7. Konstantin
7
KONSTANTIN
The water is darker than black. The orange dock lights in the distance bob and weave like fireflies. They aren’t moving. My boat is.
Before he left, Sima persuaded me to wait until all of the men are assembled. And as much as I wanted to rush forward before we’re all ready, I knew that he had a point.
But it didn’t make waiting any less torturous.
“On your word, Konstantin Yurevich.” The gravelly-voiced brigadier of my small vessel looks like he could hoist the anchor over his head if you dared him to.
I nod sharply. “Take us in, Branko.”
He shuffles to the front of the boat. It’s just big enough to fit me, Branko, and the men under his command. They linger near the front, hands on the guns at their waists, eyes on the distant cliffs. My attention zones there as well. The ominous shape is slow to form, easy to miss, and even easier to ignore.
But I know that my family awaits me just ahead.
Emily and Alisa.
Several other boats follow behind us as we move forward in the dark of night, and I find myself leaning forward.
“Keep back from the edge, Konstantin Yurevich.” Branko warns.
I wisely heed his warning, falling into the inky sea with the invisible rocks coming our way would be as good as guaranteeing death. The only thing more dangerous than that would be using light to guide us.
Although Sima has chosen our point of disembarkation on the southwestern corner of the island, we will still need to be as discreet as possible if we want to avoid detection.
The thought of my best friend and avtoritet suddenly has me wishing that he’s here with us as we get closer and closer. But he has a more important mission assigned to him.
He’s picked out the best men, I remind myself. And we still have the element of surprise, even with some diminished numbers.
Clouds shift overhead, blocking out the stars and the thin crescent of the moon, throwing us deeper into darkness.
Perfect.
Turning my face into the crisp, salty breeze, I brace for the boat to hit the rocky shore. When it does, it jars my bones from the impact. Stumbling, I cling to the curved edge. I’m damp from sea spray but nothing more.
“Are you ready?” I mutter to Branko.
He flashes me a wide grin. “Ready as ever, my pakhan.”
The waves muffle the whisper of voices. Jerking backward, I reach for my rifle, and accept a bandolier of grenades from Branko.
“Thought you might want these in case things get loud.”
A savage smile creeps up on my face .
More boats join us at the edge of the beach. Familiar faces swim into view from the darkness all around us. I ease my finger off the trigger.
“My pakhan,” one of the men greets me.
Looking them over one by one with my jaw set, I hold up a hand. In any other circumstance, I’d shout. But we didn’t get this far just to lose the element of surprise.
“Remember the plan. We’ll approach along the road towards the venue. Half of you will circle around in front with Branko, and the rest will go with me through the back. My wife and sister could be anywhere on the premise. I want you to call out your targets and don’t start lobbing grenades until we have them both. If one of you hurts either of them, I will leave your corpse for the birds. Ponimayete? ”
They hold up their fists in silent solidarity.
Adjusting my gun until it hangs comfortably at my side, I hop off the boat and onto the wet sand. Water laps at my shoes, soaking them, but I’m beyond caring about something so trivial.
If wet ankles are the worst I face tonight, I’ll be the luckiest bastard alive.
If I stay alive.
Narrowing my eyes, I shake aside the grim thought and jog up the shore. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness. The lights of the villa hanging high above are helpful too, as is the sound of celebratory music drifting down in the night. In a straight line, with me at the front, we move up the road.
The Villa Castiglione is situated on a massive cliff in the southern part of the island.
Sima said that there’d be guards posted on the terrace as well as by the front entrance. His info is as solid. Though I’d prefer him over just his intel .
He’s keeping the signet ring safe and securing the castle in Croatia. That’s as important as this fight.
Maybe more.
The thought of being so close to my goals tightens around my heart like a fist, and I have to force my breath to come harder. Focus. I need to be here, in the moment, but my mind is wandering back to the last minutes I had with Emily, and the guilt of what I’d done to her.
I hurt her.
Gleb, one of my soldiers taps my shoulder. He’s probably the youngest here tonight. His baby face holds a pair of strangely pensive brown eyes. He’s blessed by the ignorance of youth, the cloak of never having a near-death experience. That will change tonight.
“Konstantin Yurevich, I see flashlights up ahead.”
Glancing up the road that’s turned into a series of stone steps winding around the cliffside, I notice the glowing spheres dancing on the ground. “Good eye, Gleb.”
He beams proudly. “Should I?—”
“No.” His face falls. I clasp his shoulder. “We don’t want to alert anyone before we have to.”
Gleb’s smile returns as he grasps that I’m not rebuking him. He hurries down the line, speaking in a hushed tone to Antip. The short, reedy man with his tight-cropped black hair jogs past me, his rifle resting on his shoulder. He rounds the stairs, and when he’s out of view, I hold my breath.
The pop is soft enough that the ocean below and the music above eats up the sound. If I wasn’t straining for it, I’d almost miss it.
