I should have killed my blyad brother back in Moscow. Dmitry stared down at his daughter’s motionless body. He wiped the tears from his eyes with his fists. The only thing he’d ever wanted was to keep her safe. He’d failed. He would never forgive himself.
Will Sabina ever forgive me? He glanced over at his wife. Her eyes were swollen and red. She was shivering. He went to her side, removed his jacket, and draped it over her shoulders.
The hospital’s intensive care unit was cold and dark. Dawn was breaking, and an orange glow seeped through the window shade. The room was quiet, except for the regular sighs of the ventilator keeping his daughter alive. A machine monitored Lolita’s vital signs. The doctor said she had a fifty-fifty chance. Dmitry wasn’t a gambling man, but he knew that when it came to life or death, those odds weren’t good enough.
There was a soft knock on the door, and then Lolita’s friend poked her head in. “May I come in?”
Dmitry nodded. The nurse had said no more than three visitors at once.
Jessica’s red boots clicked against the floor tiles as she made her way to Lolita’s bedside. “How is she?”
He wanted to scream, “She’s been shot through the lung! How do you think she is?” Instead, he whispered, “She’s hanging in there.”
“She’s a fighter.” Jessica’s voice was hoarse. She stroked Lolita’s hand. “She’ll pull through.” With a nasty purple bruise on her throat, a black eye, and a split lip, the girl looked like she’d been in a bar fight.
Sabina whimpered and held an already-soaked handkerchief to her eyes.
A soft knock on the door woke Lolita. Her eyelids fluttered for the first time since she’d been admitted to the hospital. When she opened her eyes, they held an urgent question.
Sabina gasped and flew to her bedside. “Moya lyubov. You’re awake.”
“You’re intubated,” Jessica said. “Don’t try to talk.”
“Sorry to interrupt.” Detective Cormier entered the room, removing his hat. “I came to check on Ms. Durchenko.” He walked softly toward the bed. “Has she woken up yet?”
“Look,” Sabina said, her voice breaking. “Her eyes are open.”
The detective gazed down at Lolita. “Good work. Thanks to you, we have the evidence we need to put Sergei Yudkovich in prison for a very long time—racketeering, drugs, stolen art, attempted murder, kidnapping . . .”
Lolita’s lips turned up in a weak smile.
“Lolita was working for you?” Jessica asked.
“Yes.” Detective Cormier cleared his throat.
“That’s why she didn’t tell me what was going on. I wondered.” Even so, Lolita should have said something.
“The museum robbery wasn’t enough. We were afraid he could argue your shooting was accidental.” Detective Cormier glanced at Dmitry. “We needed to link him to heroin smuggling and get him on racketeering. With your daughter’s help, we succeeded. Thanks to her, we’ve taken a big step toward eliminating organized crime in Chicago, including several dirty cops.” He smiled. “She’s a very brave young woman.”
“So, she wasn’t really working with my brother?”
“No, Mr. Durchenko. She was working for us.”
Dmitry slumped into a chair next to the bed. “Thank God.”
“In fact, if she’s willing, when she recovers, we’d like her to continue infiltrating the Russian mafia. As far as they know, she's still Sergei’s appointed successor.
“Hasn’t she done enough?” Sabina sobbed.
“Yes, Mrs. Durchenko. She has.” Detective Cormier stared down at the hat in his hands. “It’s up to her, of course.”
A nurse appeared in the doorway, her pink scrubs covered in puppies. “There are too many visitors. Some of you will have to leave. The patient needs to rest.”
Jessica followed Detective Cormier out into the hallway.
“Amber?” Jessica weaved around the detective to give her friend a hug. “How long have you been standing there? Why didn’t you come in?”
“The nurse wouldn’t let me.” Amber bit her lip. “Is Lolita okay?”
“She will be.” Jessica hoped it was true. She couldn’t bear losing Lolita. It was painful enough to see her beautiful, fierce best friend lying there with a tube in her mouth.
Amber leaned up against the wall, moving both hands back and forth like she was trying to form a ball of air.
“What are you doing?”
“Energy therapy for Lolita.”
Jessica rolled her mind’s eye and turned back to the detective, who was on the phone.
“I’ll come back when Ms. Durchenko is able to speak,” Detective Cormier whispered as he scooted past her. “Ms. James.” He nodded.
Lolita was gesturing frantically with her hands. She pantomimed writing on paper.
A nurse with a pinched face, her hair wrapped in a severe bun, appeared at the door. “The patient needs rest. She’s getting agitated.”
“She wants to tell us something,” Dmitry said, pointing at his daughter’s wild hands.
“I’ll get a pen and paper, but then you all have to leave.” The nurse reappeared a minute later. She put a pen in Lolita’s hand and held up a clipboard.
Lolita slowly wrote on the paper. When she finished, she held the clipboard out.
Uncle did not kill grandmother. Find who did.