Page 172 of Ivory Ashes

He killed Stella, tried to kill Anatoly, and kidnapped my wife and child. Even if he has already fled, he could never get far enough away. When he dies—which he will—it will be by my hand.

And my God, it will fucking hurt.

When I reach the beacon location, I do find a neon green Jeep that can only have belonged to my brother idling along the curb—but it isn’t empty. As I edge down the sidewalk, I hear Pyotr’s voice coming from the rolled-down window.

Idiot. His death is going to come even sooner than I hoped.

“It’s me. Again,” Pyotr growls, a phone against his ear. “I held up my end of the bargain and I’m waiting for word from you. You have what you want. Now, I need what you promised. I know you’re good for it, Iakov. But you need to call me back.”

I knew I’d come to regret not killing my father the same night I exiled Trofim. I should have suspected he was involved from the very beginning. But even as the rage deep in my gut burns and grows, I want to laugh.

Pyotr betrayed me, thinking my father was going to keep whatever bullshit promises he made?

I almost feel bad killing the fool.

Actually, I don’t. He deserves whatever is coming to him.

“I’ll wait here another ten minutes, but any longer than that isn’t safe,” Pyotr continues. “Please call me before?—”

The words die in his throat when I press the muzzle of my gun to his temple.

“Hang up the phone,” I growl.

Pyotr clings to the phone for another second. It’s like he’s waiting for my father to pick up. Like maybe some lifeline will appear on the other end of the phone and save him.

But there’s no salvation coming for him.

“Now.”

Finally, he hangs up and drops the phone in his lap. He raises his hands into the air. They tremble in front of him.

“Mikhail, I—” He swallows nervously.

“Get out of the car.”

“Let’s just talk about this,” he pleads. “I want to explain myself to?—”

I cock the gun so he can hear it. “How about that for an explanation? Do you understand my side of things now, Pyotr?”

He nods and reaches slowly for the door handle. He slides out of the car reluctantly, his eyes locked on mine.

The street is dark and deserted. The only streetlight working is at the far end of the block. We’re shrouded in shadow, but I’d like to be somewhere a little more private for what I have planned.

I tip my head towards the alley behind us. “Start walking.”

A cross between a growl and a whimper works out of his throat. “Mikhail, you have to understand?—”

“The only thing I need to understand is that Anatoly will be pissed if I get your brains on his upholstery,” I interrupt. “But I’m sure he’ll understand I didn’t have a choice if you don’t start walking.”

Pyotr marches slowly to the alley. He looks up and down the road, but there’s no one in sight. Just the two of us.

The stupid suit jacket Pyotr insists on wearing blends into the darkness of the alley. All I can see is the white of his neck peeking over the collar. So that is where I aim.

I snatch Pyotr up by the back of his scrawny neck and slam him against the brick wall. The air in his lungs gushes out in a single huff.

“Where did you take Viviana and Pyotr?”

“It was your father!” he rasps. “Your father organized everything. I was only the transportation. It’s my job to?—”

---