Chapter 3 #3
“Of course, Daniil.”
Lev gave me a look that said I was repeating myself.
I ignored it.
The two fathers entered. Leonid followed with a tray holding tea and glasses. The electronic latch closed behind them.
Anton’s phone rang.
He checked the screen. “Roman. It may be Sergei.”
He moved toward the Samovar Room for privacy.
Arkady and Nikita had already gone to review the decoy-route assignments with our men downstairs.
That left Ksenia and me in the corridor.
Alone was not the right word. Guards stood at both ends. Cameras watched us.
But it felt as though we were alone. The whole evening it had felt as though it was just her and me.
She looked toward the Birch Room door, then at me.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For Sergei.”
“Pah. It was nothing. I was closest.”
“That’s what he said you would say.”
My attention sharpened. “You discussed me with him?”
“I asked who found him.”
“And he described the garage.”
“He described you carrying him out while the timer counted down.”
“He could not walk.”
“The building was about to explode.”
I said nothing.
She stepped closer. Not touching. Close enough that I could see the small pulse at the base of her throat.
“You make every choice sound like an accident,” she said.
“What would you have had me do? Leave him?”
“You could have.”
“He works for an ally.”
“There is always duty. Always a practical reason. You saved a man, Daniil. You could let it mean something.”
“It was just to prevent a war.”
Her expression changed. The warmth withdrew.
“Of course,” she said.
“You make a habit of analyzing people you barely know?”
Her eyes flashed. “I’ve known you for years, Daniil. You just never noticed.”
“That isn’t true. You don’t know me. We’re acquaintances. Nothing more.”
Silence.
I heard the music below us. The muted vibration of pipes in the walls. A glass set down somewhere behind the Birch Room door.
Ksenia stared at me.
“If we’re just acquaintances,” she said, voice barely louder than a whisper, “why do you look at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me out of this dress and into your bed.”
“I—”
“I think you’ve done more than notice me, Daniil. I think you’ve thought about me. Wondered about me. Fantasized about me.”
She was right. I had noticed her.
At every dinner. Every funeral. Every formal room where she stood beside her family and made difficult people feel easier.
I remembered dresses. Expressions. The way she listened. The time she laughed during a New Year toast and covered her mouth because Mikhail was speaking.
I remembered asking Anton whether she was still studying because speaking to her directly had seemed too revealing.
Cowardice presented as indifference.
Her lips parted.
It would be easy, so easy to lean in and capture them.
And that’s the exact moment that the lights went out.
Darkness did not remove the corridor. It reduced it to memory.
Birch Room door at my right.
Stone pillar four steps behind me.
Ksenia directly ahead.
East stair twelve meters away.
A shot cracked through the dark.
Not suppressed. Close.
A body hit the floor near the east stair. Heavy. The guard.
I seized Ksenia’s wrist and pulled her into me.
“Down.”
Another shot.
Muzzle flash split the corridor. A man came through the east service door wearing a Volna maintenance jacket. The jacket was wrong. Too short through the shoulders. Stolen.
He fired toward us.
The round struck wood beside my head.
I drove Ksenia behind the stone pillar and covered her with my body as plaster spat from the wall.
“Stay here.”
I drew my weapon.
The attacker advanced because he believed darkness belonged to him.
It did not.
A red emergency light flickered near the floor, weak but sufficient. I saw his outline pass the Birch Room door. Saw the pistol extended ahead of him.
I fired twice.
The first round turned him. The second took him through the upper chest. He hit the wall, slid down it, and left a dark streak behind.
Three soft pops came from inside the Birch Room.
Suppressed shots.
My father.
I reached the door.
The electronic latch had locked when the power failed. I drove my shoulder into it. Nothing.
Anton ran from the direction of the Samovar Room, phone still in his hand.
“What happened?”
“Inside.”
I aimed at the latch.
“Back.”
I fired. Metal burst from the frame. I kicked beside the handle. The door gave inward.
The smell reached me first. Gunpowder. Blood. Tea.
Mikhail lay on his side beside the table. One hand pressed to his chest. Blood moved between his fingers in steady, bright pulses.
Lev remained in his chair, bent forward. Two dark holes marked his white shirt through the abdomen. Blood soaked the fabric and ran onto his trousers.
The rear service door stood open.
Leonid was gone.
Anton saw it too.
“Gusev.”
He ran through the rear passage.
Ksenia entered behind me and made a sound.
Not a scream. Smaller. Worse.
“Papa.”
She dropped beside Mikhail.
I went to Lev.
His chair shifted as I caught him beneath the arms and lowered him to the floor. His blood covered my hands almost at once. Hot. Too much.
“Father.”
His eyes found me.
They were clear.
That frightened me more than panic would have.
“Pressure,” I said, though there was no one to instruct except myself.
I ripped open his shirt. One round had entered below the ribs. The second sat lower. Neither wound was clean. Blood welled beneath my palms when I pressed down.
Across the room, Ksenia pulled the linen cloth from the table. Glasses struck the floor. One shattered.
She tore the cloth with both hands, braced one folded section against Mikhail’s chest, and pressed.
“Papa. Look at me.”
Mikhail’s breath caught.
Ksenia leaned over him. Her hair fell forward, hiding part of her face. Blood spread across the white linen beneath her hands.
“Stay with me. Anton is coming back.”
Mikhail tried to speak.
“No,” she said. “Save your breath.”
The woman who had challenged my security at the entrance was gone. The strategist at dinner was gone.
This was a daughter on her knees in her father’s blood. My father coughed. Blood touched his lower lip.
“Danya.”
“I’m here.”
“Door.”
“Gusev used the rear passage.”
His fingers moved against the floor. Searching.
I gave him my wrist.
He gripped it.
Even dying, Lev held hard.
Footsteps sounded in the rear passage.
I turned my weapon toward the opening.
Anton appeared alone.
“Lost him,” he said. “Outer door was open. Guard’s down.”
His gaze found Mikhail.
He stopped.
Ksenia looked at him. Whatever he saw in her face made him cross the room without another word.
He knelt beside his father and took Mikhail’s hand.
“I’m here, Papa.”
Mikhail looked at him.
Then at Ksenia.
His breathing had changed. Long pauses between shallow pulls. The wound had stopped pulsing because his heart no longer had enough force.
Ksenia pressed harder.
“Papa.”
Mikhail’s eyes moved between his children.
“Together,” he managed.
Anton bowed his head over their joined hands.
Ksenia shook hers once. A refusal. Small and fierce.
Mikhail exhaled.
He did not inhale again.
Ksenia went still.
Her hands remained on the cloth. Blood reached her wrists.
Anton touched two fingers to his father’s throat. He held them there far longer than necessary.
Then he closed Mikhail’s eyes.
I looked back at Lev.
His grip on my wrist had weakened.
“Father.”
He studied my face.