I square my shoulders as Stefanov approaches, discreetly sliding my hands behind my thighs to hide the porcelain shards.
His bloated face is smug when he stops in front of me. “I was wondering if we’d ever meet in person. If I were you, I would’ve hoped the day would never come.”
I have a good mind to snap his thick neck, but that would be too easy. “You have me. Let Katerina go.”
The layers of his chin quiver as he laughs. “You didn’t think I’d let a witness walk away, did you?”
Gnashing my teeth, I hold back the violence that threatens to erupt. “A man who doesn’t keep his word is a dishonorable man.” Even in our unethical circles.
He curls a lip and says in a mocking tone, “I’ve been accused of worse.”
My smile is cold. “No one wants to follow a dishonorable man.”
“Who would they rather follow? You?” He laughs again, glancing at his men. At his cue, they all pipe up with chuckles. “In that case, they’d be following a ghost.”
“Honor our deal and let her go. There’s still time. In another minute, you won’t have a choice any longer.”
He scoffs. “Do you think you’re in any position to negotiate?”
I close a step between us. “With the file that’s fallen into my hands, I have all the power.”
His gleeful expression slips. “What file?”
“Come on, Stefanov. You’re a terrible actor.”
His eyeballs bounce in their sockets. I imagine the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure out who betrayed him. He got rid of Oleg Pavlov, the only other man besides Besov who knew about their crime. He must come to the conclusion that Besov is the guilty party.
“You’re wondering who gave it to me,” I taunt.
“Gave you what?” he asks, keeping up the show.
My voice is cold, the hatred I feel for this man coloring every word I utter. “The video of how you killed my parents.”
A gasp comes from the corner, but I tune it out. I need to focus on Stefanov. He’s a snake at best, one who’ll happily strike when my guard is down.
Fear creeps into his eyes, but he blinks it away quickly.
I laugh. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
He sneers. “It doesn’t matter. You’re a dead man anyway.”
Stefanov isn’t naïve. He knows I’d never trust him to keep his side of the bargain. He’s prepared for a war, but it doesn’t matter. My army is much bigger than the thirty men guarding my house. Stefanov won’t know what’s hit him. I’ll burn this house to the ground before the day is over. He can stand there with his self-satisfied look, thinking the fifty men on his property will cut it, but soon, he’ll beg for his life. Only before it comes to that, I need to know who betrayed me.
I watch him carefully as I ask, “How did you find out who I was?”
His grin says he’s already savoring his premature victory. “The grave keeper told me a man came to visit the graves. She took a photo and sent it to me.”
“The old woman? You paid her to inform you if anyone visited the graves?” No wonder I felt like my parents were trying to warn me after I visited them that first time, shortly before I left for New York. I chuckle grimly. “I have to give it to you, Stefanov. You don’t leave anything to chance.”
He looks pleased with himself. “In case you’d grown up and were plotting revenge. I have to say, I didn’t think you’d survive on the streets.”
“I survived rather well,” I say with a mocking smile.
He gives me a sly look. “Who told you? Who gave you the tape? Tell me now and I’ll finish you quickly.”
I don’t fucking think so.
Pop, pop, pop.
Gunfire comes from upstairs.
It’s the distraction I’ve been waiting for.
Stefanov gives a start. “What the—?”
Before he’s finished his sentence, I have an arm wrapped around his throat, holding him like a shield in front of me while I push the sharp point of the porcelain against his neck.
“Drop your weapons,” I say to the guards. “It’ll only take a little pressure to make him bleed out like a pig.”
“Shoot him,” Stefanov yells.
The guards aim their guns, undecided. If they shoot at my hand, they’ll put a bullet in his neck. They can’t shoot at my head without going through his skull. They’ve been trained to protect Stefanov, and that training won’t allow them to take an uncalculated risk.
“Shoot the woman,” Stefanov says, gurgling as I tighten my grip.
“You shoot her,” I say, “and your wife is dead.”
On cue, a woman’s shrill voice sounds from the top of the stairs. “Don’t shoot, Vlad! It’s Galina. Please. They have me.”
Stefanov curses as footsteps fall on the stairs. A group of men filter through the door. They’re armed to the teeth, carrying grenades, combat knives, and AK-47s. Dimitri follows with Galina, pointing a gun at the back of her head. Igor comes in behind them, wiping his brow with his sleeve when he spots me.