Page 57 of Den of Thieves

Aksana nodded, but Karina wasn’t sure if her sister understood her words through her pain riddled mind. She forced two more painkillers the size of horse pills down her sister’s throat that she found in the bathroom cabinet and promised to wake her up again in a few hours. It was the best she could do until backup arrived.

Karina picked up her Beretta and turned towards the door.

“Thank you, sister.” Aksana reached out and grabbed Karina’s hand.

“Save your strength. Help will be here soon.” She smiled with hope she didn’t necessarily feel. It wouldn’t do good to worry Aksana in her condition. She needed to focus on healing.

“Never a dull day between us, girls, is it?”

“This doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.” Karina replied, looking out the penthouse window.

Dark smoke billowed over the downtown streets. They were deep in the belly of the beast. With no way out and a limited number of bullets, the only thing she could do was hope for a miracle. War was among them, and life wouldn’t return to normal for a long, long time.

Act III

20. “There Is No Great Loss Without Some Small Gain."

-LAURA INGALLS WILDER

“Fuck! Where are we?” Nikolai asked, when they stopped to catch their breath.

The men with him looked around and shrugged. Nikolai, Venchi, Bogdan, and Khruschev ran off from the overhead fire and encountered a few of Osvo’s men on the way. By the time they fought off their enemies and had a chance to regroup, they were far from the drop site.

He pulled out his phone to call Vladimir but remembered everyone left their phones at home in favor of their two-way radios. Nikolai cursed again, looking around.

The buildings in this area were not as nice as the ones a few blocks east. Nikolai only frequented the nicest and poshest areas of Moscow. He had no need for middle class restaurants, houses, or pussy.

“Come,” Venchi said confidently, walking between abandoned high rises. People ran or hid after hearing the first round of gunshots.

“You know where we are?” Nikolai asked, dumbfounded.

“Of course. My family lives here.” Venchi said, pointing to a brick building with peeling yellow paint like it was obvious.

Venchi led the men up a short flight of stairs. He bent down to lift the faded welcome mat when the door suddenly yanked open.

“Venchi-boy! My baby lives!” A older woman wrapped her arms around Venchi’s neck and kissed his cheeks.

“Ma, please,” he said, turning red.

“Yes, sorry. I know you are a very important man now,” she said, ushering them inside her humble abode. The apartment was decent, maybe two or three bedrooms, but the four large men made the space feel small and cramped.

“Ma, I told you to leave,” Venchi sighed. “It is not safe here.”

She waved er hand in the air. “Tah, if you think a little fire power will send me running, you are sorely mistaken. I grew up behind the red curtain. I gave the tickets to the Pechins. Marsella needed a break.”

Venchi groaned, running a hand down his face.

“Oh, excuse me, boys. My name is Lydia. Please, sit, sit.”

She ushered them towards the living room decorated in shades of gold and brown.

“I got my hands on some beef last week. How about some stroganoff?” Lydia started cooking without waiting for a response.

Eventually someone turned on the tele, but everything was either the news of the fight downtown or suspended coverage of programs in favor of the news of the fight downtown. Soon that was turned off and Venchi brought out a deck of cards and passed out little cups of vodka while his mother cooked.

They were patched up and their bellies sated when Nikolai looked around at the four of them, joking and playing cards like they hadn’t just fought for their lives to get there.

“If the king could see us now—” Khruschev started.

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