Page 153 of Mafia and Scars

But dizziness makes it impossible. Have the pain meds even kicked in yet? Or maybe they’re working now, and I just don’t realize it. But every bit of pressure I feel makes me wince.

I mumble something, forcing my eyes to creak open a little. I press my hand to my side. Dizziness washes over me again. “He’s…still out there,” I mutter. “We gotta…”

I close my eyes with another sharp inhale.

I need to focus.

To find him.

But all I can think about is the sound of Avelina’s voice calling mine.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

AVELINA

After putting the children to bed, I go to the office to finish a last email regarding an imminent shipment.

In front of the screen, I blink at the subject line I don’t recognize.

RE: Cement Plant.

Buried between receipts and other such messages, the email catches my eye because it’s from Viktor’s personal email. There’s no greeting. No sign-off or attached invoice. Just a short thread with coordinates—that I totally put into an online map—and phrases that make a shiver run down my spine.

Final move. Target confirmed.

He sent it to Grigory, Matvey, and Nikolai. And he obviously sent it by mistake to the main business email.

I click through the email trail. Every word is clinical, calculated. Reference to Gennady. The Albanians. Some rusted-out cement place on the north edge of town.

No time. No explanation. Just the kind of message to remindhimself. The kind someone sends before they do something dangerously stupid.

I reread it twice. Then a third time.

He’s already gone.

He left half an hour ago with a kiss that left me breathless.

The air leaves my lungs in sharp, cold rushes. I slam close the laptop and stand a little too fast, nearly knocking over the chair.

I should be upstairs with Sofia or checking on Leon. I know I should. But I also know that Babulya is keeping an eye on them. And my feet take me in the opposite direction toward the door.

He doesn’t know Gennady like I do. He doesn’t know who he’s walking toward. Gennady is FSB. Trained. Dangerous. He doesn’t play fair. And as ruthless and badass as Viktor is, Gennady is a soulless beast.

I scribble a note in Russian to Babulya, then slip out before I can change my mind.

My mind whirls as I drive.

I don’t text Viktor. I don’t call. I don’t want to risk distracting him.

The cement plant rises in the distance like a graveyard. Hollow. Industrial. Forgotten. Creepy.

Parking behind a pile of scrap metal, I look around. Five SUVs. Three of which I vaguely recognize. But it’s too quiet.

Then I hear it.

Gunfire.

Muffled but close.