Chapter 24 #2
"Survive," I say firmly. My hand moves to my still-flat stomach. "Whatever it takes, we're going to survive this."
"Does that mean—"
"It means I'm keeping it." The decision feels right the moment I say it out loud.
"You'll be bringing a child into a war."
"I know." The fear is real, visceral.
"Then you have to tell him."
"I know." The thought terrifies me almost as much as Roman's hunters. "But not yet. Not until we're safer. The last thing he needs is to be worried about this."
"Kira, you'll be showing in a few months. You can't hide this forever."
"Soon," I promise. "I'll tell him soon. Just let me figure out how first."
"For what it's worth, I think you'll be a good mother."
"You do?"
"You've been mothering me for years. You're fierce and protective and willing to do anything for the people you love. That's exactly what a child needs."
Tears prick my eyes. Damn hormones. "I'm terrified."
"That's probably a good sign." She helps me stand. "Come on. You need to eat something. For the baby."
I follow Anya out of the bathroom just as Maksim walks in. I see the concern. And maybe a little anger.
"You okay?" he asks.
“Yes. It was just a quick five-minute walk. I was careful.”
His gaze lingers, like he knows I'm not telling him everything. But he doesn't push.
Not yet, anyway.
Maksim
The intelligence gathering takes three days.
But by the end of it, I have a picture of what we're facing.
And it's worse than I thought.
I hate having to trust others. The men are all strangers to me, but Semyon has vouched for them.
I considered brining in some of Kira’s people, but I couldn’t be sure they would be loyal to her or me.
If I was able to pull them from her as easily as I did, I didn’t like the odds they wouldn’t move to Roman’s side.
That meant we were working with a very small crew. I knew the odds weren’t in our favor. But we were fighting for survival. That gave us a little more motivation.
"He's consolidating power," Semyon explains as we sit in a parked car overlooking one of Roman's warehouses. "Using our escape as an excuse to crack down on anyone who might have helped us. Three families have been hit already."
I watch through binoculars as Roman's men load trucks. Heavy crates. Weapons, probably. Preparing for something big.
"He's planning a sweep," I realize. "Going to flush us out by hitting everyone who might be harboring us."
"That's my assessment too." Semyon checks his phone—another update from his network. "We've got maybe a week before he's organized enough to execute. After that, every safe house in Moscow becomes a target."
"Then we can't keep hiding." The conclusion is obvious. "We have to go on offense. Hit him before he hits us."
"With what army?" Semyon's voice is practical. "We've got maybe thirty people willing to move against him. He's got three hundred. Better weapons. Better positions."
"But we've got something he doesn't." I lower the binoculars. "Legitimacy. Evidence of his crimes. And desperation."
"Desperation isn't an advantage."
"It is when the alternative is death." I meet his eyes. "We can't win a conventional war. So, we don't fight one. We do what he did to me—we play dirty. We expose him to the families. Turn his allies against him. Make him the target instead of us."
"That's a long shot."
"Got a better idea?"
Semyon doesn't. Because there isn't one. We're outgunned, outmanned, and running out of time.
Which means our only option is to be smarter. Faster. More ruthless than Roman expects.
"The heads of the families meet in five days," Semyon says after a moment. "Annual gathering. All the major families will be there."
"Perfect." The pieces start clicking together in my mind. "We crash the meeting. Present the evidence publicly. Force them to choose sides."
"That's insane. The security will be—"
"Tight. I know." I start the car. "Which is why we need the next few days to plan this perfectly. One shot. We either expose Roman and turn the families against him, or we die trying."
"Those are terrible odds."
"Better than hiding until he finds us." I pull out onto the street. "And better than spending the rest of our lives running.”
“We could still try and get out of the country,” he offers. “I’ve got a guy.”
“You and I both know that even if we manage to cross the border, we won’t survive long. I’m not thinking about us.”
“The girls,” he murmurs.
“Sorry, you’re my friend, but if it comes between you and Kira, I’m going to save her.”
He smirks. “Asshole.”
“Just being honest.”
I'm three blocks from the safe house when I notice the car.
Black sedan. Tinted windows. Two cars back, matching my speed perfectly. When I slow, it slows. When I turn, it turns.
"We've got company," I say quietly.
Semyon's hand moves to his weapon. "How many?"
"One car that I can see. Could be more." I take another turn, watching the mirror. The sedan follows. "They're not being subtle about it."
"Roman's men?"
