Chapter Forty
In which the night is on fire.
Nikandr…
"Fucking drive on the sidewalk if you have to!" I punch the ceiling of my car. Kliment was a stunt driver in Hollywood before we recruited him to the Bratva, and I know he's doing everything he can; speeding through intersections, taking one turn on two wheels.
It's not enough. We're still five minutes away and I'm hearing the agitated responses on the police scanner. Fire trucks are huge and unwieldy and at the best of times, getting them somewhere quickly is difficult. This goddamned fire started right at rush hour.
There's another scattered burst of conversation on the scanner.
"…Fire suppression system down."
"Front desk says there's two hundred and twenty-five people at the… with guests… staff."
"Explosion heard at the back of the hotel…"
Johann Novikov.
It makes sense. Like a child who can't have what he wants, he tries to tear it apart instead.
Roman calls. "How close?" he asks, tone grim.
"Three minutes," I say. "Are you there?"
"Yes, I've got people going through with fire extinguishers and getting people out where they find them. It looks like there's close to a hundred and fifty people milling around out here. Did you get through to Caroline?"
"Get everyone you can to the Lyric. The fire trucks aren't going to be enough." I run my hands through my hair. "I'm calling her now."
The phone rings serenely until it goes to her message, "The number you are trying to reach is not in service at this time. Please check the number and -"
I call again. Same message. And again. We just talked ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago. Her phone should still work. The fire didn't knock out a cell tower.
Tapping my phone against my forehead, I send up a prayer to a God I don't believe in to keep my wife safe.
There is already a thick plume of smoke spiraling over the hotel when we arrive, already dozens of clueless fucks blocking the street, phones out, no doubt hoping this will make them go viral on TikTok.
Shoving open the door, I knock two of the sight-seers into the gutter. I'm fine with that.
"Hey, fucker!" One shouts. "What the-"
Kliment pulls a gun on them and he shuts up, scrabbling backward onto the sidewalk.
I'm running, pushing people aside. The Hotel Lyric is a beautiful old brownstone. Windows are shattering from the heat of the fire, and the flames are creeping out some of the broken windows. Oily black smoke stains the stone and I can hear the screaming.
Calling Isaak, I curse when I get that same blank message, "The number you are calling is-"
"Nikandr!" Alexsey grabs my jacket, swinging me around. "Have you reached anyone inside the building?"
"No," I say grimly. The fire trucks' sirens are blaring as they turn onto the street. "It's got to be Novikov. He's using a cell signal jammer."
Morozov security are helping people out the front doors from the lobby, guests staggering with smoke inhalation, employees who stayed behind to help, uniforms burned and smoking.
There's a blinding white flash and an explosion shatters the doors, bringing down tons of stone and broken wood, blocking it.
"Fuck!" Alexsey says, lacing his hands on the top of his head. Grabbing his phone, he dials our security. "There are three other exits. The kitchen and the loading dock in the back, another guest entrance on the left side of the lobby. Cell phones are dead inside, tell everyone you see."
"I have to go," I say racing to the alleyway on the right.
"Nik, not that way!" Alexsey shouts, staggering under the weight of the two injured guests that a firefighter hands him. "The left!"
He may have remodeled this hotel, but I'm the one who's crept in more than once to get a look at my wife. There's a dumpster that's tall enough to get me to a second-floor window. I'm sure that she called me from her office, that's where the security monitors are.
The hallway is thick with smoke and broken glass; it takes me a moment to figure out where I am.
Caroline is two hallways over. Most of this floor is clear, I hear footsteps thudding above me on the third floor, and screams from the lobby as our security and Morozov employees are trying to get people out.
I can hear Dmitri's roar of fury from here when the firefighters try to block him from going back in.
"Take your fucking hands off me," he shouts. "I am Dmitri Morozov and I take responsibility for my safety. Now get your fire hoses going!"
