Mistral’s looks like somebody used it as a punch card.
Well, if there had been any doubt in his mind about who could be responsible for such a bold assault (and there wasn't much) that settled it fairly soundly. The Rutherfords wouldn't risk such exposure, and as far as he knew, aided by her apparent surprise at the events unfolding, the Italians and French still considered each other allies. That left only one group with enough fucking audacity to attack so close to Knightsbridge.
Ayaz had spent his whole life in London save for a short time schooling in Edinburgh, and the past attacks the city had suffered still remained tucked away in his mind, ready to seep back to the surface on days precisely like these. It was very possible this wasn't mob violence; it wouldn't have been the first time they'd taken to civilians for shooting practice. Perhaps he shouldn't have assumed it was Vorshevsky related at all...but it sure was easier to stomach the reality if he did.
"The Russians don't need London. They never had any intention of being here until we brought them. They don't care if it burns." Using we in that context pained him when he couldn't think of a Rutherford decision he'd ever wanted to distance himself from more. "The French do. And I think that's why they still hold back. The moment they decide London isn't worth it and stop doing that—" His family would be fucked, too.
Only time would reveal the French names that made the death toll. If one of them was Delphine St. Clair? Ayaz gave Giordana a look, watching as she checked over her gun. Pointed toward his glove box to indicate the presence of another should she need it.
The only relief he felt was in seeing she was okay. Given how close she'd been to everything unfolding, though, left it fleeting. Things could've been different. When he reached out to give her wrist a brief, affectionate squeeze—his way of asking if she was all right without asking at all—it was just as much an expression of gratitude at the fact they hadn't been. Not this time. Ayaz hadn't waited all this life for her to come along just to lose her to the fucking Russians.
Now she was finally in the car, he could turn off the high street at the next available opportunity and attempt to avoid at least some of the gridlock. Thankfully, it shortened the journey more than he'd been expecting. Less thankfully, however, he noted two figures waiting behind the gates of Lara Rutherford's home instead of the one he'd been tasked with picking up. Could there have possibly been worse circumstances for the two of them to finally meet? Seemed unlikely.
"I wasn't aware there'd be a passenger," he said, though it sounded very much like an apology. He readied to exit the car, offering a brief: "Give me a second," before heading out to greet Lara and his ex-wife.
