THE DEVIL’S ON CALL

Colateral damage

The alarm on Zoya’s phone didn't buzz; it hissed, a low, rhythmic vibration beneath her pillow that pulled her out of a restless, shadow-filled sleep at precisely 5:30 AM.

She sat up instantly, her body responding to years of rigid discipline rather than actual energy. The apartment was freezing. The radiator in the corner gave a pathetic, metallic clank, doing nothing to fight off the damp May chill creeping through the window panes.

Zoya swung her legs out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cold linoleum floor. She stood still for a moment, listening to the quiet of the apartment. From the kitchen, the faint, familiar scent of stale coffee drifted into her room. Kirill was already gone, likely running on three hours of sleep to make his 5:00 AM clinical rounds at the hospital. A few minutes later, the soft rustle of a jacket and the click of the front door told her that Alina had just left to open the registers for her early shift at the supermarket.

The house belonged to Zoya and Leo now.

As she pulled on a faded gray hoodie, Zoya looked down at her hands. They were perfectly steady, but the faint, ghostly scent of cheap bleach and copper seemed entirely baked into her skin, no matter how hard she had scrubbed at the sink three hours ago.

Her mind slipped back into the suffocating darkness of that basement clinic. Back to the razor-thin line she had walked.

When she had pressed that scalpel against the tattooed throat of the chaotic brother. she had genuinely expected a bullet to pass through her skull. The cold, precise brother, Lev, had held a gun like a heavy, frozen weight pressed against the back of her head. The back and forth that followed had been a twisted game of chicken.

“You have a steady hand, doctor,” Lev had murmured, his voice entirely devoid of panic, as if his brother’s life weren't hanging by a thread. “But blood pressure drops fast when the carotid is severed. You’ll be dead before he hits the floor.”

“Then we all go to hell together,” Zoya had hissed back, her blade drawing a single, microscopic bead of crimson from Ivan’s neck.

Instead of fighting her, Ivan had simply leaned into the blade, his dark eyes flashing with a terrifying, amused hunger. “I like her,” he had rasped to his brother. “She’s got teeth. Let’s see how long it takes to pull them out.”

The taunting had dragged on, a suffocating display of psychological warfare until Zoya realized they weren't going to kill her not tonight. They were assessing her. Testing her elasticity. Realizing she had made her point and that she desperately needed to get home, Zoya had finally lowered the scalpel, her expression a mask of cold professionalism.

Ivan had smiled, a low, rumbling sound, and tossed a thick, heavy wad of hundred dollar bills onto the blood splattered metal tray. It was easily five times what she would have made from the man she had just stitched up. Way more than she could have earned in a single night.

“For the mess, doc,” Ivan had smirked, turning to leave. “Consider it a retainer.”

They had left her alone with a corpse. Zoya hadn't panicked. She had simply picked up her phone and dialed a heavily encrypted number for a cleanup crew men who specialized in making dead bodies disappear from places they shouldn't be. It cost her fifty dollars from her fresh stack of cash, but it was the price of doing business.

"Auntie Zoya?"

The small, raspy voice snapped Zoya completely out of the memory. She blinked, the dark basement vanishing, replaced by the sight of her eight year old nephew standing in her doorway. Leo was rubbing his eyes, his oversized pajamas hanging off his slight frame. He looked so small, so devastatingly fragile, but his eyes were bright, wide, and entirely too sharp for a third-grader.

"Hey, bluebird," Zoya said, her voice instantly shedding its icy edge, softening into a warmth she reserved only for this room. She stepped forward, kneeling down to ruffle his dark hair. "You're up early."

"I have been awake for twenty minutes," Leo announced, crossing his arms with a look of supreme superiority. "And I have calculated that if we do not leave in exactly eighteen minutes, your ancient vehicle will encounter the construction traffic on 4th Street, and I will be late. Again."

Zoya snorted, leaning back on her heels. "Is that so, Professor? And whose fault is it that we're on a tight schedule?"

"Strictly speaking? Yours," Leo beamed, tapping his chin. "But technically, it's my science project. Mr. Harrison said if I don't bring the white poster board and the dual-tip colored markers today, I get a zero. And since I am currently holding a 100% average, a zero would severely damage my trajectory for early university enrollment."

Zoya suppressed a laugh, gently flicking his forehead. "Early university enrollment? You're eight. Go brush your teeth, you little weirdo. We’ll stop by the mini mart on the way."

"Seventeen minutes now, Zoya," he called out over his shoulder as he skipped toward the bathroom. "The clock is ticking."

Twenty minutes later, Zoya was behind the wheel of her battered, ten year old sedan. The engine sputtered to life with a loud, mechanical protest, but it ran. Leo sat in the passenger seat, buckling his seatbelt with a meticulousness that mirrored her own surgical prep.

She pulled into the gravel parking lot of a twenty four hour mini mart three blocks from his school. The sky was a pale, bruised gray, the streetlights still flickering against the dawn.

"Stay in the car, Leo. Lock the doors," Zoya commanded gently, grabbing her purse.

"If you take longer than three minutes, I am legally authorized to consume the emergency granola bar in the glove compartment," Leo countered, flashing her a grin.

"Touch my granola bar and you're walking the rest of the way," Zoya shot back, slamming the door.

