A/N: Alright so I fibbed a little. The actual Neal whump will be in the next chapter. I had originally planned for it to be in this one but it just felt right to end this chapter here. Plus, this way the whump won't be rushed! :)

The first light of the morning sun filtered through the dirty window pane and tattered curtains, warming Lanka's face. She stirred, waking slowly to one moment of peace and contentment before her memories came back with haunting clarity. The guilt she carried was heavy, like a metal bar across her shoulder and an anchor around her legs. It weighed her down, threatened to drown her, consume her. With a shuddering sigh, Lanka pushed it back and sat up in her bed.

Only to find Serge staring at her.

His green eyes watched her through his half-lidded stare. Buried beneath so many blankets and his expression so still, he seemed dead, passing quietly during the night. But slowly, sluggishly he blinked and moved his lips, desperately trying to form a word.

Lanka fell to her knees beside his bed, taking his hand in hers and pressing his knuckles to her cheek. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily as he weakly squeezed her hand. Lanka felt the urge to cry well in her chest and throat, but she'd shed so many tears over the last few hours, that her body simply couldn't make any more. So she sat beside him, shaking and wishing she could show him just how sorry she was.

She leaned forward, running her fingers through his hair, and kissed his face, "I'm so sorry, Serge. I should have told you so long ago."

He watched her, too tired to form words. She wrapped both hands around his and pressed them over her heart.

"I should have said yes when you asked me," she whispered, "I never should have made you wait."

A ghost of a smile spread across his face as he realized what she was saying. She offered a tentative smile back.

"When you are healed," she said softly, "you will ask me again and I will tell you the answer I should have said then."

He mouthed a word, his voice too hoarse and raspy to be heard. But Lanka understood.

"Tyen will be taken care of," she assured him, "but even if we fail, even if we never end him, that shouldn't stop us from living. We've put our lives on hold for too long, Serge. Nearly losing you has made me see what is most important in life. And it is not seeking revenge."

Weakly, he raised his fingertips to her scars.

"Our scars will heal," she whispered, "if we let them."

Smiling as widely as he was able, he weakly pulled her hands towards him. She followed, falling on his chest, wary of his wound, and kissed him as deeply and passionately as she dared.

And later, after they'd broken the kiss, she stayed right there, never leaving his side, vowing she'd never be so blind again.

This was the moment Inna had been planning for five years. This was where it all ended.

She walked beside Peter as Tyen's guards led them down the grandly decorated hallway to Tyen's office. She'd studied the blue prints enough times to know the lay out of the mansion like the back of her hand. They passed the kitchen and the study, breezed by the paintings and the sculptures to the last door at the end. Waiting inside for them was Tyen.

Inna glanced at Peter, watched as he tried to keep his tension in check. Ahead of them, two men flanked Neal, leading him none too gently through the office door. She knew Peter wanted to tear Neal away from his handlers and run. She didn't blame him, but they were in too deep now. They had to see this through to the end.

They stepped into the office, an elegant room decorated with rich leather furniture and mahogany floor boards. But Inna wasn't interested in the decor. All she saw was the man standing at the window.

He was shorter than she'd imagined, but he was stocky and well built. He wore a simple blue button up shirt and gray slacks, and the fabric stretched across his broad shoulders and chest. He was tan, silver haired, and confident. To the outside world, he seemed harmless. Just another man, semi-good looking, a business man and nothing more. Some one so evil, Inna decided, should not look so average.

Tyen turned away from the window and took the burning cigar from his mouth. He moved across the room like a snake slithers across the ground, slow and purposeful. When he reached Neal, he handed the cigar to one of the men holding Neal's arms.

And then he punched Neal across the face.

Peter flinched and hissed between his clenched teeth, but otherwise did not move. Inna had to give him credit for controlling her emotions, because she was suddenly finding it very difficult not cry out in anger.

Neal sagged between his captors, blood leaking from his mouth and staining his teeth. Tyen grabbed him by his shirt and heaved him upright.

"I have been waiting for a very long time to do that," Tyen said.

"Nice to see you to," Neal grunted.

Tyen chuckled, shoving Neal away, "Always with the bravado, Neal. I think I will have to break you of that."

"Looking forward to it," Neal muttered.

