Page 99 of Vasily the Hammer

I know I should grab the gun, finish the prick, move on with my life. But not only did he kill my brother, attempt to kill me— and I think he just confessed to killing the formerpakhan—buthe also called Ana a bitch. If I dig further, I bet I’ll find out he coaxed Dima into keeping Artom and Ana away from the beginning.

I take a swing at his nose, already swelling from the bench he got hit with.

He shrieks and falls back.

I lunge at him, punching him with everything I’ve got.

Rage is a terrible motivator. It makes a man blind. I leave myself wide open, and suddenly, it’s the back of my skull getting clobbered by the butt of my gun.

Everything goes sparkly.

I tip to the side.

I hear my name called, but I’m falling falling falling—

It’s impossible, I know it is, but I swear I’m still falling when Kostya drags himself upright and puts my own gun to my forehead.

It’s impossible, but I see the bullet flying through the air, over my head.

Slamming into the side of Kostya’s skull.

The boom of the gunpowder snaps me back in time to see several agents decide this is the time to seize Dima. I’m pretty sure he’s the one who just killed Kostya, and no one’s putting handcuffson him, just holding his wrists back. He probably shot Kostya with one of their guns, so I’m not mad.

But I can’t get a single fucking second to breathe, so I haven’t even gotten my ringing head back on the floor before Camilla screams.

I’m up on my feet. I’m staring at the ceiling, then I’m staring at Tony, who’s gotten a gun and aimed it at Gino.

There are at least six agents closing in on them on all sides.

“Stop!” several yell.

He turns the gun on himself and fires.

Man, I get that Kostya’s shots were all over the place because that bench probably scrambled his brain well before Dima’s bullet painted it all over the tapestries, but I don’t know why Tony’s so incompetent. The bullet pops right out his cheek, taking several teeth with it but nothing of any mortal value.

The agents actually look disappointed that what they end up carrying out of the church is a pathetic, drooling, groaning mess.

Silence follows. Just a couple seconds of it.

Dima grunts and waves the prototype, which he must have snatched back from the agents when focus jumped to Tony. “This is a real sleek gun, boss. Bet you could take this through a TSA scanner.”

Benedetti peeks out from where she took cover, in the unfortunate position of someone who can’t fight on either side without blowing her cover on the other.

She glares at me, and I point at the mess that remains of Kostya. “He came up with that gun. Never seen it before.”

“Is this where you live?” Artom asks wondrously as he hops off Ana and dashes across the living room to the balcony. “We’re in the sky.Cooooooool!”

“Just wait until he sees the penthouse,” I chuckle softly. We made it as far as the old Flagstaff apartment five miles from the church before stopping for the night. Not even night. It’s February, and the sun’s just begun to set.

“We’re going to be here for a couple days,” Ana calls to him. “Why don’t you go take a nap, sweetheart?”

“I’m not sleepy.” Which is a lie; I see the yawn forming. He was nodding off in the car, fighting the adrenaline crash we were all fighting. But as soon as I told him this was the city I grew up in— and that he would run this city one day, much to Ana’s chagrin— he refused to nap.

“Are you sure? That’s Uncle D’s bed right through there.”

It’s a gamble, but I’ve made my peace with how much love Ana has for Dima, a love that they assure me is purely platonic, and I have to believe them because I owe Dima my life twice over now, and Dima owes Ana his. I’m figuring that Artom loves Dima just as much.

And I’m right. He immediately course-corrects from the balcony into Dima’s room, where he scrabbles up onto the bed and starts to jump on it.

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