I grin, pulling my jacket up over my nose and mouth, gun drawn. One hall… then the next. Isaak and Rafail are pounding on the door, Rafail's holding a marble-topped table, slamming against the wood.
"Mrs. Morozova! Can you open the door? Tell us you're alive, please!"
"Has she tried to get out?" I cough. Both their faces are soot-streaked, with their eyes red and running.
"Sovietnik!" Rafail wheezes. "No, she tried to turn the door handle, I don't think she can unlock it."
"Break the door in, it's not steel. Wood will eventually crack." They slam the table against the door even harder as I turn in a circle, looking for another way around to her.
There is an exterior window two doors down.
Caroline has a terrace connected to her office…
Kicking the glass out and craning my neck, I can see her balcony.
The black railing looks sturdy. With a half smile, I know my wife could jump this effortlessly.
Unfortunately, there's nothing under the window so I'm going to have to make my leap, crouching on the windowsill.
***
Caroline…
His oily voice started talking to me after I realized I couldn't unlock my door.
"Hello, my sweetheart." Johann Novikov. Of course. Of course it is. He's been busy today, booby-trapping my hotel. "It's hard to see people you love die, isn't it?"
He's using the overhead mic. I can't answer back, he knows he's got a captive audience. The monitors flicker out and turn on again, now, the images are cruelly sharp. “I want to make sure you can see everything,” he whispers.
The first footage is from the lobby. The explosion I'd heard was from there.
Tons of rubble and shattered timber are blocking the exit.
Another monitor. The ninth floor, it's almost completely engulfed.
The feed shakes violently before it goes black.
I'm frozen in front of the bank of monitors, each one coming to life to display another round of horrors.
My shaking fingers try to call Nikandr again. No answer. Running to my desk, I pick up the in-house phone, dialing the front desk, nothing. The Melody Restaurant on the fifth floor, just a flat buzz.
"It's quite terrible being helpless, isn't it?
" Johann's voice sounds nauseatingly sympathetic as another monitor lights up.
It's the pool area and steam is already rising from the water.
There's two people in swimsuits cowering by the window.
"I don't think those two are getting out," he sighs theatrically. “So many people dying, because of you.”
"Shut the fuck up!" I scream.
A shot fires outside my door and I race over, which is probably insane because there's two more shots and they could be coming through the door at any time. "Go!" I scream so loud that my lungs vibrate. "Isaak and Rafail, get out!" They can't die for me.
"Ah, I believe their time is up, my sweetheart," Johann's horrible voice crackles over the mic again.
"Fuck you! Kill me, leave them alone and come kill me! It's what you want!" Why am I screaming? He can't hear me.
Another monitor lights up, the tenth floor, the image is blurry, wood splintering, crashing to the floor, sparks spraying across the carpet. They're good wool ones, though. It's going to take them a while to ignite.
Everything is gone. People are dying. And it's all my fault.
The glass door to my terrace shatters and I whirl around. It's Nikandr, soot-stained and kicking out the rest of the glass. "Nik!" I race for him, my hands out, grabby fingers trying to pull him close to me.
"Plokhoy kot, come here, we're going down -"
Two bodies drop from the balcony above us, landing on him and I scream, grabbing a vase off the sideboard and bringing it down on one man's head. He twists, it's not a good shot, breaking over his shoulder and neck, but he yelps, slamming his hand over the blood spurting from his neck.
Nikandr has his gun out, twisting from under his attacker and clubbing him over the head because the guard is too close to shoot. He drops. Nikandr looks up at me, "We're going over the side, love -" Three more men swarm onto the terrace, kicking through what's left of the glass.
One of them is Johann.
"Motherfucker!" I shout. There's a golf club leaning against the wall, some silly prop that the New York Boutique Hotel Association gave me as the "Rising Star" this year.
It's heavy as hell and I bring it up, swinging like a pro.
The club cracks Johann across the back and he screams, falling forward and nearly over the railing which really would be best.
One of the men looks up, a snarl on his ugly face.
