“Who told you?” I asked.
“I have a twenty-million-dollar reward for both of them. Once he hit Russia, everyone began tracking his moves. I began getting information in no time.”
“Do you think he knows about the reward?”
“Definitely. His hometown has already been burned. People are searching.” Kazimir nodded. “And after what happened to Xavier, I’m wondering if you want to handle him yourself?”
“Yes, I would like that a lot. If not for Daryl’s ass, X and Kennedy would be alive. Whatever love I had for my brother died when X did.”
“Then, it’s time to get to work. We just have to figure out where Darryl and Sasha went. Throw the phone away after you’re done with that picture.” Kaz left me in the dining area, holding his phone.
I studied the image some more. No guilt or sadness decorated Darryl’s face. He looked happier than ever before.
Are you wondering about me? Do you care? Do you even miss Max or X?
Darryl felt like I ended our great childhood. That was clearer after his betrayal. I never thought he believed Kennedy or me on what Max’s dad was doing to us. He would rather keep the good image of the men than confess to the monsters.
To Darryl, I’d put him in the foster care system. I’d made him fatherless and poor. And it didn’t matter how much I gave him or how I protected him. To Darryl, I’d killed his father and favorite uncle. I’d taken two of the most important people out of his life.
Where X understood and had lost his daughters, Darryl held onto the resentment like a seed, putting it in the dirt, watering and giving it sunshine every day. Watching and monitoring it during the seasons. Letting the hate for me grow. And when he met Sasha, it had been time for him to harvest.
Well, I hope you’re well-fed because there will be no more to yield, you piece of shit.
Minutes passed. Kaz showered and dressed. I did some quick research on Moscow. The train stopped ten minutes later.
It didn’t appear to be a typical train stop. We got out on an empty path, climbed over rocks, and even went through a hole in a fence. A black car sat there.
Kaz pulled keys out of his pocket, opened the passenger door, and gestured for me to get in.
A little shocked, I said, “I’m impressed.”
“I run the world. Don’t be too impressed.”
I rolled my eyes and got in.
We drove off, but this time, Kaz followed traffic rules.
I drank in his city. All around colorful domes hovered over. Even though it wasn’t cold, it looked chilly here. Already, I imagined the place appearing like a Russian fairy-tale in the winter—sugar powder snow and lights shimmering over all the gorgeous parks and squares we passed.
We stopped at a corner. A massive church sat on our right. A large group people in regular dress held wooden crosses in front of it, speaking to others walking by. With Prague, I’d been caught off guard. That wouldn’t happen here. I’d researched so much.
I glanced to the east and took in the first Soviet skyscrapers to peak the Moscow skyline.
“Is that Red Square?” I pointed at the glass.
“Yes, I’m taking the scenic route. I don’t know how much you’ll get to see over the next few days.”
Red Square had been the most stunning yet forbidding square in Moscow. It was a huge pedestrian space paved in stone right next to the Kremlin. Everything was held here—from rock concerts to military parades.
“Why did they call it red square?” I asked.
“Because red used to mean beautiful.” He drove us away. “During the winter, a skating rink goes up. You’ll love Christmas here.”
“I bet.
He showed me around a little more, pointing out this and that. The architecture was insane. Many buildings resembled colorful fairytale castles. Others appeared like wedding cakes designed by an acid-crazed baker. Regardless, I took in this new world and was stunned. There were candy-striped onion domes with blank arches and sharp spires. Blood red brick or white stone. Octagonal-towered chapels glittering in gold. Deep ochre-colored buildings with narrow windows and helmeted cupolas. Masses of jagged towers. Delicate white rooftops that looked like they’d been dusted with snow. Gothic cathedrals with glass roofs.
Blown away, I asked, “Where did the inspiration come from designing this city?”
“This is all late 19th century. Russian Revivalist architecture.” He gestured to one magnificent structure. “The domes that are shaped like onions, they symbolize burning candles.”
“Oh.” I shrieked like a kid.
His smile widened. “Onion domes are usually in groups of three to represent the Holy Trinity.”
“So, Moscow has strong religious roots?”
“Very much.”
In Moscow, he seemed different. His energy was more focused. It was like the city had revived him. I knew that any wounds he’d brought would be brand new by the end of the day.
We hit a massive highway.
“We’re not going to my house.”
“Your castle,” I corrected.
He smirked. “You’ll have bigger, if you want.”
“I only need an apartment.”
“Then, I will set it up. If you want.”
“I would want an apartment, but I’ll be able to manage. It’s important for me to—”
“Be independent.”
Instead of looking at the road, he glanced at me. “You’re not comfortable with me providing for you? You’re my girlfriend. There are things that come with that.”
“What things?”
He returned to the road. “You ask as if you have a chance to back out.”
“I ask because I want to know.”
“Then, you’ll see what things come, mysh. Put the apartment idea away for a few days and consider what I have to offer.”
Uncomfortable with the topic, I pointed forward. “This is cool.”
A massive bridge appeared before us. The arches were red and a huge silver disco ball dangled from the center.
“That’s Zhivopisny Bridge. We’re in north-western Moscow, passing the Moskva River.”
“What’s going on with the massive disco ball?”
He chuckled to himself. “Yes, it does look like a disco ball. That was a structure that was supposed to be a restaurant. The project was abandoned.”
“You know a lot about what goes on here.”
“This is my city.”
“True.” I nodded. “Although, I didn’t find your name, when I was researching Moscow.”
“You won’t. This isn’t America. We have a problem with journalists dying here.” He shrugged. “What else did you find on your research?”
“Rich people buy ambulances and drive them around because the traffic is so bad.”
He laughed.
“Do you own one?”
“No, but Valentina had two.”
I continued, “Russia has nine time zones and its surface area is bigger than Pluto’s surface area.”
“That I didn’t know.”
“Tea is big here.” I looked out of the window. “Oh, and there are at least ten secret Russian cities with unknown names and locations.”
“Forty-four.”