Something confusing stands out in my mind, tugging at my thoughts. Something I remember from my time locked up down in that horrible cell. Even though most of my captors spoke Russian, I recall them discussing in hushed voices their hatred of the Russians. As though they were a separate entity entirely.
“But there’s something I don’t quite understand,” I start off slowly, poring over my thoughts to try and make sense of them.
Felix looks positively overjoyed at the chance to potentially school me on something. He’s definitely the kind of guy who gets off on being a know-it-all. It’s actually kind of endearing, in an odd way.
“What don’t you get? I explained everything. What do you wanna know?” he pipes up, a little too excitedly, but I’m caught up in trying to untangle the question in my head.
“Those guys… the ones who captured me and held me in that horrible place,” I begin, “I-I don’t think they were Russian.”
“What do you mean?” Felix asks, squinting at me condescendingly, like he’s talking to someone of severely diminished intellect.
“They spoke Russian sometimes, but they also talked about hating the Russians. Like they weren’t part of the same thing. I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense, does it? Maybe I just misunderstood them,” I say quietly. But Felix’s already huge eyes are widening, his mouth falling open. He reaches up and drags a hand back through his curls, some kind of grim realization coming over him.
“Oh no,” he breathes, standing up suddenly.
“Wh-what? What is it?” I ask, panic seizing me, too. He looks genuinely frightened, all traces of his old cockiness dissipated.
“I’ve got to call him — I’ve got to warn him —”
“Warn who? About what?” I demand.
“Max! If those guys he’s going to meet aren’t Russian… that means he’s walking straight into the den of the enemy. Into a trap,” Felix reveals, frantically dialing his cell phone.
“What?!” I burst, rushing to his side.
He silences me with a harried shush and presses the receiver to his ear, listening to it ring over and over… with no answer. “Merde,” he swears under his breath.
“What do we do?” I ask, my voice shaking.
Felix meets my gaze, looking absolutely petrified. “I don’t know what we can do.”
I find myself enraged at his defeatist tone. He can’t possibly be considering just leaving Max to the wolves while we sit here and twiddle our thumbs. “Get your things. We’re going to find him and warn him before it’s too late,” I order him firmly.
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “But what if it’s already too late?”
“We don’t know that for sure, and I’ll be damned if I let something bad happen to him without even trying to help. He’s saved your ass and mine, and now it’s time to return the favor,” I declare, scooping up my jacket and purse, suddenly very grateful that Max had Felix bring me a change of my own clothes from the flat.
Felix hesitates a moment, but seeing the fire in my eyes, he finally sighs and relents.
“Okay, fine. Let’s go.”
And I very well just might’ve signed our death certificates.
18
Max
The manor I arrive at is more of a villa, arranged in Roman fashion complete with weathered, ivy-covered walls and wafting gardens that seem to sing in the midday Parisian sunlight. The only thing marring the sight as I pull up to the side of the road not far from the entrance is the legion of guards patrolling the estate.
Even through the tall trees that line the cobblestone path to the manor, it’s clear they haven’t made much of an effort to conceal their security, even if the men I see aren’t carrying weapons out in the open.
There are three guards standing watch at the entrance, at least six men strolling along the tops of the walls, and every balcony I can see from here has at least one person on it, and eyes are starting to turn to my black sedan. Locals know to avoid this place, but it isn’t uncommon for tourists to mistakenly head this way and be turned back with a kind but firm word.
But the car I drive means something. My black sedan is one of my old vestiges of the Bratva, and to see one pull up means someone is here to do business.
But as my eyes scan the men that I see, none of them look familiar. This isn’t so much of a surprise — I’ve been away from business for a very long time, and men in the rank and file come and go in the span of a year or less. Still it means I may have to do some fast talking. I grimace as some of the men at the gates eye my car. I’d much rather storm the place. Three quick shots would put those men down, and I could slip to cover before the rest even had a chance to react. Better yet, I could just wait until nightfall and scale the wall without any of the guards being the wiser.