Chapter 29 Vera #2
"The boxes are cleared." Misha's tone suggests this is old news. "Where are the rest?"
"Scattered. Some in the parking structure, some watching the exits. She's trying to get everyone back together."
The radio in Pasha's hand crackles with static and voices speaking rapid Russian.
I catch fragments of conversation, reports about police presence and instructions to avoid certain areas of the facility.
Sonya's crew is falling apart. Their coordination has been broken by the unexpected resistance they've encountered.
Misha reaches for the radio, keeping his gun pointed at Pasha's chest. "Tell her you found the woman. Tell her you're bringing her to the premium level."
"She'll know I'm lying."
"Then make it convincing." The gun moves closer to Pasha's face. "Because if you don't, you'll never have to worry about lying again."
Pasha takes the radio with shaking hands and keys the transmit button. His voice wavers slightly as he speaks, but he manages to sound reasonably calm. "Sonya, this is Pasha. I found her. The woman. She was hiding in the maintenance area."
The response comes immediately, Sonya's voice sharp with interest. "Where are you now?"
"I'm in the service tunnel near the main electrical. I'm bringing her up through the freight elevator."
"Good. Bring her to box twelve. And Pasha? If she tries to run, shoot her in the legs. I need her alive, but she doesn't need to be comfortable."
The radio goes silent, and Pasha looks at Misha with desperate eyes, clearly hoping his cooperation will earn some consideration.
Instead, Misha's gun swings toward him and I see the violence in his eyes. "Thank you for your help."
The shot blasts through the tunnel, and Pasha crumples to the concrete floor next to his companion. Blood pools around both bodies, mixing with the industrial fluids that are smeared on the ground.
I stare at the dead men, my stomach clenching at the brutality of their execution.
These weren't soldiers or hardened criminals.
They were functionaries, middle management in a criminal organization that used them as expendable resources.
Their deaths serve a tactical purpose, but the coldness behind Misha's actions reminds me of the world I've entered by loving him.
"You didn't have to kill him," I say quietly.
"Yes, I did." Misha holsters his weapon and takes my hand again. "He would have warned them the moment we let him go. Now Sonya thinks she's getting what she wants, which gives us the advantage."
We leave the bodies behind and continue through the tunnel system toward the freight elevator that will carry us back to the main level.
The grinding noise of the chains and belts whirring grows louder as we approach the elevator shaft.
The elevator doors wait at the end of the corridor, metal doors scarred by years of heavy use.
Misha presses the call button, and the machinery groans to life with the protest of overworked motors and cables. The car descends toward us with loud clunking noises and I cling to his arm, slightly frightened by the volume of it.
"When we get up there," Misha says as we wait, "I want you to stay behind me until we have Sonya secured. She's desperate now, which makes her dangerous."
"What if she tries to run?"
"She won't get the chance." His blue eyes meet mine, and I see the predator that lives beneath his civilized exterior. "This ends today."
The elevator arrives with a metallic clang, and the doors slide open to reveal an interior lined with protective padding and marked with warnings about weight limits and emergency procedures. We step inside, and Misha presses the button for the main level as the doors close behind us.
The ascent feels eternal, each floor marked by a gentle vibration as we pass through the building's structure. My ears pop as we rise, and I swallow to clear the pressure that builds in my sinuses.
"Whatever happens up there," I say quietly, "I want you to know that I love you."
Misha's hand finds mine in the dim elevator lighting. "I love you too. Which is why I'm going to make sure Sonya never threatens our family again."
The elevator shudders to a stop, and the floor indicator shows we've reached the main level. Through the doors, I can hear the distant sound of sirens and the ongoing chaos of emergency response teams dealing with the aftermath of the shootout.
Misha leads me down the hallway toward the main floor, his gun drawn but held low to avoid attracting attention from any law enforcement personnel who might be in the area.
We move with careful steps, checking each intersection and doorway for threats before exposing ourselves to potential crossfire.
The betting floor has transformed into a crime scene.
Yellow tape blocks access to areas where shootouts occurred, and evidence markers identify bullet impacts and blood spatter patterns.
Paramedics work on injured civilians while police officers take statements from witnesses who remained after the initial panic subsided.
Through the chaos, I spot Rolan near the main entrance, speaking with a man in an expensive suit. I’m guessing it's the fixer that Misha mentioned, the Vetrov family's internal investigator who was sent to determine the source of the betting losses.
"There." Misha points toward the premium level, where broken windows and damaged fixtures mark the locations where Sonya's shooters made their stand. "Box twelve."
We climb the stairs to the premium level, passing more police tape and evidence markers.
The carpet shows dark stains where blood soaked through the expensive fibers, and bullet holes punctuate the walls at irregular intervals.
The smell of cordite hangs in the air, lingering long after the violence that erupted in this supposedly civilized space.
Box twelve sits at the end of the corridor with its door standing slightly ajar. Light spills through the gap, and I can hear voices speaking in low tones. Sonya's voice, recognizable despite the stress that roughens her usually smooth delivery.
Misha signals for me to wait while he approaches the door. He moves in a fluid motion, his body positioned to present the smallest possible target while maintaining clear sight lines into the room beyond.
The door swings open at his touch, revealing a luxury box equipped with leather seating, a private bar, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the empty racetrack. Sonya Radich stands near the windows, her navy coat torn and stained with dust from her escape through the facility's upper levels.
She's not alone. Two men flank her position, both holding pistols trained on the doorway where Misha has appeared. Their faces show the tension of cornered animals, dangerous because they have nothing left to lose.
"Ms. Kovalenko." Sonya's voice carries across the room with false warmth. "How good of you to join us. Please, come in. We have so much to discuss."
Misha enters the box with his gun raised, tracking between the two armed men. I follow behind him, my heart pounding as I face the woman who has manipulated my life for months.
"Sonya." I step forward, surprising myself with the steadiness in my voice. "We need to talk."
Her smile is as cold as winter steel. "Yes, we do. You've caused me considerable inconvenience, dear. Time to settle accounts."
The confrontation I've been dreading is finally here.
In this luxury box high above the racetrack, surrounded by the aftermath of violence and betrayal, I'll face the woman who used my desperation to fuel her criminal ambitions.
The woman who turned my love for my brother into a weapon against the man I love.
And before this ends, only one of us will walk out of this room alive.