the cracked mud, insuring there's no gap between them and the townhouse in the background.
I swear as a bullet flies past my ear, snapping in the air. Ducking onto my belly, I check around, searching for the shooter. No one is aiming at me. The shot was a random one—the police are fighting for their lives, and in doing so, are blind to the actions of a single figure like me.
I get on my knees like a man in the midst of prayer. And in a way, I am. I'm praying for the safety of everyone I know, I'm praying that I'm not too late, and above all, I'm praying that by the time the sun rises in the morning, this will all be over.
And with that, I sling the rifle onto my back, and stare down at the situation.
As long as I don't shoot back, I'll be a ghost.
Knowing it's the only way to save Camila, I begin to crawl.