Tyen took back his cigar and stepped away, turning his attention to Peter and Inna. For a moment, worry flickered through Inna's stomach that Tyen would somehow know why they were there, or at the very least realize who she was. They had never met, but Inna resembled Nadya the most of the four sister. But Tyen's eyes roamed over her face without recognition and landed on Peter.

"You were the one that found him?" Tyen asked, moving back to the desk.

"Worked with him a couple of times, did some research," Peter said, "Found out what he was to you. And about the reward."

Tyen chuckled, "Money, always about the money. People become blind and petty when money is offered."

Peter shrugged, "Hey, I'll take it any way I can get it."

Tyen took a small packet of money out of the top drawer of his desk and moved in front of Peter, holding it out, "Yes, I see that. And it doesn't bother you that you've just handed a man over to his death? A death, that I can assure you, will be anything but slow."

Peter gripped the end of the packet, "What happens after I leave here is between you two. I'm washing my hands clean of it."

Tyen smirked around his cigar, releasing the packet, "Good to know, Mr. Collis. My men will show you out."

Peter's eyes darted to Inna, but Tyen waved him out.

"I have business to conduct with Ms. Dragomirov that does not concern you," Tyen rounded his desk, "Pleasure working with you, Mr. Collis."

Peter cast a glance at Neal as he was led from the room, and Inna wondered how long it would be before his acting skills failed and Tyen would see through their rouse. But he didn't notice the reluctance and worry on Peter's face. He was watching her.

"Dmitri must be very busy," Tyen said, "if he could not deliver Caffrey himself."

"He has many affairs," Inna said, "It is my job to stand in his stead when he is unable. But he sends his deepest regrets that he was not here in person."

Tyen grunted and looked to the men holding Neal, "Take him to the chambers. I will be along momentarily. And do not touch him," Tyen grinned evilly, "I want all of the pain he feels to be brought by me."

It took everything Inna had not to watch Neal be dragged away. It was necessary that she remain impassive, uncaring, and she knew that if she looked at him, her concern would give her away. So she watched Tyen and sat down as he gestured towards the sofa. She did her best not to flinch as the door shut behind her.

Tyen poured himself a drink from his bar and sat diagonal from her. He was with in arms reach, relaxed and unaware, so sure of himself. So naive.

"What was in the packet?" she asked.

Tyen smirked, "Money, of course. I did agree to pay the man who brought me Neal Caffrey."

"Yes," Inna agreed, "but you did not say if he would be able to keep the money."

Tyen eyed her, "Dmitri has done well to trust you. You are very observant and correct. I'm afraid Mr. Collis will not have the opportunity to spend that money."

"How unfortunate for him," Inna said, "I'm certain that you and Dmitri have come to a different agreement."

Tyen sipped his drink, "We have."

He pulled a black velvet bag from his pocket and tossed it to her. She caught it one handed and tentatively poured out its contents. Several perfectly clear diamonds tumbled out into her palm.

"Diamonds are so much easier than money," Tyen said, "Not as messy."

Inna put the diamonds back into the bag, tightening the drawstring and slipping the bag into her coat pocket.

"Dmitri will be pleased."

"Yes, he will be," Tyen muttered as he leaned forward, "but then you always please him, don't you Ms. Dragomirov?"

She cocked her head to the side, "I do my job and I do it well, if that is what you're asking."

"I know. I've done my research on you. I see why Dmitri trusts you the way he does, why he sent you here today. And I must admit, it has given me an idea," he sipped his drink while Inna waited patiently, "Work for me, Ms. Dragomirov."

"I have an employer."

"No, you have an anchor. Dmitri holds you back, Inna. I believe you are capable of much, and if you worked for me, I believe you would flourish."

"You are asking me to betray Dmitri. He has given me much."

Tyen smirked, "Not as much as I can give you. You know of me; you know the power I possess, the wealth. I could make you rich beyond your wildest dreams."

Inna smirked, "Back to money again?"

"Always," Tyen answered, "What do you say?"

Inna leaned forward, "What happens if I say no?"

Tyen's eyes narrowed, hardening slightly, "Many have tried to refuse my offers. They do not succeed."

Inna pretended to contemplate this, "Then I believe you have left me no other option."

Tyen laughed, "Yes, well, I always get what I want. Welcome to my operations, Ms. Dragomirov."

