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The spectacle continues for only a few minutes before Tony gets bored and shoves Artom back to Camilla and Gino’s family. Everyone’s still milling around and Artom is back in a safe position, so I send word over the earbuds that Dima should enter now.
At first, nothing happens. He shakes hands with both Father Boris and Father Niko, leaning close to Niko and whispering in his ear, promising that Alex is here and safe with Kseniya— and armed, and with Sid from Blazing Hell keeping an eye on them from a couple cars over. Just as he did with me, Father Niko praises Dima, quietly enough that no one would expect the conversation to have been anything more than assurances that Dima is doing everything he can to find Alex.
He works his way through the room, acting exactly how he’d act if he wasn’t suspecting anything amiss other than the death of his best friend. No one knows about his connection with Ana, so nothing is said there. He holds his head up and talks gruffly but professionally with the other bosses, accepts their condolences and promises to be more active here in Flagstaff now that I’m gone and roles are going to be shifted.
No one mentions him as my successor. No one would ever think that. It’s one of the things that has confused me the most here, why so much effort has been put into setting him up when he was never a threat anyway.
Once he makes it to the caskets, he stands for a long time in front of mine. No one approaches him then. Everyone knows that we grew up together, that we lived together as footmen, that he gotme through the loss of my dad and my first fiancée. A lot of people think we grew apart after I took over and began my ascent and Dima was seen less and less in Flagstaff, but few people were as consistently in my life as Dima.
Except Kostya.
I hold my breath to hold down my rage as I see Kostya close in on Dima. This is the mystery. This is the wildcard. This is where none of us have any idea what’s going to happen.
I keep hold of Ana, but my other hand closes in on my gun. On my side, Janson, in his shitty incognito disguise that no one falls for, slips a hand into his pants pocket. Benedetti, deep in conversation with Angelo Fiorino, whom I realize is here for Ana butof coursehe shows his face at my funeral, puts her hands on her hips.
At least a dozen other people, including several of the undercovers lurking along the periphery, clock the motions and follow suit. I’m not sure how many people clock Tony quietly excusing himself from his own sister’s funeral, though.
Kostya doesn’t close the last few steps from Dima. He gets close enough that, from above, it’s clear he’s breached the berth everyone else has given Dima, but he’s far enough back Dima wouldn’t know he was there. It’s not until Dima finally turns around that they nod to each other and meet in the middle.
They hug like old friends. Which they are. Kostya, the traitor, is my cousin. There’s no one I’ve ever been closer with except Dima. Not even my brother; we loved each other, but we were forever butting heads like the ram that is our namesake. Kostya and Dima were the two people I trusted unconditionally.
It’s still hard to stomach the fact that Kostya nearly killed me, that if not for Dima showing up at just the right time, that wouldhave been my body they stood beside for real. That everyone would have thought Kostya was the grieving ever-faithful cousin worthy of every condolence that’s been thrown at him. And if I was dead, there’s no chance in my mind that Ana would have killed herself— whether she loves me that much or not, she’d never abandon Artom like that— but I wouldn’t put it past Tony to stage a suicide the same way Kostya did.
I could be watching my actual funeral right now as it would have really happened if Kostya and Tony got their way, and here Kostya is, patting Dima on the back and sharing his sympathies, guiding Dima away from the casket as though there’s important information to share. And once they’re fully turned, with nobody behind them except Ana and me and our caskets, I catch Kostya slipping something into Dima’s pocket.
We’re a high enough distance up it’s hard to see. It’s also wrapped in a black cloth that Kostya stuffs back into his own pocket. He was keeping fingerprints off it. And for a split second, the light hits just right and the angle is perfect that I can see a glint of glittery rose gold.
A month from now, I wouldn’t have been able to recognize it, not with that glimpse that I caught. But a week ago, standing in the print shop in Santa Clarita, I held that gun. It was the final prototype we made there, the ultra-lightweight ghost gun capable of getting through airport scanners.
The Ghostest Ghost.
Of all the guns I don’t want anyone in the ATF getting, it’s that one.
“Tony’s just come out,” we get from Sid, outside watching Kseniya and Alex. With the situation we’re in and the importance of silence, we don’t have mics in the actual car that connect directlyto ours. The biker’s our in-between. “He’s putting on a ski mask but no gloves. He does have a bag on him, and he is approaching the packages.”
The packages. Someone’s been watching too many crime dramas.
“I don’t see a gun either. No holster. Going radio silent. Will check in if necessary.”
If necessary,as in if Kseniya and Alex are actually harmed.
I dressed up for this. It’s going to be a big entrance, and I know I don’t hit what everyone thinks apakhanshould be— it’s been a sticking point ever since I ascended to the position— but a big entrance? I’ll do them right every time.
So the fine tux I managed to score in my size with just a couple on-site alterations at a tailor in Denver comes with a silk pocket square, which I discreetly hand over to Ana about ten minutes into our funeral. Nothing’s even happened yet, not really. They have Father Niko up there as well as a priest from the church Ana attended as a child, and they’re reading a biblical passage in both Russian and English, Niko reading the line and then the Catholic priest translating it for the benefit of Ana’s people. The passage isn’t anything unusual, drivel about angels and the afterlife and shit, but it’s really touched Ana.
“Thank you,” she mouths with careful dabs to protect the eye makeup she spent too long on this morning. Wouldn’t it be better if it was streaky though? We’re at a funeral, after all. But it’s our own funeral. I guess the tears are self-serving.
And because she’s being so careful about her makeup, I’m respectful about kissing the back of her hand instead of her lips,which I’d prefer. I would absolutely love to rise from the dead wearing Ana’s lipstick.
Maybe on my collar.
I lean in to make that special request, knowing she’ll deny me, but a guy’s gotta shoot his shot. I’m interrupted by a loud bang that has me pushing Ana down in case it was a gun.
Not a gun; a door. It’s followed by the pounding of footsteps and Tony shouting, “Somebody help, I just found them in a car like this!”
My heart slams into my ribs. Sid’s been quiet, and usually no news is good news, but nothing’s a guarantee here. Something terrible may have happened to him too. Tony could be carrying a body.
He could be carrying my sister’s body to her husband and baby.