Chapter Thirty-Two
In which things are scary and sad but at least there is a cute baby.
Vadim…
When Oksana tells me about her encounter with the man with the Greek accent, the expression on my face makes her flinch.
My wife has never appeared to be afraid of me, but this time I didn't hide my rage well enough. Pulling her onto my lap immediately, I wrap my arms around her, sitting quietly for a minute until I can get my fury under control.
"You did nothing wrong," I say, holding her slightly tighter than is probably comfortable.
Something inside me feels desperate to keep her close.
As if she can be pulled away from me if I don't. Having my arms around her also prevents me from stabbing her bodyguards.
Marlen reported the exchange at the party to me, but nothing about a Greek accent or the menace Oksana felt.
She has never learned to hide her emotions, at least from me. Her responses are always clear, because her beautiful face is so expressive. They should have known. They should have seen it. Knowing that she will be unhappy if I slaughter her bodyguards, I force myself to look less murderous.
"I should have placed his accent there, at the party," she says, pushing her hair back angrily. "He was right there. He wanted me to know who he was, to guess, at least." Taking a shaky breath, she says, "They know I'm the one of the women they're hunting, don't they?"
Blind fury rages through my bloodstream, and it takes me a minute to answer. She's staring at me anxiously, and I owe her the truth. "The Black Kynigós will have narrowed down the list to a few names by now."
"Yvette!" She tries to jump up and I tighten my hold. "I have to call her."
"Take a moment," I rub her back. "Let's talk first. I know she's safe. I checked out her security myself, they're very good."
"Vadim, I can't stop thinking about these families," she says, slumping against me. "When everything fell apart, Yvette was talking to a couple of other women who were asking for help. One of them is pregnant. How can we stop?"
No woman or child deserves to suffer. But Oksana's safety is the only thing that matters to me.
I know telling her this will not be comforting.
"You've put your life on the line twenty times or more," I remind her. "Those women and their families have gone on to live long, happy lives. Can that be enough?"
"You remember what this felt like," she says flatly, looking me in the eye. "Beaten and tortured. Every day. You were so sure your family was coming for you that you made me believe it. These women don't have anyone coming for them."
If this fight were just ours, I would devote the rest of my life to slaughtering the pathetic fucks who would beat their own.
It's not. As the Vor of the Turgenev Bratva, everything I do reflects on my family as well.
As strong as we are, even with our allies, we can't take on the entire crime world, though the thought enrages me.
"Just after Christmas, Yvette and I talked about maybe finding a new team and backing them, financially at least. We could pay for everything, work behind the scenes." Oksana's face creases in grief. "But I'd still be sending out someone else to risk their lives while I kept safe."
"I won't tell you that everything will continue on like before," I say.
"It can't. If the Black Kynigós have narrowed their search, you and Yvette are exposed.
If you two are taken, they would torture you for every scrap of information you have.
Everyone else involved would be taken, too. Those families would be found."
"We don't even know where they are now!" she protests.
"The hunters found you." The words come out flat, and uncompromising. "With enough clues, they'll find them."
Tears stream down her red cheeks as she looks up at me. "Then what do I do?"
There's so much anguish in her voice that it makes my heart thud painfully against my ribs. "We start by keeping you and Yvette safe," I say, smoothing back her hair. "Then, I will hunt down every one of the Black Kynigós fucks who dare threaten my wife and I will slaughter them."
The next day, Ivan and Yegor come to the house to report on the helicopter caught circling the ghost gun plant. I can't leave Oksana alone, even with an army of bodyguards.
We sit on the couches arranged around the windows in my office.
There weren't any before Oksana moved in.
But she likes to be in here with me, often toiling through paperwork for the charity that covers for her real calling.
The first time, not being able to get comfortable in one of the chairs in front of my desk, she had ended up dragging in cushions from the library to make a nest for herself.
The next day, two big couches took over the space in front of the windows, looking out on the stables and forest behind the house. My wife will always be comfortable.
"The helicopter is registered to an agricultural company," Yegor says, going through his notes. "They sell aerial surveillance mapping for farmers." He has a faint smile. "They wanted to have a valid excuse for why they'd be doing multiple fly-bys. However, it's a shell company."
I nod. "Of course. How close are you to tracking down who set it up?"
"As always," Ivan says, "follow the money. I've been searching the bank transfers attached to the company. The thing you won't like is the banking trail. I've been chasing it through Eastern Europe."
Kirill Volkov and Lukyan Kuznetsov. Both prodding Stepan about the ghost guns. No. Not them, I know them too well. They'd barge into my office, eager to hear more about it, but this? It's someone else.
There is a myriad of criminal organizations in Russia and the surrounding countries, and every one of them would want this technology.
"Keep searching," I say. "Do you have anything else to report?"
Yegor smiles, and it's dark with satisfaction.
"I had a feeling based on the frequency of the flyovers that wherever the helicopter was based would be close, so I sent one of the long-range drones after it.
We isolated the private airfield. There's a small plane there, too, the kind that might be used for spraying crops, and another helicopter.
" He looks at me, hunger clear in his eyes before glancing at Ivan.
"We'd like permission to obliterate them," Ivan says.
In this moment, the pride I feel is almost paternal.
"I believe you keep a supply of C 4 and Semtex," I say. "It couldn't be a better time. With the snow, there's no risk of fire in the surrounding area."
"There's so many issues with some of these smaller agricultural fuel sources," Ivan says blandly.
"They're never maintained well," Yegor observes. "Unfortunate accidents happen."
"This is true," I agree.
"We've been watching the airfield for three days," Yegor says sadly. "No one has shown up, no activity. I was hoping to be able to take someone in for questioning."
"Let's send a message," I say. "Ivan, notify me as soon as you successfully trace the ownership for the shell company. We'll talk then. Yegor, well done."
"Yes, Sir," he says, rising. He's a big man with prematurely gray hair and scarred hands. After serving time in a Siberian prison, he's kept his dogged determination and casual lethality. At this moment, though, he's beaming like a kid who just got a raise in his allowance.
After seeing Yegor out, Ivan and I go in search of his wife Masha.
She's in the kitchen with Oksana, who's cuddling their baby, Lina.
My wife is singing an old Russian lullaby to her.
The baby looks at me and her face lights up, little hands grasping for me.
I don't move, caught up in a fantasy of Oksana with our baby in her arms, smiling at me the same way, her face lighting up as if I am the center of her world.
The look Ivan gives me is knowing, until I stare him down, expressionless. He clears his throat nervously. "Well, we should be on our way."
"Oh, wait," Oksana protests. "I was hoping you could have dinner with us tonight. We have to leave for Russia tomorrow."
Ivan had already volunteered to stay behind for this holiday over a month ago.
"If we go back home," he had said grimly, "I will be forced to host Masha's parents. And her grandparents, her second cousin Avip, his girlfriend and her children. Please, let me stay here."
My wily bride is already putting the baby in my arms and I stare down at her. Her toothless grin reeks of triumph. "Of course," I say.