Chapter Eleven
Ivan
My buzzing cell phone ruins my sleep.
With my eyes shut, I reach over to the nightstand. My fingers brush the plastic and drag it across the surface before I swipe my thumb across the screen.
“What...?”
“Ivan, it’s me!”I recognize Malachi’s voice. I shake my head and open my eyes to slits to look at the screen. The caller ID confirms it. “Leonid’s hurt—Clare, too! Someone put a bomb in his car!”
“What?!” I yell, my senses awakening in a flash. “What did you just say?”
“Bomb, Ivan,”he repeats. “They weren’t in the car when it went off, but they’re both wounded. We’re taking them to the Mount Sinai Hospital; we couldn’t wait for an ambulance.”
“Fuck!” I curse, tossing the phone across the bed. I jump up and hit the light switch on the wall behind me, my brain moving into overdrive. Son of a bitch... Leonid must have let his guard down. Clare must have distracted him too much, and he got sloppy. Nothing else makes sense. He wasn’t paying attention; that’s how the Armenians managed to plant a bomb in his car. They followed him all the way to the safe house and detonated it at the right time to take him and Clare out.
Everything is a blur during my frantic drive to the hospital. Any vehicles along the way are just obstacles I need to overtake in order to get to my brother and Clare. I torture the horn, keeping my palm on top of it and pressing it every five or ten seconds. My foot is hard on the accelerator, my heart racing like I’ve just completed a fucking sprint.
My Benz rolls through the gate of the hospital, and I have to swerve to the right to avoid an oncoming Cadillac. I ditch the car in the parking lot before pulling my phone out of my jacket pocket.
“Ivan, you’re here already?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“ER. Leonid and Clare are in surgery. He’s lost a lot of blood. She doesn’t seem as bad, but she’s not in good shape, either.”
“Get your asses down to the parking lot.”
“Are you sure? I mean, the doctors—”
“Now, you fool! That’s an order!”
I snort in frustration, still struggling to believe what happened. I’m surrounded by stationary cars, the few overhead lights leaving more than a few dark spots across the lot. All four corners are shrouded in darkness while one of those lights flashes near the exit.
Luckily for Leonid’s men, I don’t have to wait long for them to show up. Malachi is leading a pack of five, all of them jogging towards my spot. I put my hands together and give five sarcastic slaps. In the end, I understand this isn’t enough. Mockery doesn’t work; it doesn’t calm my nerves.
So, once the two guys on Malachi’s flanks are close enough, I flex my arm muscles. A right hook lands on a shaven jaw, sending that idiot reeling back. The guard behind him throws his arms forward to grab him. My left smashes into a bearded face, rocking the owner’s head. This guy is knocked off balance and falls literally on his ass, veins along my forearms bulging.
“Ivan, I’m sorry.
“Shut up!” I growl in Malachi’s face. “Shut the fuck up, you useless prick! Leonid almost got blown to fucking pieces because you’re too fucking incompetent! Damn...” I sigh and cup my forehead, a searing pain spreading through my head. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out.”
Despite my outburst, he remains calm and shrugs his shoulders. “There’s nothing much to say, Ivan. Leonid came over, parked his M3 and picked up Clare. They’d just left the safe house when we heard the blast. We loaded them into our van and brought them here because Leonid had a piece of aluminum stuck in his thigh.”
“Jesus...” I say on an exhale. “What about Clare?”
“She was unconscious when we found her,” he informs. “She came to just before we got here. She complained about pain in her back and her legs.”
“So, none of you thought to check the car when Leonid got to the safe house?” I ask, my voice gaining in volume and nerve.
“With all due respect, this is one of a few cars Leonid owns that we never have to check.” Malachi’s claim adds to my anger, causing me to offer him one mean glare.
“Why?” I grumble, my nostrils flaring.
“Because Leonid says so,” he replies. “I remember the day he bought it. He told me himself that it’s as safe as it can get. No one can open the hood without the key. Also, its ground clearance is so low that only a child would fit under the car.”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued. Both of Leonid’s claims seemed valid, but, somehow, someone had planted a bomb in that BMW.
“Where’s that ER? Ground floor?” I ask, understanding that this is a conversation I can’t have with him or any of the other four.
“Yes.”
“Move,” I command. “You’d better be telling me the truth, Malachi.”
“I have no reason to lie to you, Ivan,” he says, following behind me. “That car was supposed to be perfectly safe.”
“Well, it wasn’t,” I groan, keeping my gaze on the exit up ahead.
He’s right, although I’m too upset to admit it. Malachi has been a loyal soldier for years. He takes his job seriously, and Leonid considers him more than just an employee. He thinks of him as a friend, someone he can rely on. I don’t think he would leave his boss’s safety to chance.
