15

Kyle I lie on my stomach and stare through the lens of my rifle. As much as Vladimir was Nazi about the security, he couldn’t tighten it enough to eliminate the invisible soldiers on the roofs—especially the faraway locations. Besides, the church is so low that all the surrounding buildings could and would be used as a sniper nest. This is Brooklyn, after all; the tall architecture is a sure way to carry out missions. I narrow my lens’s focus to the altar, where a beautiful woman stands beside Sergei. I zoom in until she’s in full view. White looks good on her, majestic, almost like she’s some screwed-up type of angel who came down to torture humans. Rai’s expression is far from angelic, though. Even though she’s still hiding behind countless layers of makeup, she can’t camouflage the twisting of her lips or the reddening of her delicate neck that’s begging for my fingers around it. She’s become an expert at bottling her rage, but not enough to fool me. After all, I was with her every