"Who else?" I scan the street ahead, looking for options. "They're herding us. Away from the safe house."
Semyon pulls out his phone. "I'm calling the girls. Warning them."
"No." I grab his wrist. "If they've tapped our phones, that tells them exactly where to find Kira and Anya. Radio silence until we lose these bastards."
He curses but puts the phone away.
The sedan accelerates suddenly, pulling up alongside us. The rear window rolls down, and I see the gun barrel before I see the man holding it.
"Down!" I shout, jerking the wheel hard right.
Gunfire erupts. The rear window explodes inward, safety glass raining down on us. I floor the accelerator, the car lurching forward as bullets punch through the trunk.
"Return fire!" I'm weaving through traffic now, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for my weapon.
Semyon leans out his window, firing at the pursuing sedan. His shots hit the windshield, spider-webbing the glass, but the car doesn't slow.
More gunfire. This time from ahead of us.
A second car pulls out of an alley, blocking the street. Two men lean out the windows, assault rifles raised.
"Hold on!" I crank the wheel left, jumping the curb. Someone screams. The car bounces violently, my wounded shoulder screaming in protest.
We're back on the street, but now both sedans are pursuing. And I hear sirens in the distance—Moscow police responding to the gunfire.
"This is bad," Semyon says unnecessarily, reloading.
"I'm aware." I take another sharp turn, tires squealing. "We need to lose them before they force us into a kill box."
"Any brilliant ideas?"
"Working on it." I'm scanning the area. We're in the industrial district—warehouses, factories, narrow streets. Plenty of places to lose pursuers.
There’s an alley between two warehouses. Barely wide enough for a car.
I don't hesitate. I jerk the wheel hard, aiming for the gap.
"Are you insane?" Semyon braces himself against the dashboard.
"Probably."
We shoot into the alley. The side mirrors scrape against brick walls on both sides. Sparks fly. Metal screams. But we fit—barely.
Behind us, the first sedan tries to follow. I hear the crunch of metal as it wedges itself between the walls, stuck.
"One down," I mutter, accelerating through the narrow passage.
We burst out the other side into a loading area. I take a hard right, then left, weaving through the maze of industrial buildings.
"Did we lose them?" Semyon twists in his seat, checking behind us.
"Maybe. But they know this area as well as we do." I'm already planning three moves ahead.
"So what's the play?"
"We ditch the car. Go on foot. Circle back to the safe house a different way."
I pull into an underground parking garage. I park between two delivery vans and shut off the engine.
Silence. Just our breathing and the tick of cooling metal.
"Give it two minutes," I whisper. "Make sure they didn't follow us in."
We sit in the dark, weapons ready. My heart pounds against my ribs. My shoulder throbs where the stitches pulled during the chase.
Footsteps echo from somewhere above us. Multiple sets. Searching.
Semyon and I lock eyes. He nods. We ease the doors open as quietly as possible and slip out.
The parking garage is a concrete maze. We move through shadows, weapons up, checking corners. The footsteps are getting closer.
I spot an exit sign—stairs leading to street level. We move toward it.
"There!" A shout from behind us.
Gunfire erupts. Bullets spark off concrete pillars. Semyon and I return fire as we run for the stairs.
We hit the stairwell at full speed, taking steps three at a time despite my injuries screaming in protest. Behind us, our pursuers crash through the door.
Up. We need to go up, not down. Get to street level where there are witnesses, cameras, reasons for them not to shoot openly.
We burst through the door onto the street. Afternoon crowds. People shopping. Normal life.
Our pursuers can't risk a public shootout. Not with this many witnesses. The bratva doesn’t have that much power. The police would love a reason to take us all in.
"Walk," I tell Semyon quietly. "Don't run. Blend in."
We merge into foot traffic, moving at a normal pace despite every instinct screaming to sprint. I glance back once and see three of Roman's men at the garage entrance, scanning the crowd.
"This way." Semyon leads us through a maze of back streets he apparently knows better than I do.
I hate being on foot. I feel exposed.
We walk for an hour with no one trying to kill us. Along our walk, we’ve pulled on different coats, added sunglasses and hats.
“We need to get back,” I say.
We cut through another alley and make our way back to the building. A few of the men Semyon trusts are standing outside.
“Good?” Semyon asks.
“Where’s the car?” One asks as he looks around.
Idiot. It’s not like it’s hiding in my back pocket.
“Had some trouble,” Semyon replies. “How are things here?”
“Quiet.”
We head inside and up to the apartment.