Daughters of Victory by Gabriella Saab

Author:Gabriella Saab [Saab, Gabriella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2022-10-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

Moscow, 8 May 1918

On my walk back to the Meshchansky District, armed with a meager bundle of near-spoiled herring after hours in line, the gray sky burst. Fat drops pummeled the streets while I sidestepped puddles, bumped into impatient passersby, and wrapped my shawl around the thin paper to prevent it from getting soaked. Despite the rain, I maintained my leisurely pace, my thoughts on Kazimir. On his lack of retaliation following the Constituent Assembly disbanding.

“We cannot afford to be rash,” he said every time I urged him to let me carry out reprisals. Instead, he focused on propaganda or reaching out to peasants and workers for support.

Perhaps my rogue assassinations defied his orders, but he knew what it was like to be seized by a mission, consumed with purpose. Surely Kazimir would understand, once it was safe for me to tell him everything. During my efforts to coax Orlova out of hiding, why not eliminate threats to my party as she eliminated threats to hers?

It was an easy method: Go on an errand, target the most prominent Bolshevik I saw. Sometimes they were giving speeches; other times putting up propaganda posters; or sometimes it was simply a face I recognized from newspapers or a name identified by a bystander. I followed them, found a quick opening, and finished the job.

A sudden gust stirred my sodden clothing; on the corner ahead, a newsboy pulled his hat lower over his face and adjusted his thin coat over his remaining papers. When I glimpsed the headline, I paused.

Once I had paid for the paper, I ducked beneath the nearest portico, wiped rainwater from my eyes, and read the headline that had caught my attention: “Four Bolshevik Leaders Dead.” The article went on to discuss the mysterious murders—a single bullet each, individual corpses found on various streets along the Moskva River.

Last night had been a resounding success.

My search for medication to help with Fanya’s headaches had taken me farther than intended. Past the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, its four columns topped with golden domes while its fifth dome, the largest, towered in the center, gleamed in the moonlight. Down to Ostozhenka Street, following the water’s curve. Fog curled over the Moskva River, tendrils reaching for the sky above, luring the stars closer, swallowing them into its depths.

My route led me to four different Bolsheviks, each alone. So I took each opportunity fate presented.

Nothing ostentatious like Orlova. Just one simple, effective bullet.

A rush coursed through my veins, the feeling that always found me when I pulled my trigger. If my actions had been deemed newsworthy by someone other than Vera—who had started reporting the mysterious Bolshevik murders even though no one knew I was behind them—surely Orlova had noticed too. Not much longer until we faced one another; until then, all I had to do was provoke her, encouraging her to put a stop to this threat against her party. And the day she tried could not come soon enough.

* * *

AFTER

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