Chapter Twenty-One
In which it is Extraction Day.
Oksana…
Four days later…
An extraction day is always nightmarish.
My nervous system is overloaded with a painful, churning series of emotions; hope, anxiety, anticipation and then, lingering behind the others, outright terror that everything will go wrong.
Nothing ever has, nothing that Yvette and I couldn't fix in time, anyway. We've never had to rush like this, though. I'm worried that the Rossi bodyguards will be on high alert this close to the Don's sick plans for his wife and girls.
As I'm getting dressed to leave, Vadim is lounging on the couch in the master suite.
Shirtless.
Mrs. Christova lit a blaze in the fireplace when it started to rain, one of those unforgiving October storms with a wind that sends the rain slamming angrily against the windows.
Vadim is wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else, putting his feet up on the ottoman to warm them by the fire.
Now, I'm finding that my husband's body is driving the thoughts and fears right out of my mind. Even the outright terror.
He’s holding his favorite knife, the long silvery blade with a pattern of wavy lines, like water running over silver rocks. "It's Damascus steel," he had told me the first time I'd seen it. "This blade is over three hundred years old. Exceptionally sharp, superbly strong."
His long, capable fingers run a diamond sharpening stone over the blade. By the delicate way he's holding the knife, I can tell it's already wickedly sharp. The firelight is playing over the powerful lines of his shoulders and arms, thick biceps flexing as he hones the steel.
Suddenly, at least 50% of me - primarily located below my waist - wants to abandon today's plan and stay home with my husband. Take off my shirt, too, and slide next to him on the couch. Feel his muscles flex and enjoy how the firelight illuminates all his tattoos.
"I have a meeting with Yvette this afternoon," I say, attempting to sound casual. "We're going over next year's financial projections, which will be just as exciting as it sounds."
His gaze lifts from the blade to me, and he tilts his head slightly in question.
"Maybe you like cost benefit-risk conversions," I groan. "To me, it's only slightly more desirable than a root canal."
Nodding, he keeps his eyes on me as I pull my hair up into a ponytail, his hands still working the sharpening stone.
"If I were sharpening that knife, I would have cut off half my fingers by now," I chuckle nervously. "Even if I was paying very close attention. Maybe you should be looking at…"
There is something simmering in his glacier eyes, I don't know him well enough yet to understand it, but it feels like expectation.
"The… um. The meeting might go on for a while, is that all right with you?"
He nods again. "Take Slava with you."
"Of course."
He's still watching me, his hands are idle now, his blade resting on his thigh.
What would Vadim say if I told him what I really did when he thought I was making gift baskets for fundraisers or attending lunch meetings? Would he be proud of me? Or furious, and he'd order me to stop? Even worse, would he dismantle our network?
My phone rings and I dive for it, desperate to break the moment.
"One hour," Yvette says. "Are you ready?"
"As always," I say brightly, "I'll bring the pastries. Do you want the chocolate pinwheels again?"
"Lana's waiting for your signal," she says. "Good luck."
"Yes, see you on the other side of this budget meeting," I chuckle. "Ideally, there will be wine."
Stuffing my phone in my backpack and yanking on my boots, I smile brightly at Vadim. "Are you busy today?"
Shaking his head, he still gives me that unnerving look.
"Okay, well… See you soon."
Crooking a finger, he gestures for me to come closer. When I'm in reach, he takes my hand, pulling me close, my lips hovering over his. This close, I can see a dozen tiny shards of silver in his eyes. Putting a finger to the corner of his mouth, he waits.
"Oh, you want -"
His hand pulls me just a bit closer, my mouth lands on his and I gratefully sink into the kiss.
He tastes a bit like mint, the warmth of coffee and my lips open when he runs his tongue along them.
A breath escapes me in a moan and as I lean against his hard chest, everything goes fuzzy for a moment.
Unfortunately, he pulls away, eyeing me as he picks up the sharpening stone again.
"Tonight, then," I babble, feeling hot and ridiculously giddy. "See you tonight."
I leave Slava in the waiting area outside Yvette's office at the charity. "I apologize in advance, Slava. The nonprofit budget meetings are endless. It's going to be three or four hours."
He's a dour-looking man in his late thirties with iron gray hair, who eyes me for a long time before nodding and seating himself, hands on his knees, staring at the office door as I close it with a weak smile.
Yvette's already gone, meeting up with her people to extract Luciana's son.
I click an audio track on her computer, and it pipes through a speaker on her desk.
It's several hours’ worth of muffled voices and the occasional chuckle or two.
Out in the waiting room, Slava will hear what sounds like the world's most boring budget meeting.
It had worked just fine when it came to Father's bodyguards, who would always settle in for a long, tedious wait.
Swiftly putting on my makeup and wig, I leave through a hidden back door in Yvette's office. It opens into an alley, then it's just a quick run to pick up the van parked on the next street.
Lana and her three associates are there at the meeting point, right on time.
She's a short, no-nonsense woman in her early forties, I know her by reputation.
