47. Luca
LUCA
Everything so far has been the exact opposite of what we expected.
Our kidnapping plan has inverted, and now we’re the victims, at Masha’s mercy.
She’s not unhinged, but seems to gather strength from every twist to our plan she’s instigated that goes exactly as she envisioned.
In her books, everything is going swimmingly.
For now. I’m not sure if Masha has realized yet how this type of thing usually works. It dominoes into chaos, which doesn’t bode well for any of us. I’m used to cleaning up fuckups, but being in the center of one makes me nervous for whatever comes next.
There are risks she won’t have considered, and something or someone is going to come and tsunami her carefully laid plans.
Things never go as you’ve imagined they will.
Look at us Scalera boys, losing Alex, almost losing Matteo during a standard harbor delivery that ended in a police shootout, changing our lives forever.
She doesn’t answer Milana’s question about the cooler box in the trunk, but seeing her reaction to its contents earlier, I prefer not to know.
Working on a need-to-know basis has its perks.
You only get to see the dark depravity of someone’s hardened, blistered soul at the exact moment you need to.
And I bet, at that point, everything is going to make perfect sense.
“We should get going.” Masha indicates with her gun for me to get in behind the wheel of our new car. “It’s getting late, and we need to set the stage at the hunting lodge.”
Fuck this hunting lodge. I’m not here for side quests.
I could easily overwhelm her, and she knows it.
If it weren’t for Zoe strapped to her chest, a little human shield, and the gun she holds with an expert grip, I would have tried already.
Zoe is her trump card, but there’s more going on backstage than I anticipated.
This woman is the x in our equation. I need to solve her as quickly as possible so we can grab Zoe and get the fuck out of here.
I slide into the driver’s seat and find the key fob in the compartment by the gear shift.
No guns now. Only the one Masha is wielding.
The Chertnikov gun is gone too, and with it the cabin bag it came in.
Not to mention the satellite phone linking us with Benedict.
Fucked is a euphemism for our situation.
All I can do right now is keep going and wait for the right moment.
Pray that Masha isn’t going to do something crazy.
While she’s got Zoe strapped to her chest and wielding the only gun, I have to play by her rules.
“Doesn’t she need a diaper change?” Milana asks as she gets into the car.
Masha waits for us both to be strapped in before she slides into the back seat, gun trained on my head. Nice. I joked with Matteo weeks ago about putting me out of my misery with a bullet to the head. Be careful what you wish for.
“I changed her just before you came. She should be okay. This is just out of her routine. I have a bottle for her.”
Fuck my life. We’re basically heading into the Russian wilderness, a crying baby on hand to attract every predator out there, and with a bag with only three days of supplies for her.
Shaking my head, I start the car, switch on the headlights, and reverse out. “I’m going back the way we came and then continuing to the hunting lodge.”
“Yes,” Masha says. “It’s about an hour and a half’s drive from here.”
“Okay.” I continue to the highway. Let this party play out as Masha planned it. At some point, I’ll make sure Milana and I exit this stage with Zoe safe in my wife’s arms.
Next to me, Milana is tense, squeezing her hands, gripping the edge of her coat.
Zoe is fussing in the back, and it’s destroying her.
All she wants is to hold her child, but we can’t do anything.
If things go wrong, I’d rather kill myself than hand her Zoe’s dead body to hold one last time. The risk isn’t worth it.
It turns quiet in the car as Masha manages to feed Zoe with one hand. I watch her, aware that her focus on me hasn’t wavered. The gun is still pointed at me, cocked. And she called me a trigger-happy cowboy.
We cross miles in strained silence, nobody talking, tense. The snow eases, then swoops in again in heavy gusts. I won’t be surprised if over two feet fall overnight. Maybe more. Luckily, I’m no stranger to driving in these conditions and would even tackle them on a bike if I had to.
A bike. In the barn. Two helmets.
Who knows what Masha meant.
I don’t have time to dwell on it though, as Masha gives me instructions to get off the highway.
Traffic is quieter now, and I can’t see much in the dark except the road.
When the car’s headlights hit the forest surrounding us, spooky images of dense pines and spruce lining the road flit past, thick and impenetrable.
As we take two more turn-offs, the road becomes narrower, and the haunting forest seems to swallow us.
We’re hugged by trees on both sides, their overlapping branches keeping the snow from falling thick to the ground, allowing me to still drive the country lane with ease.
“What do they hunt here?” I ask, wanting to know what we could possibly face at night should this car break down.
“Bears. Wild boar. Moose.”
I nod. No wolves, but I bet there could be some around. Without a weapon, I feel exposed. I have to disarm Masha.
We pass an old sign, but it’s discolored and has rusted loose from its nails. Not a warm welcome, then.
“How far are we?” I hate this guessing game, and right now, we seem to be driving eyes wide open into a trap.
“Five minutes,” Milana says.
She’s been here before. That’s worth something.
Fuck this shit. I take my foot off the gas and let the car come to a stop by itself. In the headlights, the road in front of us is covered with a dusting of snow—enough to tell me nobody has been down this road in the past half an hour, but before that? I have no idea.
“Why are you stopping?” Masha asks, that fucking barrel back on my biceps.
Thank God Zoe has dozed off again, probably calmed by the hum of the car and the wipers battling the steady snowfall.
I kill the car’s engine.
“What happens when we get there?” I turn and try to meet her gaze in the dark. It’s black outside. If it weren’t for the car’s lights, we’d see nothing.
“We set the stage.”
“For what?”
“So we can blow it up, in their faces.”
Fucking riddles. “You know we could be ambushed, driving in there? Those men in the black van could have back up stationed here.”
“Nobody comes here. Not since they cut the electricity and poisoned the lake years ago. It’s a dead man’s hunting ground now.”
Fucking Bratva. Always seem to go the extra mile. “How did they poison the lake?”
“Arsenic. Whatever you do, don’t go skinny dipping or drink the water.”
Jesus. “There’s no power?”
“There’s a generator and enough fuel to burn the whole place down. Plus candles and flashlights and a wood fireplace. Everything is stocked up.”
“We’re not spending the night?” Milana turns to her, eyes wide, tone saying it all.
“That’s not the plan.” She pokes me in the arm again. “Get going.”
I stall.
Milana shifts in her seat and sighs. “Can we just go? The sooner we’re in, the sooner we’re out, whatever this madness is.”
My princess is getting fed up too, but doesn’t she sense we might be walking into a trap? A trap we could avoid by taking a minute to check out the lodge from a safe distance.
With a sigh, I start the car again. She’s right and there’s no chance in hell Masha would allow me to go scout our surroundings first. Until we’re in it, we can’t react. And we can’t get out of it. At Masha’s mercy, we need to go forward and through this fuckery.
As we inch down the road, I wish I could throw the headlight beams left and right to look for anybody lurking in the woods, snipers aimed at us.
My sixth sense is on high alert as a log structure comes into view.
I can’t see much, but it looks like something similar to what you’d find in the backcountry in the States or Canada.
A typical log cabin. It’s big though, nothing to scoff at.
I’m still trying to make out the structure when the car swerves and skids. A popping sound seems to whisper into the night. I jolt as pins and needles burst out on my skin.
The car comes to a stop, and I clutch the steering wheel. Breathe.
Another pop. The snow dampens the sounds, but there’s no mistaking it.
Those were gunshots, bullets taking out our tires.
Fuck. My stomach turns. It’s not moose or bears or wild boar they’re after.
We’re the prey.