Vadim
My most trusted man, Malik, is in the passenger seat, the others split between the two vehicles.
Nobody talks.
There's nothing to say that hasn't already been said in the briefing I held twenty minutes prior.
The property sits at the end of the track, surrounded by nothing but scrub brush and the dark quiet of the Nevada desert.
No neighbors.
No passing traffic.
No potential witnesses.
Farkas chose a good place to hide out, I'll give him that.
I've been imagining this moment for months, ever since Preston's house exploded in front of our eyes. If we'd left my place just a few minutes earlier that day, and if Ellie hadn't gone for a run, they'd both be dead.
My jaw clenches at the thought.
I'll be damned if I leave Preston's safety to chance or luck anymore. I have to finish what I should have finished with Farkas the night I wound up in The Butterfly Lounge.
I've been thinking about exacting my revenge even more since my poisoning. The thought of Preston walking in on me, slumped over, minutes away from death. I never want to put him through that kind of ordeal ever again.
Now's my chance to right all of Farkas's wrongs.
He should have never gone after Preston. That was a huge miscalculation on his part. Almost as big as W?adek's, thinking he wouldn't get caught selling me out.
His plan, as it turns out, was to undermine me so much my father fired me and put him in the head of security role. It's such a pathetic, petty reason it's almost disappointing.
That didn't happen, obviously.
Instead, my father seized all his assets and put him on a plane back to Poland where he'll be lucky if he can get a job as a slaughterhouse worker. His reputation is ruined. No criminal network will touch him now.
My father could have had him killed, but instead, he's given him a long, miserable life as punishment. Hard to say which is the crueler outcome.
While I couldn't do anything to W?adek personally since that had already been taken care of, I did reach out to his wife who, thanks to the information and evidence I supplied her about W?adek's predilection for prostitutes—I spared her the gory specifics because that would just have been cruel—is now his ex-wife.
Malik taps my arm once.
The property is coming up ahead on the left, a low dark shape against the sky, a single light visible in one window.
Four hundred yards from the gate, we stop, kill the engines, and slip out of the cars without closing the doors all the way.
Moving in complete silence, we set off on foot through the scrub brush. The desert is dark tonight, no moon. The temperature has fallen sharply, sitting in the low forties. I barely notice the biting dry cold. All I'm focused on is finishing Farkas off.
Malik falls in on my left, two men behind us, the fifth hanging back to watch the vehicles. For big men, we're all incredibly quiet, our footfalls barely audible.
"Fuck," I hiss when I spot the camera on the gate post before Malik does.
A small red light, barely visible, angled toward the approach road.
I raise my fist.
Everyone stops.
"He knows we're here," I say quietly.
Malik looks at the camera then at me. "Do we pull back?"
"No."
We've come too far.
Farkas has been running for months, and tonight that ends, whether he's prepared or not. I signal the team to split, two going wide around the left side of the property, Malik and I taking the right.
We move faster now.
The element of surprise may be gone, but I am not giving up. Malik and I hug the fenceline. Farkas's guard comes around the corner of the property without seeing us until it's too late.
Malik steps into him before he can raise his weapon, and that's the end of that.
I hear a short scuffle on the far side of the property.
Then silence.
A signal comes through my earpiece two seconds later.
One tap.
Perimeter clear on the left as well.
If Farkas had more guards, they'd be out here now.
Which means, he's all alone inside the house.
We breach through the front door fast and low, Malik on my shoulder. The hallway is dark, a strip of light visible under a door at the far end.
We clear the first two rooms, both of them empty but with signs of recent occupation. There's food on the kitchen counter, a jacket thrown over a chair, a coffee cup still warm when Malik touches it.
We're in the third room when it happens.
Dmitri is in the rear when a door we already cleared opens behind him. The guard inside was waiting, pressed into the corner, waiting for us to pass. He gets Dmitri before Dmitri even knows he's there.
Malik spins and shoots. The guard drops onto the floor, joining Dmitri.
They're both dead.
Malik steps over the bodies without looking down and positions himself at the door at the end of the hall, back against the wall, weapon up.
There's only one way this ends now.