Antip returns, his frown giving no hint of his success. “Clear.”
Climbing the stairs takes longer than expected before we reach the first body. The Ferrata soldier was further away than I guessed. Gleb and another man drag the body off the steps, and hide it in the thin brush.
When the sun rises, the corpse will be obvious. But I have no intention of being here when that happens.
The second body is splayed on the steps with a half-foot blood trail streaking behind, showing how he tumbled down the stairs before succumbing. He’s added to the brush as well.
“Careful,” I warn everyone. “There will be more the closer we get.”
In my head, I’m imagining around five or ten sentries at the top of the cliff. When I reach the highest stair, lying flat on my belly to stay out of view, I count sixteen.
If they expected us to come, they seem terribly complacent.
That’s their problem. Peering at the guards, I catch one yawning into his hand. Many of the others are leaning on the wall or pillars near the front door. They’re closer to taking naps than preparing to fight.
The sound of music is growing louder now, and I can start picking out the general murmur of a crowd.
They won’t hear us coming. Breathing easier, I motion with my hand at the men behind me. Two masked men—our Ukrainian friends—approach with a box, unpack several drones, and start expertly attaching grenades to the altered cowling at the bottom.
One of them puts on a pair of control goggles, activates the controls, and gives me a thumbs up.
We’re not about to go into this blind.
At my signal, the drones buzz to life, rise into the air, and disappears into the night.
“Stairs are clear,” the drone operator says in a thick Ukrainian accent. “I see three men rounding a corner. They should be coming into view now. Sniper team at the ready. Be ready to engage on my mark.”
I press against the stone wall along with the rest of my men.
“Mark!” he hisses.
Three soft pops are heard.
“Clear!” the drone operator whispers. “You have a window. Go! Go! Go!”
We move as one, rushing up the stairs before anyone else can come. The drone operator activates his radio, and his voice crackles in my ear like a guardian angel.
“Hold up, we got a couple of people coming around.”
I pause, my breath hanging in my throat.
“Okay, they’re turning around. Keep going. The gate is coming up soon. Two guards.”
“Antip,” I call out softly. “Do you have eyes on them?”
“ Da .” Antip reports. He’s taken a position somewhere in the dark. “On your command, Konstantin Yurevich.”
“Kill them.”
One pop , then another.
The music is growing louder and louder now.
Rising, I sprint toward the terrace, tiny veins pulsing in my face, my ears, as the adrenaline comes awake. The music is unmistakably loud now. Here and there, I can hear the sound of
The Ferrata guard around the corner of the first stone pillar blends into the hanging ivy. He gasps at the sight of me, his features lighting up as I rapidly close the distance. Before he can react, I plunge my knife into his throat.
He falls down, biting bloody clods of dirt as his fingers claw at his opened throat.
I don’t look back .
“The rear gate is clear for now,” the drone operator’s voice sounds in my ear again. “But once you enter, there is a cluster of guards to the right.”
“Get the drones over the largest cluster,” I say. “And be ready to drop grenades on my command. It’s time to make our presence known.”
“We know what we’re doing, Konstantin Yurevich.” The drone operator laughs. “Don’t you worry.”
I raise a fist and the men fan out behind me. Gleb rushes up to the gate, and attach a small stick of dynamite to the door.
“Ready,” the drone operator tells me.
Gleb pulls back and gives me a thumbs-up as he raises the trigger in his other hand.
“Drop them.”
Explosions go off simultaneously as the drones drop their payload and Gleb hits the trigger. The gate is blasted open, and the sound of screams mingle in the air. The night comes alive with chaos and my men charge in, firing at anyone and everyone they see.
Distantly, I hear men yelling, voice erased by the onslaught of gunfire. Bullets careen off the stone pillars that surround the terrace, chipping the structures, coming close to hitting me. Barreling forward, I take out three more Ferrata soldiers in quick succession as they drag themselves across the ground.
The ocean glints in the star light behind me through the open-air gaps in the terrace. Whoever built this villa did so with loving hands. I dodge a puddle of gore, knocking over a set of woven chairs at a small table as I take out a grenade from the bandolier at my chest and throw it towards the nearest group of people .
The explosion sends a savage thrill through my heart as I make a beeline for the villa.
There! A pair of doors is directly ahead. It hits me too late that they’re already open. Motion blurs in the corner of my eye. A man close to my age, with an impeccably ironed suit and olive skin from growing up on the coast, levels a rifle at my head.
I fumble to face him, but I’m too slow. He crooks a triumphant grin, knowing he’s about to kill someone that will jump him through the ranks.
The price on my head is a pretty one.
But before he can pull the trigger, his cheek explodes in a pink mist and the gun clatters over the terrace. His surprise mirrors mine.
Gleb rushes up beside me
“Konstantin Yurevich! Are you okay?” he asks me.
I stare at the dead man a moment longer. “Eyes forward. We’re going inside.”
