Page 100 of The Darkness is Calling

I turn toward Yar, who shakes his head. “I don’t even want to know what you told her.”

“I dedicated her a song. ‘Murder on the Dancefloor11,’” I answer dryly.

Sasha laughs, but my older brother doesn’t appreciate the joke. To be honest, I am not exactly displaying any cheer either.

“When did you become this funny?” he asks with sarcasm.

“I’ve always been funny. But not everyone appreciates my black humor,” I answer, checking my watch for the tenth time in the last minute.

And I clench my teeth.

“If he doesn’t show up in the next two minutes, I’m leaving.”

“I know you have somewhere to be, but don’t forget this meeting is just as important.”

I know that too, but Katya is the most important thing to me. I would have canceled today’s meeting if I could, but someone told us he has information about who killed Ekaterina’s father and demanded that the meeting take place here, now.

11Song by Sophie Ellis-Bextor

On our territory.

Though it seemed suspicious to me. Too easy. But I had no other option. Plan B is for my brothers to stay here and wait for him while I leave for Royal Albert Hall, but the informant asked to meet me.

This is the second recital Katya will perform there, and the first experience was not exactly pleasant because of her father. Which is why I refuse to allow anything to stop me from reaching her, from giving her another painful memory tied to her performances. She already considers them a bad omen for the people she loves. I don’t want to give her any more reasons to feel guilty.

Beside us, one of the soldiers approaches, a finger pressed to the earpiece in his ear. From the tension in his body, I feel I’m about to kill someone.

I am already clenching my teeth before he says the words.

“Pakhan, we have activity outside.”

One of the voices begins to growl inside me.

“Two cars and a van in the club parking lot. No license plates.”

I knew there was a reason I did not like this club, a reason I avoid coming here even though it’s one of the businesses we use for money laundering.

It is too exposed, even if it sits at the end of a narrow side street in a less-than-pretty neighborhood in North London. I’ve wanted to move it many times, but my brothers advised me to leave it here because it is highly profitable precisely because it is hidden and ideal for drug traffickers.

“We need to go,” Yar says.

Sasha is already on his feet, one hand reaching behind his back, where he keeps one of his guns.

“It was a fucking trap,” I tell the two of them through my teeth, though I am sure they have realized it too.

Fury leaks from every pore as I understand that I have walked into someone’s snare, someone now standing between me and getting to that recital.

We go outside, flanked by nearly ten soldiers, but the street is blocked. The vehicles are parked perpendicular to the rest, and several masked men begin getting out of them, wearing bulletproof vests over black shirts and ski masks over their heads. Their weapons are aimed at us, and we are directly in the path of gunfire if the attack begins.

But we have always been prepared for a moment like this, and my men immediately take position.

I give the signal, and chaos breaks loose.

Smoke grenades turn the place into a choking hell through which bullets begin to whistle. I take cover behind one of our cars, my brothers scattering toward other hidden positions from which they can attack.

Adrenaline boils through my body while the voices demand the blood of those who dare disturb the evening that should have gone differently. I fire in their direction, but their semiautomatics overpower my weapons.

Someone thinks they can attack us on our own territory? That’s just stupid.