“I know it’s difficult to believe, isn’t it?” she said, forcing a smile. “But the truth is I see The Chamber changing the world.”
Richardo nodded. “I think we all believe that in some form or another or else we wouldn’t be here.”
Petrov held up her hands. “No, not like that. Not in the way that most people make such statements in an offhanded way. When I say change the world, I’m talking about a real and practical manner. In fact, I actually mean it.”
“What does that look like to you?” Ricardo asked.
Petrov glanced out the window for a moment and rubbed the corners of her eyes, trying to contain her emotions.
“When I was a little girl growing up in St. Petersburg—it was called Leningrad at that time—all I wanted was peace,” she began. “Perhaps it’s because I was surrounded by such violence. I only had to step outside my flat to see people getting pummeled for breaking some sort of arbitrary law. And it was no better inside either.”
She sighed before continuing. “My mother—she was a bit of a pushover. I wanted a stronger mother. In fact, it’s what I prayed for every night back when I believed that God existed and that he cared about me. But I no longer believe in such fanciful and whimsical things, perhaps to my detriment. Only time will tell.”
She thought for a moment then proceeded with her story.
“My mother only grew weaker and weaker, beaten down by life. She was also beaten down by my father—every . . . single . . . night. He would come home from one of his vodka-fueled drunken excursions and beat my mother. I begged her to stand up to him, to fight for herself, to fight for me. But she wouldn’t. She would just take it, night after night. To be honest, I don’t know if there was an exact point where my father damaged her beyond repair, but it happened. One night I watched her cover her head with her arms and writhe about on the floor while my father kicked her and punched her like she was a thief he was arresting. That night as she moaned in the hallway, I vowed while lying in my bed that I would never become like her, so weak, so powerless, so unwilling to fight back.”
She exhaled and then took another deep breath, her voice starting to quake.
“The next morning, I went into her room and stared at the bruises. Her eyes were almost swollen shut. Her nightgown was ripped, and I could see huge contusions everywhere. And while I wanted to have pity for her, I couldn’t. She was a stout woman and could’ve stood up to him, but she chose to just lie on the floor and let him treat her like a dog. So I found the only pity I had in my heart for her, which gave me the strength to put a pillow over her face and suffocate her. It took about a minute, one long, excruciating minute that ticked past, each second full of more regret than the last. But it was never enough to make me stop. I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop until she was out of her misery.”
She looked up at The Chamber board members, all of them eyeing her cautiously. While they were all ruthless in their endeavors, Petrov knew none of them were cold hearted enough to kill their own mothers. She planted a seed of doubt in their heads, though they’d never do anything about it. Too many of them already saw her as an ally, as a friend. And she wanted it that way. Gain their trust and their empathy, and then seize what you want. That was the Petrov way, the way her father taught her, the way the academy taught when she enrolled after killing her mother.
“I didn’t go to her funeral,” Petrov continued. “I felt as though it would’ve been hypocritical to do such a thing. Seeing her lying peacefully after I killed her—that was the first time I’d ever seen her like that. Fully at peace was how I longed to see her. And I finally saw her reach that state. But it changed me, for the better of course. It made me realize what I wanted to do with my life: I wanted to fight bullies by becoming one.”
Petrov took the calculated risk that bully had not yet become a nasty four-letter word among her traveling companions. And she was right. They nodded in agreement, each person understanding what she meant. Perhaps her story didn’t scare them, but it sure made them think.
“That’s what we do at The Chamber,” Petrov added. “We stand up to bullies, no matter who they are.”
Ricardo leaned forward and grabbed several glasses from the minibar in the back, doling them out one by one. He removed a chilled glass of champagne from a bucket of ice and passed it around. When everyone had a full glass, he raised his in the air.
“I propose a toast,” he began, “to Katarina Petrov, the woman who will stand with you in the face of injustice no matter what. I wouldn’t want anyone else standing by my side in times such as these.”
Calls of “here, here” echoed throughout the limousine, followed by the clinking of glasses.
“We will rise,” Petrov said, her steely gaze scanning all the passengers seated around her. “The Chamber will rise.”
She took a swig from her glass and drained it before sliding her hand along the upper part of her right thigh. Her gun was still there, and she was itching to use it.
CHAPTER 29
HAWK PRESSED THE BINOCULARS close against his face as he surveyed the approaching vehicle. The private section of Charles De Gaulle operated by different rules, rules that made it easy to flaunt security measures. On the way to the airport, Hawk and Alex had received an earful
