All of the air vanishes from my lungs as I fall forward, my quivering arms barely strong enough to hold me up. Raze swiftly returns to my side, yanking my body up next to his before whispering the words in my ear, “Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned.”
A sharp prick in my neck follows. Then, the darkness consumes me.
THE DAY PAKHAN GAVE ME my orders, I drove around for hours doing nothing but thinking. Thinking about how my life truly began the day I met Darya and how lucky I was to find love in such a beautiful creature. Thinking about how my life virtually ended the day she died and the subsequent countless sleepless nights I spent lying awake begging God to take me instead, to give me just one do-over to make things right, the way they should have been. Thinking about innocent Blake and the fucked-up life she found herself in because she fell in love with the wrong man. Thinking about the man who loves her now, the man who has proven he’d gladly give his life in exchange for hers. Just like I would’ve.
Unfortunately, God never gave me that do-over two years ago, and I know there’s nothing I can do to ever bring my wife back. But during that drive I realized that I have the opportunity to make things right for someone else. And maybe, just maybe, Darya will be looking down from wherever she is and find it in her heart to forgive me for not insisting that I go to Chicago that day instead of her. It’s my only shot.
From that day on, I’ve been working around the clock to get everything in place. It hasn’t been easy—not by a long shot—but last night I finally got the final loose ends tied up. And not a moment too soon.
The suicide note Emerson Lister left explained in detail the deal she struck with my family for Blake, and within hours of the feds finding it, they were swarming every Kabinov property in Southern California with a search warrant. Thanks to our rats inside the bureau alerting us to what happened, all top ranking members of the Bratva were far away by the time the agents showed up, but the unexpected heat of them breathing down our necks forced Pakhan to speed up the Ricci operation. If it doesn’t go down tonight, it may never happen.
I double and triple check that everyone and everything is in place for their arrival. Vincent Ricci, one of his men, and Dmitri, one of our most lethal brothers, should be pulling up to the cabin at any minute, and I’ve only got one shot to get this right. This is my do-over. This is no longer only about revenge; it’s about redemption.
When I hear the vehicle approaching, I press send on the text I’ve had queued up and ready to go for this moment. Opening the bullet chamber of my pistol, I confirm one last time that it’s fully loaded before tucking it in the back of my pants. Then, a final pat on my upper thighs verifies the small rectangular remote is in place. Voices and footsteps draw near to the cabin, and after several taps on the wood, the front door swings open.
My breath hitches as I’m caught completely off-guard at the three men standing in front of me. It’s not Vincent Ricci or his sidekick that has my mouth as dry as the Mojave Desert and my entire body trembling with fear. No. It’s the Russian who escorted them here, the one who most definitely isn’t Dmitri.
“Vnuk,” Pakhan uses the endearing term for grandson as he steps inside and greets me with a kiss on each cheek. “I hope you have everything ready for our friends here.”
The two Italians follow his lead, closing the door behind him and embracing me like we’re long lost friends instead of sworn enemies, but I’m too busy frantically devising a new plan to give a shit.
Finally finding my voice, I extend my arm toward the small table. “Please sit and let us celebrate finalizing this deal with a shot of fine vodka, then I will bring out our lady of the hour. She’s . . . resting in the other room.”
“I’d love to toast with you, my friend,” Vincent flashes a sinister grin in my direction, “but I think I’d like to see the lady first. Then, we can share as many shots as you’d like.”
I blink hard. This is it. The moment of reckoning.
“As you wish. Right this way.”
Striding to the closed door separating the two rooms, the three men are hot on my heels, all eager to get a look at the American Princess. Slowly, I turn the knob on the door and push it open. Then, shoving my hands inside my front pockets, I step inside and reveal the heavily drugged young woman, naked and bound to the bed by her wrists and ankles. Her head has been shaved and every tooth has been extracted from her mouth, but there’s no denying who she is.
In less than a second, I’ve got three guns pointed at my face, demanding answers louder than any words. As the victorious smile spreads across my face, I wrap my fingers around the remote concealed in my pocket and chuckle lightly as I press the button.
“You should’ve had that shot first.”
IT TAKES ME A FEW seconds of staring at the text to realize the numbers on my phone’s screen are geographical coordinates, but the moment it clicks, I rush outside the Truckee diner I’ve been holed up in most of the day and wave my arms frantically in the air. Agent Diomassi and Marshal Doherty are huddled with some other men around the hood of their SUV, staring at a topographical satellite image of the area, but as soon as they see me, they sprint in my direction.
“Did he make contact?” one of them shouts mid-run.
I nod emphatically, thrusting the phone into their faces as soon as they reach the sidewalk where I’m standing. “They’re coordinates. Where they are. Let’s go!”
“Hot damn, boys!” Diomassi calls out to his men. “We’re in business. Convoy pulls out in less than five!”
Everything after that is a blur. I’m shoved inside the backseat of one of the Suburbans as the agents plug the coordinates into their map, pulling up the quickest route to the location. Minutes pass as we speed like a runaway bullet train through the snow-capped mountain range, but my thoughts are focused on one thing and one thing only.
Blake.
I’ve prayed more today than I probably have all other times in my life combined, because if I’ve ever needed anything from God, it’s for Him to return her to me safely. She’s it for me. My slow and steady. My sweet girl. My everything.
Right after the driver, who I think is named Agent Cunningham, informs us that we’re about fifteen miles out, a loud, echoing boom fills my ears and causes the SUV’s windows to rattle. My entire body tenses, and in the brief silence that ensues, the four of us exchange knowing looks. Then, as the smoke begins to rise from the treetops, all hell breaks loose.
Cunningham lays the pedal to the metal, doing the unthinkable by hauling ass faster than we were already going, and I don’t even bother thinking about how dangerous our speed is as he weaves around these hairpin curves and steep drop-offs. Diomassi, who’s in the front passenger seat, is on his phone, desperately trying to get information about what caused the noise we all so clearly heard, but he’s unable to get an answer before we turn sharply off of the main road and onto a gravel one.
I can smell the fire before I actually see the blaze, but the second I see the cabin engulfed in menacing flames, I throw the door open and leap from the still-moving vehicle. Landing awkwardly on the hard, icy ground, I stumble to my feet and take off in a mad dash toward the inferno, which might as well be Hell if Blake is inside.
“Blake, please, God, no,” I cry to myself over and over as I reach the group of matching black SUVs parked just behind the truck Raze had picked me up in and a white Mercedes.