I reach the door and take the handle. With Malik by my side, I push through. Farkas is sitting in a chair in the center of the room, one leg crossed over the other, weapon resting across his knee.
He's not surprised. He's been expecting us since he clocked us on his camera.
There's a lamp on the table beside him, the only light in the room, which puts everything beyond him in shadow. Malik does a sweep to make sure there aren't any additional unwanted visitors with us.
He nods to me. We're alone.
I signal for him to leave me with Farkas. He nods again and goes, closing the door behind him.
I stand right in front of the fucker who assaulted Preston, blew up his house, and tried to kill me. My gun is pointed straight at his conniving, weasel head.
He's calm.
Not performatively calm, actually calm.
Maybe he knows how this ends and has accepted his fate. Or maybe I've underestimated him again, and he's even more of a psychopath than I originally thought.
"You're harder to kill than I expected," he finally says.
"You're harder to track down than I expected," I retort. "Although, admittedly, you did have an unfair advantage for a time there. You won't be seeing your buddy W?adek ever again."
His gun sits in his lap, but my eyes are on his hands. One movement toward the weapon, and I'm pulling the trigger.
I'm almost there as it is. I've never been one for fanfare or grand speeches. Get in, do the job, get out. That's how I usually operate.
There's just one thing left I'd like to know. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why you? I understand W?adek's motivation." As weak as it was. "But you're no one. Why get involved?"
"Money," he answers simply. "And because the Baranovs made it worth my while to make it worth W?adek's while."
"And what do they want from us this time?"
"Only thing they've ever wanted—to keep you Piotrowski scum out of Vegas."
A muscle ticks in my cheek.
Farkas is watching my face the way people watch faces when they're trying to provoke a reaction out of someone.
I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of thinking his meaningless words are making any impact on me. I keep the SIG aimed at him, my face blank.
"And how's Preston doing these days?"
I stay completely still, determined not to give him anything. "Careful."
He sneers at me, tilting his head.
"Such a shame, isn't it? Losing his sight at his age. That must be difficult. For both of you."
I hate that he's found out about that.
"That's nothing you need to concern yourself with."
"I have a proposal," he says, his tone bordering on conversational, like we're having a chitchat about what to order for dinner and I'm not pointing a gun at him. "You turn around, take your men with you, and walk out of here. Preston stays safe."
"Preston is safe."
Farkas pauses. "I still have one of my men on him. Have the whole time. One call from me and…"
His hand goes up.
My finger tightens on the trigger.
He watches my face carefully, looking for the crack. Then he gives a small, condescending wave. "Bye, bye Preston."
Rage burns through my veins. I stare him down, unblinking.
"Think about it," he adds.
I think about it for exactly the time it takes me to pull out my phone and send Malik one word. The reply comes back in seconds.
Preston's detail has eyes on him. He's in my apartment. He's safe.
I put the phone away.
Something crosses Farkas's face. The calculation behind his eyes changes. Maybe he realizes his bluff has failed.
Knows I know.
Knows what that means.
"You should have left Preston out of it," I mutter.
His hand moves toward his knee.
I fire my weapon.
Farkas doesn't fall dramatically. He jerks once with the impact and then just stops, the chair holding him in place.
A heavy silence fills the room.
I lower the SIG.
Malik appears in the doorway.
One glance at Farkas, one nod to me.
I take one final look at the man who had the audacity to try and use Preston as leverage to get to me.
I feel nothing.
Once, that would have been normal. I would've completed the job, whatever it entailed, and felt exactly this. Empty.
That emptiness used to drive me to places like The Butterfly Lounge, looking for something to fill it without knowing that's what I was doing. The feeling of nothing used to be all there was, all I was capable of.
Now it's not.
Preston did that.
He made me capable of feeling, talking, opening myself up, and being vulnerable with another person. Now I have something to follow the nothing. Preston, home, and a future together.
We've lost Dmitri tonight, and I'll carry that with me for as long as I live. But right now, I take out my phone and find Preston's name.
Me: It's over. I'm coming home.
Sent.
I pocket the phone and walk out of the room without looking back.