He offered his hand and Inna accepted it, squeezing firmly even though it made her skin crawl to touch him. He was smiling as they shook hands, but slowly it faded.

And for the first time in many years, Inna smiled.

"Don't worry," she said as she let go of his hand and pushed him back against the couch, "You are not dying, though I expect that is how it feels."

Tyen gasped, eyes unblinking. Inna took his glass and sat on the edge of her chair.

"It is a paralyzing agent," she said, showing him the large ring on her right hand, "It freezes your muscles, but does nothing to the consciousness. I wanted you awake for this; I wanted you to be able to hear every word I said."

Reaching across his prone body, she pulled out the gun he had tucked in his waist band and checked the clip.

"Right now, you are probably trying to remember who I am. Do not bother; we have never met face to face," she leaned forward, the glass in one hand and the gun in the other, "My name is not Inna Dragomirov. Years ago, my name was Inessa Marinov, but that woman died the day you killed my sister."

Tyen's eyes widened only fractionally, but his chest heaved as his breath quickened. Inna pressed the barrel of the gun to his knee cap.

"Did you really think we would forget?" Inna whispered, "Did you really believe for one second that we would let you live after what you did to Nadya?"

Inna cocked the gun.

Mikhail was a man of action, had always been. Even as a child when bullies would attack a smaller, weaker kid in the school yard, he didn't say anything to them before he threw himself into the fray, fists flying and legs swinging. And his father would sit with him at the table, cleaning his split lip and offering him ice for his black eye, but he never asked Mikhail to explain himself. Mikhail's father was never one for words. His knowing look and proud smile was all Mikhail had for praise, but it was enough.

That was why the last few years of planning and scheming and gathering intell was so difficult for him. He wanted to go in guns blazing, end it then and there, put it to rest the way he'd put his father to rest so many years ago. This waiting and biding time was not his style.

Charging in, that was his style.

That was why, after years of holding back and slinking in the shadows, Mikhail finally felt alive.

He didn't even use his gun when he came to Tyen's home. For the first two men he used only his hands, snapping the first's neck and smashing the second's nose into his brain. The next few he used a combination of his hands and his knife. In part, it was to keep his presence silent. He didn't need the entire goon squad attacking him at once. But deep in his heart, he knew that wasn't the only reason. This was his revenge, his action. He would never meet Tyen face to face. That wasn't the plan. Inna would be the one to kill him, and while a part of him wanted to be the one to see the light fade from Tyen's eyes, Mikhail knew it was not to be.

So this would be his justice.

He reached Peter after killing the sixth guard. They were leading him out the back, more than likely readying their guns to put a bullet in the back of his head. He took the first one out quietly, sliding the blade of his knife along the front of his neck without a sound. The second one reached for his gun and had it up, finger on the trigger. But Mikhail easily knocked it away, landing a series of blows to his chest and face.

Peter stood between the two bodies with an awed and horrified expression on his face. Mikhail methodically wiped the red-stained blade on his pants.

"Did you think it was all talk?" Mikhail asked, unable to hide his smirk.

Peter clenched his teeth, "We need to get Neal."

"That is not the plan," Mikhail reminded him, "We have another agenda."

Peter grabbed his arm as he turned away, and it took all of Mikhail's will power not to snap three of his fingers and dislocate his shoulder. Peter saw the menacing gaze and wisely dropped his hand, but the sheer determination did not leave his face.

"They're going to torture him," Peter hissed, "We don't have time to wait for Inna."

"We stick to the plan," Mikhail said.

Peter glared, "You stick to the plan. I'll get Neal."

Mikhail sighed heavily. He'd never been a man of words. Only action.

Which was why he punched Peter in the face.

He caught the agent under the arms, patting his back before hefting him up over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. It made his job slightly more difficult, but it was still doable. He turned back the way he'd come.

Now, where to place the bomb?

Inna turned Tyen's head toward the back wall of his office.

"My technician discovered your knew room," Inna said as she moved towards the painting hanging behind the desk, "Unfortunately, he was injured before he could tell me, but he'd saved the data on his laptop. But the question is: What is the room for?"

She trailed her fingers over the frame of the painting, "A panic room perhaps? But that doesn't suit you, Tyen. You are too confident, too cocky. You believe yourself to be invincible, untouchable. A man with your complex would not think it necessary to build a room meant for panic."

