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I turn away from the window, walking back toward them—toward Lev and Viktor, who are still talking like this is just another operation to be solved.
I pause at the table and announce that “I’m leading this.”
Viktor studies me. “Zasha—”
“No one but me will be leading this operation,” I say, looking at the two men who have become like brothers to me. “You both know she is still my wife.”
Viktor says nothing because they have both experienced my situation in the past. They can both recall the devastating pain ofhaving someone you love taken away. The only difference is that, in their cases, the women involved had loved them back.
Viktor nods his agreement, knowing that I would not be led into this operation.
Lev leans back in his chair. “We’d need to put together some enemy names?”
“I already have names.” I say, “And also names of anyone who looks like they may succeed Thiago.”
Viktor looks up from his phone. “You are right.” He says, “This may not just be an enemy trying to pay back Thiago now that he is too weak to fight back. It may be someone wanting to use her as leverage.”
Lev whistles low under his breath. “That narrows it down to a hundred enemies or so.”
The three of us sit with serious expressions, making calls and pulling in favors, our initial worry about the shipment leak forgotten. After an hour of numerous phone calls, we decide to each go get ready to hit the streets.
There's always word on the street if you know the right people to ask.
I move through my house without turning on a single light, because I don’t need them. I know this place like I know my own mind—every corridor, every creak, every secret it keeps.
Down the back stairs. Through the reinforced door beneath the kitchen. Past the wine racks and into the wall panel behind the old freezer, the biometric lock clicks open under my thumbprint.
And I walk into my weapon room.
It’s illuminated only by the low blue glow of the perimeter sensors, humming like a living thing. I move without pausing, pull open a drawer, and begin assembling what I need.
Two pistols. Tactical knives. Spare mags.
Silencers. A reinforced Kevlar vest. Gloves. Boots.
By the time I’m strapping my thigh holster in place, my hands are steady, and my pulse is calm. When I’ve checked the last chamber and stowed everything in the duffel, I turn to another drawer. One I haven’t opened for ages, and pull out our wedding picture. I trace my hands across her lips.
“I’m coming to find you,” I whisper. “And not even all the demons in hell can stop me.”
37
Chapter 29
Xiomara
My hand won’t stop pounding.
It’s not just the ache from where they jabbed a needle in or the rough hands that shoved me—it’s everything. The exhaustion. The rage. The hours ticking by with no sleep, no answers, especially no Maksim.
I haven’t seen my son since last night, and I’m on the verge of madness. I’ve frantically trashed around my new room, looking for an escape route but there is none. There are cameras tucked into the corners, disguised behind hand-carved wood. I noticed them within ten minutes of being ‘upgraded to this room.’
The door has no handle on the inside.
I pace the room slowly, jaw clenched, trying to keep the scream buried in my throat. Every inch of me aches with the need to tear the walls down.
Last night, I’d stared at the closed door long after he had gone, my breath trapped somewhere between my ribs and my throat. I don’t know how long I sat there, knees tucked to my chest, heart screaming against the walls of this gilded cage.
Cristóbal.