Maykl tucks his weapon and ammo in a holster then adjusts my vest, tightening it. “To the parking garage. That’s where we expect the breach.”
“Breach?”
He slides a glance in my direction, and I suddenly suspect he’s not being honest with me.
I narrow my eyes. “Wouldn’t they come in the front doors with a warrant?” I don’t know American laws that well, but I’ve seen their movies.
“Come.” Maykl’s voice is curt now. He’s all business. He opens the door and tips his head toward the hallway.
“What’s happening, Maykl?” I follow his swift footsteps down the hallway. Instead of taking the elevator, we take the stairwell down to the basement level but don’t exit. Maykl opens the door, nods at someone, and closes it again.
“Have a seat.” He indicates the steps.
I don’t move.
He leans a shoulder against the wall, positioned so he can see through the narrow window of the reinforced steel door. “Maykl and Kira in position.” He speaks into his comms.
“Did you really believe you were aiding the FBI, Kira?” He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, just keeps looking through the window.
I go still at his question, ice cold washing over my skin.
Blyad’.
What have I done?
I quickly review the facts. I never spoke to any American agency. All of the information was sent directly to Stepanov, who very easily could have…ugh. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
Of course, he’s in the pocket of the bratva. Why wouldn’t he be? Half the police force in Moscow is.
Gospodi, how I got played!
“Who is coming, Maykl?” I whisper, even though I already know.
“Moscow bratva.”
Tears fill my eyes. “What do they want?”
“To kill everyone and take Sasha. She is the heiress of the previous pakhan in Moscow. The owner of oil wells that are worth many millions.”
I sink to the steps and bury my face in my hands. “I’m so sorry.” My voice is clogged with guilt.
Maykl looks at me for the first time since we started the conversation. “You did what you thought you had to do to find your nephew.”
Tears spill. “How can you be so forgiving? I brought you a war. People will die tonight, and it’s all my fault.”
Maykl holds up a finger, listening to his comms device. “Copy.” To me, he says in a low voice, “They’re here. Simultaneous breach of the front door and the parking garage.” He takes his pistol from the holster and removes the safety.
“Let’s go.” He turns the door handle silently and drops to a crouch as he exits.
I follow suit, staying behind him, mimicking his moves. I make sure the door closes without a sound. We creep behind one of the cars in the garage and wait. A few moments later, eight figures stride into the underground parking lot. They aren’t dressed in black. They aren’t stealthy. They strut in like they own the place. They divide up, four men moving to the right, four to the left.
When they each climb atop a car, I frown and glance at Maykl.
One of them reaches toward the ceiling, and I suddenly understand. “Explosives,” I mouth, then simulate a bomb exploding with my hands.
Maykl’s eyes blaze with purpose, and he lifts his head, aims his gun, and fires three times. “They have explosives,” he barks into his comms unit between the second and third shot.
Three men drop.
Someone else fires from the opposite corner of the garage. Another silenced shot, so one of the Chicago bratva members, no doubt.
The remaining five intruders shout to each other and drop from the cars, crouching out of view. And then the garage goes dead silent.
I wish to God I had a weapon myself.
Well, fuck it. I know how to get one. I creep behind the cars, hugging the concrete wall.
Maykl reaches for me, trying to grab my arm, but I’m already too far. I move quickly toward the closest fallen body.
A bullet pings near me, shot from a silenced gun. Friendly fire. I hear Maykl bark something angry and urgent.
I keep moving. I’m drawing closer.
I hear the soft scrape of shoes on concrete. The rasp of breath close by. I find the body and quickly search it for a gun. As I do, I’m fired upon.
I yank the pistol up and return fire, running to duck for cover behind another car. Maykl fires from his corner to cover me.
These guns are loud; hopefully they won’t draw the attention of the local police.
There’s more gunfire, and I see two guys escaping onto the street. I curse under my breath and move to follow when someone fires at me.
I duck back down and point my gun around the car, adjusting the car’s mirror out to show me more of the surroundings.
I catch sight of a crouched figure behind the next car. Moving as stealthily as I can, I skirt around the vehicle and raise my gun, pointing it.