Mikhail
I stared at the bloodstained blanket hanging from the oak tree, my world crashing down around me. The fabric fluttered in the October breeze like a flag of surrender, and all I could see was the dark red stains that had once been inside my wife's body.
"No, no, no," I whispered, reaching up to touch the material with trembling fingers. The blood was still slightly damp, which meant it was fresh and recent.
"Boss," Dmitri said carefully, "this doesn't necessarily mean…"
"Doesn't mean what?" I spun around to face him, rage and grief warring in my chest. "My wife is missing, there are men hunting her, and now I find her blanket covered in blood! What exactly doesn't it mean?"
Dmitri held up his hands in a calming gesture, but I was beyond calm. I was beyond rational thought. All
