Page 53 of Den of Thieves

“I know, we’re better shots than all of them!” Karina seethed.

She was so angry that she didn’t think to calm her sister down. Aksana was literally the only one who understood her frustrations.

The cellar was chilly, but the entire front panel was made of glass. Marianna, Hana, and Lizah huddled under a blanket on the couch. Yaya and Milah sat on cushioned chairs opposite them. They all nibbled on hors d’oeuvres, wine, and hot chocolate; trying and failing to focus on the soft music playing through hidden speakers instead of the Kovalyova women.

Karina sneered at the food Eric placed on the table between the other women. The wine on the shelves was from her own personal collection that ranged from exclusive member-only Napa wineries to expensive vintage Italian reds and French champagnes. Vladimir was stuck on stupid if he thought she was going to sit down and wait quietly while he risked his life.

“Aksana,” she said quietly.

“Eh, you know I hate when you use my government, sister.”

“Stop using early 2000’s American slang.” Karina playfully rolled her eyes as an unwilling smile crossed her face.

She banned Aksana from watching Flavor of Love after the woman insisted she could have beaten Pumpkin better than New York. But it was too late, the cringy damage was already done.

Karina looked behind her sister. Wooden crates littered her immaculate basement and game room. She could even see some of the rectangular timber boxes covering the bowling alley floor she had installed last year.

They better not have scuffed those planks, she thought to herself.

Karina did a double take at the helipad that no longer sat empty. She grabbed Aksana’s shoulders and turned her to look out the window.

“Didn’t you pass your pilot’s exam a few months ago?”

A slow smile spread across her sister-in-law’s face. “I did.”

A matching grin split Karina’s cheeks as a plan formed in her mind. Everyone inside her estate was gone except for Eric, the housing staff, and the doctor on call. Oh, and a few low-level lackeys, including their new techy guy, Fyodor, that Vladimir made swear to stun them with tasers if they tried to leave the house. It shouldn’t take much to overpower them.

“Girls, we’re going to need a distraction.” AK grinned devilishly at the half wine drunk women littered on expensive furniture around the room.

“I do not know, AK. Maybe your brother was right,” Lizah started.

“We barely made it out alive the last time,” Milah added.

The rest of them nodded, and Karina snapped. “Where is your bravado? Your sense of loyalty and adventure? You were all bad asses at the safe house. Ready to defend yourselves against the bastards that deserved everything they got and more.”

“Not. Our. Problem,” Yaya said, putting her glass down.

“Ugh! You guys are hopeless! This close to taking the red pill and you cut tail and run.” Karina sucked her teeth.

“We aren’t Vory. We are not pakhans. We aren’t even runners for the Bratva. We just belong to them. We were defending ourselves from gunfire at the safe house, not running into it. That’s beyond stupid.” Yaya said, pouring herself another glass.

“No, what’s stupid is you saying Marianna used Ozempic to get down to a size 00.” Aksana said, calmly.

“What? This is the body of years of discipline and eight hours of ballet a day!” Marianna exclaimed. “At least I am a natural blonde and care about my body instead of going to the surgeon every five minutes.” She pitched her voice higher and clasped her hands to her chest. “Oh, doctor! I need my breasts done. While you are in there please suck out my fat so I don’t look like pig anymore!”

Karina watched their interaction like a ping-pong match final.

Yaya sat up straight, outraged. “You lie! I never had lipo! And I never died my hair!”

Milah snorted into her wine and then winced, holding her nose.

“I didn’t!” she yelled.

“Pity. You still look like a pig, no?” Marinna clipped, pretending to check her nails.

“Take that back!” Yaya screamed. She jumped over the coffee table and tackled Marianna over the edge of the couch.

The two of them clawed at each other like two cats fighting over the last piece of tuna.

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