She turned, smirking at him, "Ironic, given your situation."

Tyen huffed through his nose, unable to answer.

Inna sat at his desk, tapping the barrel of the gun on the polished wood, "So, not a panic room. What then? The answer is startlingly obvious. You don't trust any one. You've been betrayed too many times, so it would stand to reason that you would not trust a bank with all of your money. You would want it close. You would want it where only you could access it, only you could see it," she smirked, reaching under the desk and pressing the button hidden there, "So you built a safe."

The wall behind her slid open, revealing a wall to floor silver door, a key pad in the center.

Tyen's face turned red and a pathetic sound wheezed past his lips. Inna stood, walking to the front of the safe.

"Now, there is the simple matter of the pass code," she traced her fingers down the pad, "You probably think that I have some gadget that will allow me in here, but you'd be wrong," she faced him, "You see, Tyen, I have spent the last five years learning everything I can about you, studying you, observing every movement, every action. I know everything about you." She gestured around her, "and the answer lies with in this room."

Tyen's eyes swept around the room and his distress made Inna smile.

"You have no pictures of her," she said, softly, knocking over a frame on his desk with the gun barrel, "Nothing to remind you of her, nothing to keep her close. So, it would stand to reason that you would honor her with the greatest of privileges," she approached the keypad, "guarding your most cherished possessions."

Inna carefully pressed the numbers of Sofia's birthday, smiling widely as the safe door chirped and opened. Behind it, lining the shelves on all three walls, was millions of dollars. Inna chuckled, grabbing a wad and kneeling in front of Tyen.

"This is what you love," she sneered softly, "This is everything to you, so it is only fitting for you to lose it all."

Tyen's eyes bulged and his face turned purple with exertion and effort as he struggled to make his body move. He choked, desperately trying to scream. But his body betrayed him.

"Do you know how easy it was to manipulate you?" she asked in a hushed tone, "Five years of failed robberies and foiled burglaries. Every attempt had a reason behind it, you know. I knew you would grow paranoid and I knew you were so conceited to believe that you were the only one who could protect it. I just had to wait, bide my time until you did what I anticipated. And now, I have you right where I want you."

She pulled his lighter from his pocket and flicked it with her thumb, lighting the tiny flame in her hand, "It's your turn to burn."

The bundle of money instantly caught on fire, blackening the crisp bills and hungrily eating away at the paper. Inna stood, walking back to the vault and setting the burning money on the shelf, watching as the fire leaped from bundle to bundle.

Leaving the door open, Inna walked to the bar and poured herself a drink before kneeling in front of her captive. It made her stomach dance when she saw the tears leaking from Tyen's unblinking eyes.

"You should know that I am not going to kill you now," Inna told him, "The poison that I injected into you does not have an antidote and in ten minutes, it will destroy your internal organs. You will die a slow and painful death, alone, with no way to call for help. But you will not die until after you've watched your millions burn to ash. And as the last of the embers fade, a bomb will go off, reducing your mansion to cinder and soot. It will collapse on your corpse, burying you beneath everything you've killed for."

Tyen gasped, shuddering in his unresponsive husk of a body. Inna leaned close to him, being certain to catch his gaze.

"I have spent years wondering what I would say to you in this moment," she whispered, pressing his drink back into his hand, "but I could never come up with the right words. Nothing I thought of could express exactly what I wanted to say. So I took a page from Nadya's book. She always loved poetry."

Inna raised her glass, "I drink to our ruined house, and all of life's evils too, to our mutual loneliness, and I- I drink to you," She pressed her hand against his throat, gradually putting more and more pressure on his trachea, "to eyes, dead and cold, to lips, lying and treacherous, to the age, coarse and cruel," she leaned forward, whispering the last line in his ear, "to the fact no God has saved us."

Inna released his throat and Tyen gasped weakly. She stood, throwing back her glass and swallowing the alcohol thickly. She tossed the glass next to Tyen on the couch and walked to the door without looking back.

"Dasvidaniya, ty sin sooka."

A/N: And so ends Tyen. But the story's not over. We still have a Neal whump chapter to get through. Will update soon!

Dasvidaniya ty sin sooka- Goodbye you son of a bitch