He radiates childish joy and pride, and a hint of the man he’ll grow into once he’s seen enough cruelties of belonging to our criminal world. Checking his gun, he hurries through the twin doors ahead of me. More of my men follow, and I hurry to jump in.
I switch to the radio. “Drone operator, what do you see?”
“A lot of dead bodies. They’re confused. We’re ready to put up the next batch of drones.”
“Do it. Kill as many as you can out here.”
“Gladly.”
The unmistakable buzzing sound of drones rushes overhead, and a few seconds later, more explosions. Fireballs rise up into the night, casting everything in an eerie orange. But I don’t give a shit about that as I burst into the villa.
Whatever alert the Ferrata are sounding isn’t helping them. Gunfire flashes and thunders. Corpses fill the villa, staining the expensive white carpet and leather couches. Rushing from room to room with my gun at shoulder height, I desperately search for signs of my sister and Emily.
“Pakhan!” one of my men yells for me.
I dart to where he’s waiting in a hallway large enough for an elephant to walk through. “Have you found them?”
He shakes his head with a grim frown. “Not yet. Maybe they knew we were coming and moved them.”
“No, they’re here. I know it. Keep searching.”
The villa is massive, and what rooms aren’t filled with dead guards are layered with the signs of opulent waste. Expensive clothing, furniture, glassware … weapons adorned with jewels or pearl handles. It’s a treasure trove for a greedy dragon.
Both Alisa and Emily must be a prize on top of the pile.
The thought grates me down to my marrow.
Where the fuck are they?
And come to think of it, where the fuck is Domenico?
Storming down a set of stairs that curve to a lower level, the ocean waves slamming angrily through the multiple windows become muffled until they’re nothing but whispers.
By the time I pace through each room at the bottom, I’m grinding my teeth. My skull hurts something awful. I touch it, half expecting a bullet I somehow missed to be embedded. One of the rooms is larger than the rest. There are no windows here. One of the textured walls has a painting that catches my eye.
Whoever painted it had an appreciation for horses. Wandering closer, I trace my fingers on the canvas. The darker stallion reminds me of my ride with Emily.
I won’t lose you today .
My pulse roars. This is more than anger. I let out a furious growl and round the corner.
And that’s when I see it.
A solid oaken door with a bolt locking it in place. I aim my rifle at it and give it two shots. Gunfire reverberates like thunder in the tiny room, and my ears scream from the noise. Bright sparks dance off the lock. I shoot again, the metal links snapping free, showering chunks of wood on the floor.
I give the solid wooden door a hard kick. Metal screams as the bolt is loosened but the hinges are well oiled.
People have come here recently.
This isn’t an abandoned room.
Shaking from exhilaration, I rush through the door.
Alisa kneels in a corner on a hip-high four-post bed. It’s a twin because that’s the only way any bed could fit through the skinny hall and into the closet-sized space. A single-shade lamp lights the smooth walls, glinting off the plastic gallon of water and candy wrappers.
She’s wearing a floor-length wedding dress that makes her look even smaller. Frailer. But there’s no weakness in her blue eyes when they lock on me. Her lips are pale, pressed tight, and her brow a mass of furrows.
“Kostya?” Her eyes widen for a moment when she recognizes me, and her lips start trembling as tears fall—hard and fast. “Is it really you? Is this real?”
“Aliska!” I croak, rushing to her side. The last time I saw her was in a wretched photo where she was bound and dirty, sweat clinging to the thick bangs on her forehead. Her hair is soft when it tickles my cheek. I hug her as hard as I dare, and then, when she starts to cry, I tighten my grip. “I’m here. It’s okay now.”
“How did you find me?” she asks through her sobs .
“Because I’m your big brother.” I manage a bitter chuckle. Cradling her cheeks, I smile at her while tears flow freely down her red cheeks. “There’s no place in the world they could have put you that would stop me from finding you.”
Her crying morphs into a broken, relieved kind of laughter, and then transforms into something fear. “He has Emily.”
“Where is she?” I ask.
Alisa shakes her head. “I don’t know. They brought us up from the basement this morning, but I’ve been kept here all day.”
“Gleb,” I call out.
“ Da! ”
“Take Alisa Yurevna outside and call for the helicopter. I need four men with me now.”
The boy nods and immediately rushes over to Alisa. Gently taking her hand in his, he walks with her towards the exit while chattering on the radio. Outside, more explosions and screams rise up as the drones continue to buzz overhead.
I’ll be sure to pay whatever these Ukrainians want, I think. Hell, I might even donate them as many drones as they want for their own war.
Four men rush over to my side.
“Pakhan.” One of them nods.
“We’re going to go find my wife.”
Outside, the music finally stops. And in their wake, the sound of exchanging gunfire and screams of dying men.
I glance down at my watch. It’ll only be minutes before the helicopter arrives.
I need to find Emily.