Page 68 of Babies for the Boss
Igor mutters, “Fuck that guy.”
The others nod along with the sentiment.
I do too. “He is wrong. Dead wrong. And tonight, we will show him.”
“Yes, we will,” Dmitri says firmly.
“He has hired guns,” I continue. “Men who are there for money, who will fight because they are paid to fight, and who will calculate, in the middle of a firefight, whether the money isworth the cost. They will do the math, and Fedor will come up short.”
Igor, at the end of the table, catches my eye. “And even if they stay put, it won’t fucking matter.”
I clap his shoulder in support. “We move at two in the morning. Make your arrangements, whatever they may be. We are walking into the lion’s den. We may not all walk out. But we will fight. We will honor Vladimir’s sacrifice. We will honor my wife, the woman who has made each of your days better for years. She will do the same for years to come, because we will face Fedor together, and he will fall tonight.”
I don’t let their cheers bolster me. I don’t have space for it.
The compound in Hudson Valley is a converted estate—old stone, substantial grounds, the kind of property that looks like old money and functions as a fortress. Fedor has made modifications that a man who spent seven years in federal prison planning his return to operational life would make. Cameras, reinforced entry points, and a perimeter that has been designed by someone who knows what they’re doing.
None of that matters now.
We breach three points simultaneously, catching them unaware. The east entry, the service access at the north, and the main approach, which I take with Dmitri and two others, because the main approach is the one Fedor will expect, and I want him to know it is me coming.
The hired guns fight. I said they would calculate, and they do, but the calculation takes time, and time is what my men do not give them. Dmitri moves through the east wing with focused efficiency. Igor handles the north group. I hear the sounds ofthe compound coming apart around me as I move through it—gunshots, wails, the thuds of bodies, screams—and I keep moving. My men keep moving.
As we round a corner, though, my group is separated by gunfire. Seems they got their shit together. Marcus is clipped in the shoulder, and Anton is shot in the calf.
I take out the shooter and tell my men to cover the next corner. Foolish, maybe. Molly would hate what I’m about to do.
I do it anyway.
Fedor is not in his bedroom. Even if he were the type to use it for sleeping or fucking, he would not be there by now. The safe room is the only place for cowards.
I wish I could see his face as I enter the code.
When the heavy metal door opens slowly, bullets ping off of it. Shots are fired in panic. He’s alone, which tells me his last men have made their calculations and found the money insufficient, which is as it should be.
He looks older than the photographs, harder and more angular. He holds up his gun by the trigger guard. “I’m out. You?”
“I’m not.” I level my gun at him. But part of me knows this is wrong. Shooting an unarmed man is efficient, but it won’t give me what I want.
He eyes me. Then my gun. “You’re not the type to kill an unarmed?—”
I fire just over his shoulder. I like making him jump.
His nostrils flare. “Maybe you are the type.”
Curiosity killed the cat, as they say. Perhaps I am a cat tonight. “That depends, Fedor. What do you propose?”
“Me vs. you. Fists. Winner take all.”
“I have the gun. I have the men, swarming your little home. I have every reason to put a hole in your brain right the fuck now. Why should I take you up on such a bullshit offer?”
“The same reason you’re talking instead of shooting. You want to know. Just like I do.” He has always read people very well.
I put my gun on the table beside me. He puts his on the floor.
“Before we begin,” he says, “why did you put me away?”
“You know why.”
