I step out from behind the pillar, only a little so that my body still has coverage but I can be seen.
“Yahontov,” I breathe.
“Coming back to L.A. was a mistake,” he tells me. “He has spies everywhere. Until then, he thought you were dead.”
“I wasn’t planning on staying dead forever.”
“Yahontov,” one of the armed soldiers snarls, coming forward. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Warning him,” he replies. “And now he’s been warned. We have you surrounded, Artem. It’s time to put your guns down.”
But as he talks, I notice some of the soldiers at his back move imperceptibly. They slip behind their own men.
I sense in my gut what’s about to happen.
Fuck, I hope I’m right.
I don’t turn my eyes away. Just wait patiently. There’s a signal coming—I just don’t know what it is.
“It’s time to give up,” Yahontov intones.
And apparently, that’s the sign.
Half of Budimir’s men turn on the other half.
And they fire.
It’s brutal and sudden and quick.
It’s not a fight. It’s an execution.
Just like that, probably two dozen of Budimir’s men drop to the ground.
“Fuck,” I hear Adrik say. “What the fuck was that?”
I smile, stepping over a body as I walk towards Yahontov. I offer him my arm and he takes it.
“There is a contingent of men upstairs with Budimir,” Yahontov says. “About twenty, I’d say.”
“He’s here?” I say, my jaw setting with new excitement.
“He’s here and hiding,” Yahontov nods. “But he also has—”
“Your wife,” a sickeningly familiar voice snarls from the top of the staircase.
Before anyone can react, more gunfire lets loose. This time, it’s not good for us.
Yahontov’s men on the balcony go down in a hail of bullets.
The odds tilt back in Budimir’s favor.
And suddenly, our position starts looking a little grimmer.