The mini mart was empty, smelling of burnt hot dogs and artificial cherry syrup. Zoya moved quickly down the aisles, grabbing a thick white poster board and a pack of markers. She threw the cash on the counter, ignored the cashier's mumbled greeting, and hurried back out into the cold morning air.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

Leaning casually against the hood of her battered sedan was the very man who had been laughing at her scalpel a few hours ago. He looked entirely out of place in this neighborhood, wearing an expensive dark wool coat, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The collar was flipped up against the wind, but it did nothing to hide the intricate, dark ink creeping up his throat like strangling vines.

Ivan.

He was holding a steaming paper cup of black coffee, his chaotic, dark eyes locking directly onto her the moment she stepped out of the store.

Zoya’s heart slammed against her ribs, a cold spike of adrenaline flooding her system. How did he find me? Did he follow me from the auto shop? Her mind raced, panic threatening to break through her icy exterior, but she clamped down on it. Showing fear to a wolf was an invitation to be eaten.

She marched toward her car, her grip tightening around the plastic bag in her hand. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed, keeping her voice low so it wouldn't carry through the closed car windows where Leo was watching.

Ivan didn't move. His lips curled into that familiar, mocking smirk. "Coincidence, doc. I like the coffee here. It tastes like battery acid, but it keeps me awake."

"Don't lie to me," Zoya said, stepping into his space, her eyes blazing with a fierce, protective rage. "If you're following me, if this is some kind of sick game, I swear to God…”

"Relax, Dr. Rosvitch," Ivan chuckled, his voice a low, raspy purr. He tilted his head, his gaze shifting past her shoulder, looking through the windshield of her car. His eyes locked onto Leo, who was currently staring back at Ivan with an analytical, completely unfazed expression. "Who's the kid?"

Zoya’s blood ran completely cold. Every protective instinct she possessed screamed at her to shield her nephew from the monster standing in front of her.

"Mind your own business," Zoya spat, her voice dropping into a deadly, vicious whisper. "Get away from my car. Stay the f**k away from me.."

Ivan’s smirk softened into a look of genuine, dark intrigue. He took a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes scanning her rigid posture, reading the sudden, fierce panic she was trying so hard to hide. "Defensive. I like it. You're much more interesting in daylight, doc."

Zoya didn't answer. She ripped the car door open, slid into the driver's seat, and slammed it shut. She threw the car into reverse, the tires spitting gravel as she backed out of the parking space, leaving Ivan standing under the dim morning light, watching her go with a predatory smile.

"Who was that, Auntie Zoya?" Leo asked, turning around in his seat to look out the back window as they pulled away. "His coat cost more than our rent, and his posture suggests a high probability of criminal activity. Also, his tattoos are symmetrical. I approve."

"Nobody, Leo," Zoya said, her knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. "Just a stranger asking for directions."

"He didn't have a map, and his eyes were tracking your lateral movements like a predator," Leo noted, entirely unbothered as he opened the pack of markers. "You are a terrible liar. But it's okay, I still love you."

Zoya didn't reply. Her eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror. Sure enough, a sleek, black luxury SUV pulled out of the mini mart lot a few seconds after her. It maintained a steady, mocking distance behind her, following her through the twisting neighborhood streets. He was doing it on purpose now. Ivan was playing with his food.

By the time she pulled into the drop off lane at Leo's elementary school, Zoya’s nerves were frayed to a point of breaking. The sidewalk was crowded with parents, yellow school buses, and shouting children. It was supposed to be safe. It was supposed to be a world entirely removed from the blood and concrete of her night job.

The black SUV pulled up along the curb just twenty feet behind her.

Zoya turned to Leo, forcing her breathing to slow down. "Alright, bluebird. Grab your project. Have a good day, okay? I'll pick you up right here at three."

"Don't worry about the creepy guy with the neck tattoos, Zoya," Leo said, leaning over to give her a quick peck on the cheek. "If he tries anything, I'll calculate his trajectory and throw a rock at his frontal lobe. Have a good day!"

Leo beamed, grabbing the poster board and hoisting his backpack over his shoulders. He opened the door and scrambled out, running toward the school gates where a teacher was waving kids inside.

Zoya watched him until his bright blue backpack disappeared safely into the crowd. Only then did she put the car in park and unbuckle her seatbelt. She was going to march back to that SUV and tear Ivan apart herself if she had to.

She opened her door and stepped out into the chilly air.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

The sound didn't sound like a gun at first. It sounded like firecrackers, sharp and echoing against the brick walls of the school.

But Zoya knew that sound.

Panic, absolute and blinding, seized her throat. "Leo!" she screamed, her head snapping toward the school gates. The crowd of parents and children instantly erupted into chaotic screams, people throwing themselves onto the pavement or sprinting toward the doors.

Zoya lunged toward the sidewalk, her eyes desperately scanning the sea of children for a bright blue backpack. She saw him—Leo had already dropped into a perfect, low crouch behind a concrete planter, his eyes wide but alert. He was safe.

Across the street, a dark sedan with tinted windows was speeding away, its tires screeching against the asphalt. But the shooters hadn't been aiming at the school.

Zoya’s eyes snapped back to the curb.

The door of the black luxury SUV was flung open. Ivan was stumbling out onto the pavement. His expensive wool coat was ruined, a jagged line of dark, heavy blood blooming rapidly across the front of his grey silk shirt. He clutched his chest, his breath coming in a harsh, ragged gasp as his knees buckled.

He hit the concrete heavily, his dark, chaotic eyes unfocused as they scanned the panicked crowd, finally landing straight on Zoya.

The dangerous and chaotic looking man had just been ambushed, and he was bleeding out on the pavement of a f*****g elementary school.