The smell of medicine is strong in the air on the ground floor. Two doctors are strolling in the opposite direction, a nurse holding a dossier to her chest a few paces behind them. A sign is well down the hallway, suspended from the ceiling.
“Emergency Room”
I sweep the large hall, passing that sign. There are two operating rooms, one in each corner. The blinds on both are shut, much to my annoyance. I turn right and head to the only window in the room, still wondering if Leonid can survive his injuries. A nasty image fills my head, twisting my stomach into knots. It’s none other than what Malachi described—a piece of aluminum, lodged in my brother’s leg. I bang my fist into my palm, trying to shake it off. Just then, I hear the door of one of the operating rooms opening.
I whip my head to the left. A tall, graying man walks into the waiting room, his thick glasses down on the bridge of his nose.
“Kovalev?” He calls out my brother’s name. I jog to get to him, the men quick to follow me.
“Yes, doctor?” I say, my heartbeat escalating. “I’m part of the family—so are these men.”
“Mr. Kovalev was brought in with a concussion, a bruised collarbone and a sprained ankle,” he announces. “He also had severe bleeding caused by a metal fragment. However, we were able to remove that object and stabilize him.”
I sigh in relief and dunk my head, my breathing shallow. “Thank you,” I say, my gaze shooting back up to his. “What about Ms. Jensen? Any news about her?”
“I’m afraid not,” he replies, a polite smile on his face. “She’s in a different OR. My colleagues will let you know when they have news regarding her condition. Excuse me.”
He brushes past me as I notice the bottom end of a stretcher being rolled out of the operation room. The view is just heartbreaking. The once proud Leonid Kovalev looks like he’s been through a fucking war. He’s got a swollen cheekbone, a band aid reaching all the way across the bridge of his nose. There are cuts along both of his arms, a gauze wrapped around his right shoulder. I notice three wounds along his calves, his drowsy eyes focusing on me for a moment. The gurney stops at the elevator as the nurses roll it in.
I jog past them and reach the staircase, anger boiling within me. Those Armenian motherfuckers did a real number on Leonid. They reduced him to a shadow of himself, a creature too weak to face even one of them in a fistfight. Okay, his life is not in danger. He’s going to be alright, although I’m pretty sure he’ll be hurting for a while.
Even so, payback is in order. Whoever did this is going to pay the price. And I’m not going to give them cuts, bruises or a concussion. I’m going to rip their fucking throats out.
I wait for the male nurses to transfer him onto a bed, his men catching up to me down the hallway.
“Malachi, get back down there,” I command. “You’ll only come back up here when you get an update about Clare’s condition.”
He nods and complies.
“You can see him now,” one of the nurses says. “Just don’t be too long, please. He needs to rest.”
I dismiss him with a nod and straighten my jacket. Jesus Christ. It’s hard for me to even look at my friend.
“Hey...” he croaks, his slow blinking tearing me apart. He must have a handful of painkillers in him. “How’s Clare?”
“No idea.” My words come fast. “She’s still in surgery. What the fuck happened back there? Malachi said your car is virtually impenetrable. How could the Armenians sabotage it like that?”
“I don’t fucking know, Ivan,” he winces, fidgeting in his bed. “Get me pen and paper. Speaking’s hard work right now.”
I take my notepad out of my jacket pocket along with a pen and hand it to him, suspecting what he wants to say to me. I tap my fingers on my thigh in impatience as he sets the notepad down on his chest. His fingers crawl along the lines. It takes him four or five minutes to write everything.
I don’t have a clue how the Armenians managed to pull this off.
A knock on the door draws my attention once I’ve read the entire explanation. It’s Malachi, wearing a smile of hesitation.
“I just heard from the doctors.” He assumes a gentle tone. “Clare’s got a broken wrist and three cracked ribs, but she’s going to be fine.”
I grin upon hearing the wonderful news. “Thank you, Malachi.”
“God...” Leonid sighs. “That was close.”
He scowls, biting his lower lip. Despite the heavy medication, he’s still in pain.
I look back at the man who’s still standing at the door. “Go get a nurse. Leonid needs more painkillers.”
“It’s that obvious?” Leonid wonders, the door clicking shut.
“Yes,” I nod. “The Armenians outdid themselves this time. I think we underestimated them.”
“Maybe,” he utters, his voice a bit louder. “This means war, Ivan. I’m sure you realize that.”
“I do,” I assure him. “Trust me, I do.”
I give him a half-smile and shuffle off, that word echoing in my head.
War.
I never meant for things to come to this. Up until now, I believed that our enemies would soon forget the incident of their precious cargo. They would carry on doing business as usual and pretend it never happened. I was wrong. They are willing to take on the Bratva. They want to face us head on, in a war that will cost them in manpower and resources.
Fuck it. If it’s war they want, they’ll get it. By the end, they’ll regret their stupid decision to come after us.