Epilogue
Y elena
Picking up my phone, I listened to Samara’s voicemails.
They all had essentially the same message.
Run!
I knew what that meant. We would scramble for our safe house in Montreal. Until then, we would have no choice but to go off the radar. Radio silence. No phones unless absolutely necessary. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself to focus.
I needed to get the hell out of town. We would figure out our next move when we were safely in Montreal. It was a shame. Like Samara, I was starting to like Chicago and the idea that maybe we could stop running.
Heading to my desk, I withdrew every scrap of paper. All important documents I kept in a lockbox in a bank in Los Angeles, but you never knew what the authorities or anyone else for that matter could glean from a few receipts or scraps of paper.
Carrying the bundle to the sink, I opened my junk drawer and searched for matches.
Lighting one, I held it to the corner of several papers till it started to brown and curl.
Eventually, it caught flame. I lit another match and repeated the gesture.
As it started to smoke, the fire alarm went off.
Grabbing a broom, I smashed it with the handle till it went silent.
I snatched a bucket from under the sink and went into the bathroom, where I wrenched the top drawer out and dumped its contents into the bucket.
I did the same for the second and third, watching all my expensive Mac and Chanel makeup pile up.
It broke my heart, but it was bulky, and I needed to travel light.
I then took my make-up, hairbrushes, toothbrush, and curlers into the kitchen.
I opened the dishwasher door and pulled out the dish racks, then dumped all my beloved beauty products into the bottom.
Opening a bottle of bleach, I poured it over the pile.
Closing the door, I started the dishwasher.
I stripped the bed of its sheets and put them in the washer.
That should take care of any DNA. You can never be too careful.
It would be better to just burn the whole condo, but that wasn’t really an option.
Wrenching open the door to my closet, I headed to the secret panel behind a shoe shelf. I pulled free the black backpack—my go bag.
Checking its contents, I opened up a few shoe boxes which contained some hidden cash and jewels and shoved them into the bag.
I also made sure the gun Samara and I picked up in Mexico, and my pink pearl-handled stiletto knife, were there as well.
On second thought, I snatched up the knife and put it in the back pocket of my jeans so I could access it quickly.
Next, I went into the living room and ran my arm along the mantel, tossing my favorite lucky charm Happy Meal toys into my bag. Although, admittedly, the little plastic toys had yet to bring me much luck. Taking one last look around, I picked up my car keys and pulled open the door.
And screamed in terror.
Read Yelena and Damien’s story, Vicious Oath, Ivanov Crime Family, Book Two