Page 42 of Blazing Embers

“About?”

“Nice try!” Konstantin clocks my bullshit attempt to trip him up. “While I heard and saw what I had, for an instant I wanted to back out. I thought, fuck, I can’t do this. But then I thought of the photo in my envelope, and I thought about you and our cause. After that, it was a no-brainer. My mission was a go.”

“So. This is all about me discovering the underbelly of my own fucking bratva that I didn’t know existed—a shadow bratva. Now, almost a year after my grandfather’s death, I have to take some stupid fucking test to get into the inner circle of my own birthright.” I shake my head and ball my fists stopping myselffrom breaking the desk with my bare hands. The room goes cold. “This is what I expected when I thought of doing the trials by fire. That it was actually about trying to break into a secret part of my own home so to speak.”

My pulse is a hammer in my throat and I pick up the envelope once again. “So what’s supposed to happen once I’ve seen what’s in here? I forgive you for however you betrayed me and we go back to being brothers?”

Konstantin shrugs. “You decide if you want to be a true Dragunov king, or just another sad bastard chasing ghosts and, like your mother, wait for the next generation of Dragunovs before retrieving your family’s legacy back from the Mirochins and Russian Military.”

Nodding, I close my eyes and pull the photo from the envelope leaving it upside down.

Silence, thick and absolute, sits in the safehouse office.

I can hear Konstantin reach for the bottle of vodka and pour himself a glass. The liquid splashing into the glass sounds louder than normal as my senses are on high alert now.

Slowly I open my eyes and take another sip of liquid courage before turning to the photo.

I want to throw something. Instead, I pour another shot and down it in one. The world wobbles around the edges, but my anger keeps it pinned in place.

“What exactly are the council expecting from me?”

“To see if you truly are the one that’s going to lead us back to greatness or going to sink us once and for all.”

“Great! No pressure then.”

“You could always refuse but we both know you won’t do that. You’re too much of a go-getter.”

The photo feels cold in my hand. I flip it over and my eyes widen.

My breath catches in my throat.

It’s the village.

That day.

The ground is scorched. Shadows stretch across debris. Fire licks the edges of the frame. And there’s Gavriil, mid-action, weapon raised.

I know that angle.

It’s the exact fucking moment I looked up and saw him.

The gun pointed toward my wife. My daughter.

My heart slams against my ribs.

What the fuck kind of sick game is this?

But then I see it.

A red arrow drawn with a marker.

Pointing past Gavriil.

To the roof behind him. I can see the silhouette of a sniper positioned there.

I squint. Grab my phone. Zoom in. The sniper is adjusting his scope.

The profile is clear.

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