Page 97 of Vasily the Hammer

“As you may know, we’ve had attacks on several of our shops recently. We also had a valued member of the Bratva, Dima, go missing. Although as you can all see, he’s returned.”

He’s holding everyone’s attention. If I walk out directly below him, everyone will see me. But on one side of the chapel, on the side his people have taken over, there’s a narrow path made out of tapestries hanging on stands. I’m able to duck down and make it across as Vasily explains about what he did in his return to Flagstaff,carefully omitting any of the murders he orchestrated. I’m sure some of the law enforcement agents aren’t as forgiving as Maria is.

Everything’s happening slowly, but as I walk past the tapestries, I can see the way the women and children, the civilians from the Flagstaff side, are being escorted out by the men. None of them hold their weapons, but they’re far more visible than before, suit jackets having been unbuttoned for faster access if everything goes bad.

No one looks down the narrow passage; no one notices the motion of the tapestries. Everyone’s too concerned with their own safety and the figurative bombs being dropped to notice little things. I peek around the final tapestry as Vasily says, “So I’m sure you can all imagine my surprise when I woke in a morgue, being told I’d just overdosed on heroin.”

He commands attention like no one I can recall seeing before— albeit,recollectionis chief among my problems right now. I understand better, though, how he was able to ascend to the highest rank in the organization in such a short time. He’s an imposing figure in his black tux and his white blond hair, illuminated by the spotlight meant for the Virgin Mother. He looks like an angel. A fallen angel, and if I didn’t know him on that intimate level of people who have grown comfortable together, I doubt I’d be able to look away either.

Between his presence and the flow of people out of the exits, it’s hard to catch small, calculated motions, but I still have a vantage point. I don’t think any of the law enforcement gathered notice when Kostya side-steps and reaches into his pocket. I peek further around the curtain, and best as I can tell, he’s aligned himself with Dima without any of the agents in the way.

I saw the size of the gun they took from Dima. Kostya could easily have a similar gun in his pocket.

He’s going to assassinate Dima.

I’m about to scream out, but my instincts have my attention snapping to Artom first. I don’t know if it’s to make sure he’s safe or if it’s to make sure that if Kostya turns on me and I die saving Dima, Artom won’t see it. Whatever it is, I look just in time to see Tony sneaking behind Gino and snagging Artom while Gino’s distracted.

Artom and Dima are both in trouble. My son and my friend.

I can slip out that door in front of me. It’s all Vasily’s people there, so they may not recognize me with my veil. I can run around the church and intercept Tony, save my son.

But Tony won’t kill Artom. Kostyawillkill Dima. He’ll kill Vasily. He’ll kill me and those agents and anyone else who tries to get in his way. I feel it deep in my bones.

I put my faith in my friends to stop Tony, and I lunge for Kostya.

He’s a big guy. Not as big as Vasily, but big enough that slamming into him makes him do little more than stumble. It knocks the gun out of his hand, though, and it’s enough to hopefully draw everyone’s attention.

I land on the floor between two rows of benches, and Kostya goes with me. They’re not nearly as complicated as the Catholic pews with their full backs and their pads that lower for kneeling. These are simple benches, maybe eight feet in length, and they’re not even attached to the floor, having been dragged in for the service.

Kostya and I are wrecking balls as we wrestle on the floor, the benches skidding around us, leveling the field despite his clear advantages. He can’t get hold of me; no one is able to jump in as Ikick one bench into Kostya’s face and he slides the foot of another into my side.

It’s all a matter of seconds or infinity, I have no idea, before Kostya lands on top of me, pinning me down and pushing us both under a bench. His blue eyes are wild, his blond hair, a far dirtier shade than Vasily’s although the family resemblance is undeniable, is disheveled. His face is flushed with anger, veins popping in his forehead and neck, highlighting the white scar crossing it. When his hands go around my neck, I have no doubt he’ll snap it long before I suffocate.

The prayers that race through my mind are in Russian. I don’t understand them, not word for word, but I know what they mean.

And then light pours down on us.

Not Heaven’s light.

Definitely the church’s light, and then Kostya gets a bench right to the face.

He falls back, revealing Vasily, looking every bit as red in the face. Considering he either just ran down the stairs at an inhuman speed or jumped twenty feet from the niche, it’s no wonder. He reaches down to lift me up, and the way his arm bands around my waist tells me he’s not letting me go anytime soon. I make one attempt to push against him, desperate to save Artom, but he shouts, “Get him!”

Confusion, but everything is confusion right now. I’m one of the few people who look in the right direction, at Tony.

Who pulls a gun from his own pocket and points it at Artom’s head.

He’s not going to kill Artom. I know that. He needs Artom, the sniveling little weasel that he is. He doesn’t like getting his hands dirty. He’ll threaten it, but he’ll never do it.

Not everyone knows him like I do, though. Everyone shouts for him to take it easy and let Artom go, but when Tony says, “Back up or I’ll do it!” they listen to him.

He’s going to get away if no one stops him.

“Mommy, daddy, I’m scared for real!” Artom whimpers, breaking my heart.

I have to save him.

Vasily holds me tightly to keep me from doing something irrational, but my casket is right there. If I die today, what will really change?

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