Efficient and a good shot. The three other women are professionals Yvette says she's used in the past. Marie, Tooka, and Carol listen, clearly indifferent, as I outline the extraction plan again.
"It is crucial that we scoop this woman and her daughters up now," I emphasize. "We won't get another chance."
We're all in sensible, non-descript jeans and boots, practical and nothing that stands out. I'm wearing glasses and a short, black-haired wig, with some basic prosthetics to change the shape of my nose and chin.
If anyone in the crime world found out that Yvette and I were the ones behind the disappearances… I shudder. The torture and murders wouldn't stop with us. They'd go after our families for retribution.
The Silk and Sage Spa is about a mile from The Children's Museum, where Yvette and her team will pick up Luciana's son and his nanny. We'll be met by the next people handling the route and they'll all reunite on the third hand-off. The storm has let up a bit as we pull into the parking lot.
"I'm sending Marie to circle the spa," Lana says, her finger tapping the steering wheel. "She'll report back when she's verified their location."
"Good." I crawl awkwardly into the cargo area of the van we're using, changing into a spa uniform, along with Tooka, a snarly-looking redhead.
"Why are they always aqua?" Tooka growls, writhing to pull the scrubs up over her hips.
"And itchy," I agree. "Headsets in."
There's a crackle and Marie speaks softly. "Only two bodyguards, lucky that. Both in the waiting area. One has his cigarette pack out. Let's wait to make sure he's not going to circle the building to smoke."
Two precious minutes. I check my watch, every second drags like a fork scraping across a plate.
"No, he's staying in front," Marie says. "You're on."
Lana lifts her gun, pulling out the ammo clip, checking it and slamming it back in. "Seven minutes?"
"Let's try to make it five," I say. "We're running behind."
As Tooka and I stroll painfully slowly down the sidewalk, looking like two employees just heading back after lunch, I text Montel.
Oksana: We're going in the back. You've looped the security feed in by the exit and in the hall?
Montel: Just finished the museum, it took me an extra minute. On it now. Take your time going in.
Gritting my teeth, I slow down, Tooka matching my stride.
My phone buzzes.
Montel: Got it. Go.
Luciana and her daughters, Gulia and Chiara, are sitting in the "serenity den," still in their sage-colored robes. Luciana shoots up from her chair as we step into the room.
"Is everything okay?" she whispers.
"Everything's going just the way it should," I say, pulling out leggings and hoodies for them. "We've got sixty seconds." Gulia and Chiara rip the robes off and haul the leggings on like they're ditching Bible school and heading to a rave.
Voice muffled as she pulls on the hoodie, Luciana asks, "What about Gio?"
"I'll be notified the instant they're in the car and heading down North Lake Shore Drive," I assure her. "Let's focus on getting you three out of here."
My heart nearly stops when another attendant passes us in the hallway. "Do they have an appointment?" she sneers, looking at the three of them, huddled in cheap sweatshirts.
"They're from the cleaning people," I say. "I need to show them where all the stuff is."
"Oh," she says, dismissing them and heading back toward the front of the spa.
Oksana: The coast is still clear?
Montel: You're golden. Get out of there.
This part is always the worst, when we're out in the open, the getaway vehicle is right there, so close, but anything could happen. My nerves stretch taut and one of the girls, Guila, I think, is whimpering very softly.
"You're doing great," I murmur. "Keep walking."
Lana edges the van around a double-parked delivery truck and pulls up. The door slides open and I get everyone inside in seconds. As we pull away from the spa, I get a text from Yvette.
Yvette: Simple pickup. On our way.
I heave a deep sigh and tell Luciana. She and the girls huddle together, hugging each other and crying softly.
Changing back into my jeans, I send a silent 'thank you' out into the Universe.
The rain picks up again and the drive to the meeting place is miserable. Lana curses as the tires slip on the wet road. "Fucking Chicago weather," she snarls. "The bitch will never cooperate."
I stifle a laugh.
We finally pull up to the spot where we'll give Luciana and the girls into the safekeeping of Jim and Jane Morgan.
It's a field surrounded by trees close to the Kennedy Expressway.
Jane told me once that their ancestors were Quakers and an active part of the Underground Railroad back in the 1830's.
"It's a perfect fit for us," Jane had said, smiling serenely. This is their eleventh mission.
The muddy parking area by the field is empty. Checking my watch, I force myself to breathe slowly. "We're early," I say. "Good driving, Lana."
Marie squints. "I just saw their headlights."
"Okay, everyone out," I say with a smile at the girls. "Let's make this fast, all right?"
The rain has decided to be as spiteful as possible, hammering down as I help Luciana out of the van. She's shaking, but trying to hide it from her daughters. "Thank you," she whispers, her hoodie already soaked. "I don't know what to say."
"Say that you and the girls will live a long, happy life." I squeeze her cold hands.
"About that…" I hear the distinctive sound of a safety clicking off. It's a sound you never forget. Lana's pointing her gun at us. One by one, the others lift theirs, too.