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Konstantin only laughs, throwing back his head. The fight has brought him closer to our side than his own, and Aleks the same. Konstantin is so close to me now that I can smell him, metallic and bloody, and like that vile, expensive perfume I smelled on him that first night in the brewery, before I had any idea who he was. His body gleams with sweat. And he’s near enough to me now that I can see the object in his hand.
A knife. Small, wide, sharp as a shark tooth.
My eyes trail back to Aleks, who remains on his knees. He’s sweating, and the vein in his neck is standing out wide. It’s clear he’s in pain, though his face is somehow now a cold, hateful mask.
“Of course, I cheated,” says Konstantin. “You and I both know which of us has been in more fights, and won them. You’ve been around the block longer than I have. You’ve been in more scrapes, and scrappier ones. You’re the better fighter—you think I’m too proud to see that? You think I’m stupid enough to takeyouas the pound of flesh for my brother’s? No, no—see, that makes you a martyr. And worse, it sets you free.”
Konstantin wipes the knife on his pant leg, leaving a dark stroke of blood. He’s close enough I could take it, I think—right from his hand. He’s close enough that if I raised my arm, my fingers would trail up along his.
Aleks told you to stand down; for all you know, this is part of the plan.
This does not seem like part of the plan.
“You have no brother for me to kill,” says Konstantin. “And your fake little wife is worth fuck-all to me. But youdohave something precious. Something I know would wound you tolose. And that is why I came here—to take something from you, as you have taken something from me.”
It’s then that I begin to notice a strange tension in the air, a change. It’s in his men, I realize, and in Aleks’s, too. There’s a common expression among them, narrowed eyes and set jaws. Some are gripping their guns hard, white-knuckled. Some are shifting, repeatedly, from foot to foot—eyes shifting like reading the herd for early signs of a predator in the midst.
He broke the code of honor,I realize. Something like hope sparkles to life within me.He’s embarrassed himself and undermined them…and after a series of failures.All he has done since he came to America was fail, just as Aleks once pointed out to me. All he’s done is let his men die for him.
Now he’s made himself into a common cheater. And his men don’t like it. Who would die among them now, I wonder, for a man like Konstantin?
“It should have been you that night,” says Aleks. “Your brother was your better. This life is wasted on you.” He turns his head and spits. It’s then that I realize how pale he is, how wet with sweat. He shines in the beams of the headlights, and his hands tremble where they grip his side, blood streaking slowly down to darken the waistband of his pants. Whatever he says next he says in Russian, and it makes Konstantin’s smile go sour. It makes the men shift again.
“You are no better than me,” bites out Konstantin. “Or—hell. Maybe you are. Maybe you wouldn’t do what I am willing to do. Maybe I should show you just how low I will go.”
Aleks’s eyes gleam. “You already have. You’ve shown us all.” His gaze shifts to the men, who watch on.
Konstantin’s follow, and I see some of the cockiness wither out of him. He blanches slightly, maybe realizing at last just how bad he’s made himself look before them. Maybe realizing that, though he might be able to kill his enemy, he’s killed his ownchances in the process—he’s lost the trust of his men, and more importantly,mostimportantly, he’s lost their respect.
He begins to tremble. He raises his knife to the light, dragging his eyes down the curt length of it. His face is that of a man with nothing left to lose.
He says, “Bring the boy.”
I know the promise I made. I know the person I am. I know the risk I am taking. I know my son is there; he is watching me. I know I’ve always tried to do everything myself, but that chapter in my life is over. Aleks got us this far, and with my help, nonetheless, and I know that he would have died tonight, for my son. For his son. In this moment, I think I know everything. I see everything more clearly than I ever have.
The man releases Adam. Adam looks at Aleks. Konstantin’s grip tightens on the knife. Feet—there are mere feet between us all. I do the calculus, but the margins are razor thin, and I know how dangerous it is, how high the risk is, and I do it anyway—I trust myself to do it.
All that practice makes the series of movements so fluid, like I’ve done it every day of my life. Safety off. Pistol cocked. Raised, aimed. And my finger dances down that sweet trigger, satin, the pull so easy now, the recoil expected.
Pop!One neat shot, elegant even—and it lands true, smack in the back of Konstantin’s head.
Aleks moves. Suddenly, there is movement everywhere. It’s hairline trigger, chaos on the verge and blood thick in the air. But I make sure of only one thing: Aleks gets his arms around my son. Bloody, beaten, dragged to the edge of life, Aleks pulls Adam back to our side, shielding his son with his own body.
Yuri is there to receive him, and maybe I expect war then, just open gunfire—but to my astonishment, it doesn’t come.
There’s an initial surge of movement, men up and down the line on both sides, taking furtive steps forward, faces wild. Gunsare swung up, raised, some aimed, some cocked—but yet, no one fires. And as soon as Adam is spirited back to the cars, as soon as he’s sealed safe inside, an SUV door slamming shut and locking, surrounded at once by Aleks’s men, there is only silence.
My gun hand is still raised, the pistol still level. Konstantin is crumpled in the dirt, slumped forward on his face, undignified.That man tried to break me,I think.But I broke him instead.Who knew what I was capable of? Who knew what I would do, when my son was threatened? The knife lays a foot away from Konstantin’s bent hand, glinting in the dark.
Slowly, I lower the pistol. Aleks stands beside me now, thoughstandsis a liberal word. He’s sweating hard, his eyes glazed. His breathing is labored, ragged. Yuri’s arm is around him.
He looks at the man who’d held Adam, presumably Konstantin’s remaining right hand. Aleks says something to him in Russian.
Looks are exchanged. There is a current of dense tension in the air. The man has his own rifle raised, and I tremble as I think how badly this could end. How violent it could be. How many bodies will be left in this forest, forgotten.
And maybe that’s what the man thinks, and all of the others. Because slowly, he lowers his rifle.Oh, God,I think, as my heart leaps into my throat, pounding fast.Is it…could it be over?
The man says something to Aleks in Russian, then swings the rifle onto his back and moves into the clearing. We watch as he bends, and hoists Konstantin’s lifeless, bleeding body into his arms.
