On the verge of hysteria, I shout, “Who’s Viktor?”
“I am.”
I spin around to see a man standing in the middle of my kitchen, smiling at me.
He’s tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a black suit with a black wool overcoat and black leather gloves. His hair is gunmetal gray, shaved close to his head. His eyes are the clearest blue I’ve ever seen.
The gun he’s pointing at me is enormous.
Over the line, Maxim says, “He’s very good at what he does. Almost as good as Kazimir. If you cooperate with him, it will be much better for you. It will go quicker.”
His voice lowers. “And believe me when I tell you that you don’t want him to go slow.”
I drop the receiver.
Smiling pleasantly, Viktor gestures to one of the kitchen chairs. “Sit down. Let’s have a chat.”
I’ve never been so terrified in m