His assistant from this morning, I think.
As he pulls his gun, Nikandr drives an elbow into his temple and he staggers, his eyes unfocused.
I swing at another guard who landed on top of my husband.
This time the club slams into his head and he drops like a bag of dirt.
Two men are still upright, beating the shit out of Nikandr and I circle them, trying to get a shot in.
An arm goes around my throat and I'm yanked backward with a strangled screech.
"My dear girl, you cannot stop this," Johann's mouth is next to my ear, close enough that his moist lips touch my ear. "It's all coming down, and your Sovietnik with it."
My office door finally slams open, the shattered pieces flying against the wall. The heat is blistering, eager fingers of flame lighting up the wall across the hall. The men who come racing in are not Isaak and Rafail.
Three more of Johann's creatures.
A gun fires behind me on the terrace. Nikandr is standing in the middle of a pile of bleeding bodies.
Good.
Johann's arm tightens, choking me. "Kill him!" he screams at his men. Smoke is pouring into the office and the men are flailing a bit, guns out and trying to find their way.
It's then that I realize I'd hung on to the club.
I swing it in an awkward arc behind me, hitting Johann across the back of his knees and he folds in half, landing on top of me.
His arm is still around my throat, but the heat is making his skin slippery.
I flail the club blindly and it hits his legs, and unfortunately, my ankle.
It's enough to pull loose from his arm and I crawl in the direction of the terrace. They can't kill my husband. A hand grabs my ankle and I scream. "Just! Fucking! Die!" I'm kicking at him furiously when I hear a shot. Then another.
"Nonononono!" I'm on the floor and I see feet going past me, the smoke isn't that low yet.
It's not Nikandr. He's wearing a blue suit today.
I love that one. Rolling to my side, I bring the club up and swing.
My hands are sweaty and bloody and the golf club flies loose, but not before it slams against the man's shins and he stumbles into the smoke.
"Please let him fall," I cough. "Please. "
I'm scrambling toward the terrace again. Johann gets a hold of my ankle twice but I kick him loose. "Nik!" I screech, coughing and coughing. I can't draw in a breath. Then. I see Nikandr's feet from my spot on the carpet. His hands shoot out, grabbing Johann by the throat.
"Go! Get to the balcony, they'll see you." Was it his momentum moving forward when he grabbed Johann? I don't know, but I hear rather than see them crash through my broken door.
It's so hot, smoke roiling through the room and I crawl toward the door.
I've spent so much time in this office that I could navigate it blindfolded.
Isaak is lying just outside the door. There's blood streaming from his side but he raises a hand, groaning out, Mrs. Moro…
" I can't see Nikandr or Rafail, there's noise further down the hall, the meaty sound of fists hitting flesh.
Then, the miracle.
Water shoots from the ceiling, spraying wildly, driving the smoke away enough to see my husband.
He's on top of Johann, fists smashing down on his face, but there's blood coming from his arm and his thigh.
Johann drives his fist into a wound on Nikandr's thigh and he grunts, but his fists never stop.
He's laughing. That fucking Johann is laughing as his face is getting pulverized. A wooden chest right next to me bursts into flame, I can feel the skin on my arm blister. Crawling faster, I see Johann's arm go up. He's holding something shiny.
"Knife!" I'm screaming but it's coming out like a croak. "He's got a knife!" Nik hears me, miraculously and gets an arm up in time to block the knife, pulling it loose and driving it into Johann's chest. In shock, his eyes go wide as he looks down at the blade embedded in him.
Nikandr digs in his feet and shoves him backward. "You won't die from the knife. But…" his feet moving faster. "You'll burn."
The water has taken away most of the smoke so I see it all clearly.
Johann's shocked face. The knife buried in his chest. And how his arms pinwheel as he falls over the walkway leading down to the shattered lobby.
His sleeves are already on fire. Then, his shirt and as he falls over, I see his pants catch.
He flies, a burning, fallen angel. He doesn't even scream.