Page 137 of 10 Days to Surrender

“Please,” I whisper. “Please.”

For ten eternal seconds, the world narrows to just this: my fingers on her tiny chest, my breath trying to fill her lungs. I’ve killed men. Saved them, too. But never have I felt so utterly helpless as I do now, trying to coax life into this precious scrap of humanity that Ariel and I created.

Then—finally—a weak cry.

But right on its heels is the deep, splintering groan of ancient wood giving way. My head snaps up just as lightning illuminatesthe olive tree at the edge of the garden, its roots tearing free of the rain-soaked earth. Like God cracking his knuckles.

“Inside! Now!” Belle and Zoya each take a child. I gather Ariel into my arms, careful to jostle her as little as possible. She’s limp as a rag doll, spent from bringing our children into this violent night. Against my chest, her skin burns with fever.

“The cellar!” Feliks calls over another thunderclap.

I nod. The cellar is built into the bedrock itself, with thick stone walls and a reinforced ceiling. If any part of this place can withstand nature’s fury, it’s there.

It withstood Ariel’s fury already, not so long ago. Compared to that, the storm is nothing.

We descend in a grim procession. Pavel leads with his phone’s flashlight, illuminating the narrow stairs. The beam catches cobwebs and bottles, casting strange shadows that dance like spirits on the walls.

The air down here is cool and damp, heavy with the musty sweetness of aging wine. I lay Ariel on a makeshift bed of tablecloths and jackets while Belle and Zoya tend to the twins.

“The storm’s getting worse,” Lora whispers, huddled against Pavel near the stairs.

As if to confirm her words, thunder shakes the foundations. Dust rains down from the ceiling.

But the old stones hold.

“S-Sasha…” Ariel’s fingers find my wrist in the dark. Her grip is weak but insistent. “You have to go after her.”

I know immediately who she means. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Please.” Her voice cracks. “She’s out there alone. Withhim.”

“You need me here.”

“What I need is my sister alive.” Fresh tears cut tracks through the dirt on her cheeks. “You did this. Now, fix it.”

I close my eyes.

“She has the coordinates,” I say softly. “She has Feliks’s gun. She?—”

“She has nothing but her pain and her rage.” Ariel’s fingers tighten. “And you gave her both. So you’re the only one who can bring her back.”

I look down at my wife: pale, trembling, but steel-spined even now. At our children, so new to this world of violence and vengeance. At the storm-dark cellar that can protect their bodies but not their souls.

“Go,” Ariel whispers. “Make this right.”

And God help me, I know I have to. This is my mess. My sin. My debt to pay.

I press my lips to her forehead, then each of our children’s. When I straighten, my voice is steady despite the war in my chest.

“Feliks, with me. The rest of you… keep them safe.”

Then I turn and climb the stairs, leaving my heart behind in that cellar as I head out to fix what I’ve done.

53

SASHA

The ruined church in Roccastrada stabs up from the mud like a rotten fang against the gaping maw of the storm-black sky. Rain pelts my face as I take my feet off the bike pedals, letting momentum carry me the last few yards through squelching, ankle-deep mud.

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