“You’re not anything, are you? No papers. No past. No future.”
Not with the spoon. With a piano wire and a broken bottle and her own two hands, which were smaller than most but stronger than anyone expected. She killed him in a stairwell in Odesa, in the dark, while rain came through a hole in the roof and turned the concrete to something like skin. He was supposed to be a contact. He was actually a trap. He reached for his coat pocket, and Veta saw the bulge of a silenced pistol before his fingers even touched the fabric.
The man in charge was named Kosta. He was tall and thin and had the kind of eyes that had stopped seeing people as people a long time ago. He stood in front of her and said, “Doru sends his regards. He’s very disappointed. The client in Istanbul is very angry. But I’m not here for them.”