Page 107 of Blood & Snow
Now I just have to sniff them out and make sure they understand what they did was wrong, and the punishment for such wretched acts is death.
"Sixteen days," the Pakhan repeats as I stand to leave.
"Sixteen days," I confirm.
The elevator descends through the building's heart, carrying me back toward Moscow's streets where as many as thirty more men wait to die.
My war against the Sokolov Brotherhood has claimed another victory, but winning a battle does not necessarily win the war.
Until the last enemy draws his final breath, my own life hangs in the balance.
The hunt continues.
18
NADYA
The scent of pine and vanilla candles greets me at the door, so foreign in our cramped apartment that I freeze on the threshold.
My hand trembles on the key as I push inside, and the sight that awaits stops my breath entirely.
A towering tree fills the corner where our secondhand television used to sit, its branches thick with silver baubles and crystal ornaments that sparkle in the lights strewn around it.
Garland spirals around the trunk, threaded with tiny white bulbs that twinkle against deep green needles.
The star at the top nearly touches the ceiling, its gold surface gleaming, and I am in utter shock.
Beneath the tree, wrapped packages crowd together in neat rows.
Red ribbons, gold bows, paper so shiny it reflects the lights as much as the ornaments.
More gifts than Anya and Mikhail have received in their entire lives combined and my stomach drops to my feet instantly as I realize what Xander has done.
Sometime when I was away and the children were atschool, he's done this.
There's no other explanation. Irina would never have?—
"Aunty Nadya!"
Anya's voice pierces the air as she launches herself from the couch, her small arms wrapping around my waist.
"Look what Ded Moroz brought early! He said we were too good to wait untilNovy God!"
Mikhail bounces beside her, his blue eyes wide with wonder.
"There's one with my name! And Anya's! And yours!"
My stomach churns as the apartment's transformation sinks in.
It isn't just the tree.
My eyes take it in as my chest grows more and more tight.
New curtains hang at the windows—deep blue velvet that blocks the view of our neighbors' balconies.
A cashmere throw drapes across our worn sofa, and fresh flowers fill a crystal vase I've never seen before.
Xander's signature marks every surface.
