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Rafael
It’s beenover two months since Anna was taken, and with each day that passes, I get more desperate, more despondent, and more violent. The cartel is corrupt and dangerous, but my world has never been as dark as it has the last two months. Una’s plan failed, and I’ve been trying to enact a plan B ever since. We’ve made every effort to contact Nicholai Ivanov, only to come up with nothing. The simple fact is, if he wanted to deal with me, he would. He’d rather keep Anna.
I tighten my hand around the steering wheel, the ever-present tension riding me even harder than usual tonight. “It’s here,” Samuel says quietly, breaking the silence in the car. He hands me the night vision binoculars, and I take them.
I pick up the radio and hold down the button. “Move in, get ready.” Looking through the binoculars, I see the grainy image of the cargo plane hovering only meters above the runway before the wheels bump over the ground. It barrels along the tarmac before finally slowing and coming to a halt.
The ramp at the back lowers, and several vehicles come down the runway, heading towards it. I pick up the radio again. “Grenade launchers. Snipers.”
It all happens before my eyes like a perfectly executed dance. Several grenades fire across the distance from the tree line to the approaching cars. All three vehicles explode into a huge fireball, and I no longer need night vision to see because the entire airfield is lit up. Men rush from the back of the plane only to fall like puppets with their strings snapped under the bullets of my snipers. The plane engines start up again, and I sigh. There’s always one. I watch as a lone figure darts across the runway to one of the wheels, before retreating. The plane moves forward several feet before the wheel explodes and the wings tilt at a precarious angle, the left wing colliding with the tarmac. It’s nothing but anarchy, death, and destruction, and I revel in it right now. The longer she’s gone, the less of my humanity I feel. I crave this kind of madness. I want everyone and anyone associated with the Russians eviscerated—for them to bleed and burn just as surely as I am. I’ve never been so unhinged, and I can’t find the will to give a fuck.
“Get them to load the guns,” I say to Samuel. He gets out of the car, and I pull away, winding the SUV through the snowy woodland on the edge of the Russian runway. It’s really too easy, all of this. No wonder the Bratva are so wealthy. The government is even more corrupt than in Mexico. Guns and drugs run through this country as plentiful as food or water. The Bratva have so much power that no one could or would stand against them. In the two months that we’ve been attacking their gun and drug shipments, I haven’t seen any police presence at all.
Of course, we don’t have to stop the drugs so much. Carlos is handling that from our end. We’ve allowed the cartels to keep selling to the Russians, keeping our involvement silent. But as soon as those shipments are past the border they’re fair game. We’ve stopped most of them, not to mention, exponentially increasing our own stocks. I’ve even had to steal my own shipments because I can’t stop supplying them, or it would raise suspicion. Dimitri is getting increasingly more fractious as his supplies continue to dwindle. Their business is suffering on all fronts, and of course, he blames Nero.
The Italian has been on the rampage, declaring war in a big way. And still, there’s no end in sight. Nicholai still has Anna and Una, but not her child. I know very little of the details, only that Una managed to get help on the inside. The child was smuggled out to Nero. You’d think that would ease him somewhat, but I think it’s done the opposite. Perhaps he has even more to fight for: his son’s mother.
The Russians are fleeing his city in droves because no one is safe from Nero’s wrath right now. All this, and still nothing. I’m starting to lose hope.
The tires of the car bump over the rough ground, and I pull onto the country road that leads away from the airstrip. I don’t pass a single car for miles until I reach the outer limits of Moscow. The barren countryside gives way to civilization, the low orange glow of street lights giving a somber air to the bleak, snowy streets.
I follow the streets, pulling the car into the driveway of a nondescript-looking house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Getting out, I traipse through the snow to the front door, my footsteps marring the white blanket. The house is cold, and I swear every floorboard creaks when I step inside. We’re renting it while we’re here in Russia. I could have left men here to stop the gun shipments, gone home to the desert and the heat, but I can’t. It’s like there’s an invisible chord bolted to my chest, attached to Anna. The further I am from her, the more I feel as though it’ll snap, and the moment it does, I don’t know what I’ll do. Being here, in Russia, I know I’m under the same sky as she is, and it brings a small comfort.
I tell myself that I need to be here. The truth is, I’ve abandoned my cartel and dragged my men up to this frozen hell and for what? My own personal obsession. They never complain though. I honestly think they’re happy if they’re getting to blow shit up and steal guns.
I toss the car keys on the old side table by the door and go to the kitchen, taking the bottle of vodka off the worktop. I unscrew the lid and tip it back, watching the bubbles drift upwards as the burning liquid trickles down my throat. I swallow several mouthfuls before setting it down and taking a cigar from my pocket. I’ve always been a man of vices, but I find them more of a crutch these days, leveling out the extremes of so much violence. This isn’t my cartel, there’s no business angle, no political agenda, no reason to be tactful in any way shape or form. As long as we get the guns, it doesn’t matter how we do it, and I find myself craving the bloodiest methods possible. Hatred for these people festers away at my soul, driving me to lose all sight of reason. And in the wake of so much unrestrained aggression, I seem to reach for the bottle, allowing it to level me out, to keep me from losing it completely. This is the vicious circle of my life without Anna—without her gentleness, her innocence. I spent a long time trying to escape the man I’d been forced to become, and she made me want to be better. Now…it’s like the free-fall into hell with nothing but fire awaiting me.
I sit there in the kitchen, drinking and smoking until the door bangs open. Samuel and ten of his men are staying here. They’re a specialized team, military, trained, regimented. They all disappear like an apparition that never existed. None of them ever linger in my presence for too long, except Sam. Maybe he’s just a glutton for punishment.
I pick up the vodka bottle and take another heavy swig, willing that hazy fog to descend and numb my mind.
“Someone will be here in the morning to pick up the guns. There’re a couple of missiles in there as well.”
I lift a brow. “Fucking Russians and their dodgy shit.”
He snorts and takes the vodka, tipping it back. “God, I hate this damn cold. How can these people live like this?”
“They’re vampires.”
He snorts. “Yeah, something like that.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I take it out, glancing at the screen. Unknown number. On a frown, I answer it.
“Yeah?”
“Rafael D’Cruze,” the man on the other end purrs in a distinct Russian accent.
“Yes?”
“I believe you’ve been trying to contact me.”
“Nicholai.” The tiniest spark of hope ignites in my chest. He’s calling, which means he must be open to a trade. Samuel stiffens beside me, his eyes locking with mine.
“I hear you have a port you are willing to trade for Anna Vasiliev.”
I rub at my throbbing temples. “I tried to contact you with that offer two months ago.”
“Oh? Well, I had other uses for her, but it seems I have no need of her.” He laughs. “Is it now off the table then, so to speak?”
