The lines around her blue eyes softened. “And why is that?”
I rolled my eyes. Could these questions have been any more basic? “Because they have vitamin C.”
She put an arm around me, hugging me to her waist. “Good.”
The scratchy fabric of her apron felt abrasive against the first man-scruff on my cheek. She smelled of frying oil and soap. I hugged her back, but then embarrassment made me pull away.
“I’m too old for hugs,” I said in a gruff voice.
She patted my cheek. “You’re right. You’re almost a man now, my Sasha.”
My chest swelled with pride. “I’m Alex. I’m too old for Sasha too.”
“Alex,” she agreed gently.
The memory fades, and my chest squeezes with pain. Had I known what would happen the next day, I would’ve hugged her longer and told her I loved her.
Snapping out of the past, I force my attention back to my laptop, pain and anger mixing to create a violent cocktail in my blood.
On the screen, two men face my father. Both are fat around their waists and flabby in their arms. My father, a police officer who regularly encountered the worst of humanity, had security cameras in the apartment, just in case. The men must be unaware of the hidden cameras because they turn their backs on my father, revealing their faces.
My pulse jumps.
Vladimir Stefanov and Oleg Pavlov.
Putting his head close to Stefanov’s, Pavlov says, “He’s not going to talk.”
Stefanov grins. “Oh, he will.” He faces my father again. “Tell us what evidence you have against us and where it is, and we’ll let your wife and son live.”
My father spits blood on the floor. “I have nothing. You’re wasting your time.”
Stefanov flicks his fingers at Pavlov. Pavlov walks somewhere, disappearing from view. A moment later, he’s back, dragging a chair with him.
My heart stops.
My mother sits in the chair, her hands tied behind her back. He leaves the chair next to my father’s so that their shoulders are touching. My mother cries softly, but she doesn’t scream.
“You’ll talk,” Stefanov says. “Or you’ll watch her die.”
“She has nothing to do with this. Please, let her go,” my father begs, a desperate entreaty in one eye and the other one swollen shut.
Stefanov bends down, putting him and my father at eye level. “Talk.”
Pavlov grabs my mother’s hair, fisting her dark curls in his fingers. She whimpers when he raises his other arm, poised to strike, but she doesn’t cower.
“Stop,” my father cries out. “Stop, please! I’ll tell you.”
“Where?” Stefanov demands.
“In the bathroom. There’s a loose tile on the bath. It’s behind the piping.”
“Go,” Stefanov says to Pavlov even as the latter hurries from the room. Then to my father, “You thought you could blackmail me?”
“No,” my father says with disgust. “I was going to hand it over once I knew whom I could trust.”
“Not very clever.” Stefanov shakes his head. “I own the police force.”
“Not everyone,” my father says bravely.
Pavlov returns with a plastic bag dangling from his fingers. “Got it. He’s got photos of us meeting with his superior and documents proving we pay him.”
Stefanov nods. “You did the right thing, Viktor. Now you and your family will live. I’ll even reward you handsomely for the trouble. Is there anything else you’d like to give me? For every other piece of information you hand over, I’ll double the price.”
My father’s head drops. “No.”
“I think he’s telling the truth,” Pavlov says.
Stefanov’s voice is clear, his command cold. “Turn on the gas.”
My mother blinks. Her head turns as she follows Pavlov with her gaze to the stove. “No.” The whispered word is filled with dread.
Pavlov turns on the gas.
Stefanov takes a lighter from his pocket and lights the fat white candle that stands on the table, the one my mom used to save electricity.
“No,” my mother cries.
“You said you’d let us go,” my father yells, drops of blood splattering from his mouth onto his vest.
“The boy is almost fifteen,” Pavlov says. “He’ll be a problem for us later.”
“No!” my mother says.
“Don’t worry about the kid.” Vladimir walks to the door. “He’ll end up in the system. He’ll be lucky if he survives.”
“Goodbye, my friends,” Pavlov says in a mocking tone, following in Stefanov’s footsteps.
My parents sit side to side, facing each other. My mother gives my father a tremulous smile, and then the screen goes dead.
I clutch the edge of the desk so hard my nails leave imprints in the wood.
I see my surroundings through a haze of red.
Pavlov and Stefanov owned my father’s superior at the police force. It’s a pity that son of a bitch is long since dead, or I would personally torture him into his grave. I’d bet my left arm he was the one who pulled the security tape from the remote feed and handed it over to Oleg Pavlov. Pavlov then gave the tape to Besov via Mukha, who encrypted the file.
Why did Pavlov hand the tape to Besov? There can only be one reason. Besov threatened Pavlov’s life. Besides me, who else would’ve wanted that tape? Stefanov. It’s evidence connecting him to the murder of my parents. He would’ve wanted to make sure it never fell into my hands. I’d bet my right arm that Stefanov ordered Besov to threaten Pavlov for the evidence. The minute Stefanov had the file, he killed Pavlov. Now he’s getting rid of Besov, and then me. Nice and clean.
One question remains. How did Stefanov find out who I am? Volkov is a common surname in Russia, and Alexander is a popular first name. After I dodged the system, there’s no way he could’ve kept track of me. If he had, he would’ve killed me a long time ago. No, he must’ve found out recently that I’m the son of the couple he killed in cold blood, not long before Besov took that shot at me. I imagine his surprise when he discovered I didn’t die in the system after all. It must’ve been his worst nightmare come true, learning that I’ve become one of the most powerful men in this country. He knew that if I ever found out about the murder, I’d come after him with everything I’ve got.
The cold rage doesn’t show in my voice as I get to my feet, grab my phone, and dial Igor. “It’s time,” I say when he picks up. “We’re going in.”
“Don’t you want to wait for Stefanov to make the first move?” he asks.
“It’s no longer necessary.” I walk from the office with long strides. “I got the information I wanted.”
“I’ll brief the men,” he says with resignation.
I hurry to the back of the house, taking the shortest route to the barracks to weapon up, and nearly knock Katerina off her feet as she comes out of the kitchen with a mug in her hand. I grip her elbows to steady her, making sure I haven’t accidentally burned her with the hot liquid.
“Alex,” she exclaims as she stares up at my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say, moving her aside. “Stay in the house. No walks in the garden today. I’ll be back in a few hours.”