Somewhere in the darkness of the yard, where the bullet flew, there was a sound of falling, but I was not at all interested in it.I imagined our meeting many times, but never until that moment had I realized how scary it would actually be. Terribly exciting.Just his smell made me dizzy, and my eyes were captivated, and I felt like a stupid girl in a dress with peas, who was breathlessly waiting for his touch.A rough hand with unusual tenderness lay on my cheek, and it instantly flared with heat. The smell of cigarettes, silver, and a fresh gunshot tickled his nose more, leaving a smell of gunpowder on his skin.This bouquet was intoxicating, and the body seemed weightless more and more confidently, while the heat from his palm spread all over my skin, and there was nothing stronger than the desire to snuggle up to him until I heard a baby cry - the most heartbreaking sound for a mother.It was as if I was overwhelmed. I took off and rushed into the house, seized by only one crazy t

It seemed to me that I ran away so far that I literally found myself on the other side of the world, but some two days of off-road travel, and now I was again ... at home.Volkodav could not hide his surprise when I said that the end point was to be Angelov's residence. Well, if he thought that returning home meant not only returning to the cursed city, but also to his loft, then he was mistaken.There is no better place than home... Boris told me something similar when he took me from the hospital, and I did not feel anything like that when we passed the gates of his residence damaged by the explosion.The gang of the wolfhound parted in different directions even when we had just left the track closest to the cottage. A column of motorcycles would attract too much attention, and most of the way with all the gas stations and millions of thoughts that we would crash around the next bend, we drove together.The wheels rustled on the gravel, and the motorcycle stopped at the main entranc

Boris's residence was far outside the city, and closer to noon the airspace above it was filled with the rumble of an approaching helicopter.When Astakhov left, I made some inquiries about Ibragimov and his law firm. Their Internet site was designed with claims to the status and rich history of the family business, offering a full range of both legal and financial services that all segments of society could hardly afford.As for Ibragimov himself, there were three of him, or rather them: Mark Anatolyevich, Dmitry Markovich and Mikhail Markovich.Alyosha did not indicate the initials of the right one, so I did not specify who exactly I needed, but something told me that both the father and the sons had all the information I needed, the only question was who would respond to the call of the widow of the former owner of the city : an old wolf or one of the young ones?The answer was not long in coming, and when I looked out the window, a young, tall, well-built man in a suit and with a

To say that Rosa's words left me with an unpleasant aftertaste was an understatement. It was one thing to admit that I had made a mistake by returning to the city, and quite another to hear confirmation of this. I would have bitten my elbow, but it was already too late to bite even two.I had no reason not to believe her, but on the other hand, I just wanted to shout out "What the hell?!"As children, my brother and I often heard in our slums fairy tales about the great Valery Stanislavsky, which mother tearfully fed, telling in the evenings about how gentle father was, and how he would love us, and how he would take care of us, and other shit , unfamiliar with loneliness, fear and longing.Now, many years later, I was sitting in his house, but already in the chair of a wolf who organized his murder and took the place of the owner of the city, who ordered me to be beaten, raped and killed, and then fucked me in the same house, sang praises, gave jewelry , who made me his wife, and who

Rosa served me lunch in the dining room, honoring a vase of strawberries with the most honorable place on the table. I placed my laptop out of sight and jabbed blindly at my plate with my fork, trying to focus on the news that was all about starting a recycling plant and opening jobs. Somewhere I even came across an interview with the deputy mayor, but I did not read through it. Everything was clear there anyway: it was worth taking something important from people, and from wolves, and half-breeds too, and then returning it, and they, consider, were in your pocket, overflowing with gratitude.It warmed me strangely that I now had power in my hands, and that with its help I had done a good deed by providing jobs, but I also could not help but notice that with such a gesture I exposed myself even more. Gratitude is gratitude, but even the simple inhabitants of the city's slums couldn't help but wonder who was now at the helm, not to mention the mayor and all his many hangers-on."What i