Page 59

“Fyo—”

“This is my duty. You have yours. It’s more important thatyoustay alive. Stay safe. Use brain. Not balls, woman.”

I quiver with rage as I glare at him, but I cannot speak. He is right.

I am not thinking clearly.

We stand there in silence for a moment, longer than we should. The three of us are battered, bruised. Fyodor has a couple of gunshot wounds on his arm, his leg. Ciro bleeding from a half dozen cuts. A gash on my forehead has me squinting out of one eye as blood trickles down.

Everything is going to shit. Gunfire echoes across the city.

“How did we not see this coming?”

“Maybe someone did.” Ciro’s eyes harden, meeting mine, then Fyodor’s gaze.

“You think this is inside job?”

“If it is, then protocol changes,” Fyo growls, leveling a stern look at me.

“Safe house.” I sigh. “We will wait out the storm. But you better radio me as soon as you make it to redoubt. As soon as you make contact with Pyotr and Matvey.”

“Da.”

Turning away from me he addresses Ciro. “Shakal.”

“Yes,Kapitan.” Ciro snaps to attention.

My eyes widen at the immediate response. Not even a snide remark or a raised eyebrow.

“Protect her with your life.” He’s right in Ciro’s face, speaking low and calm. “I trust you now, Shakal. Do not dishonor Volk.”

“Krov’ i chest’. On blood and honor. I swear I will.” They clap hands together like a cheesy American action film. But no one is laughing. Ciro takes the keys to Fyo’s car.

“Do not die today, brother,” I whisper, grasping Fyodor’s arm.

Fyo smiles grimly. “If I die, I do so for honor. For family.”

“For family.” I agree.

“Give ’em hell, Flattop.” Ciro nods, pulling me away.

“Fuck you,komik. There is reason I park here, lead them down this route.” He slides a device from his pocket, flipping open the panel on the front.

Ciro’s eyes widen as we climb into the Porsche, revving the engine.

“Dobro pozhalovat,” Fyo salutes the line of SUVs rounding the corner several hundred yards out. “On behalf of Volk Bratva, I welcome you to your deaths.”

He hits the button, firing off explosives and blasting the first few cars sky-high. Right as Ciro pulls away.

All I can do is watch in the rearview as he climbs in the Jeep and drives off in another direction. Despite our sometimes awkward relationship, I worry I will not see him again.

Our route takes us an hour, doubling back, assuring that we are not followed. Once we are on the highway, I settle back for a bit.

“Where am I going?” Ciro asks softly. I must have spaced out. We are already on the far side of the city.

“Head left up here. We can disappear, so to speak, by taking that back street.”

“I like it.”