I kneel next to Rurik’s body and assess the damage. There’s no point in checking for breath: he’s gone. His eyes are glassy, wide with the shock and urgency of his last moments. He must have tried to duck behind the sofa for cover, but not fast enough.
Rurik Mikhailov.Pain in the ass that he was, he didn’t deserve this. Not from somemudakwho’s got nothing to do with us. He was a soldier in my Bratva—that made him mine to judge, no one else’s.
Yet another thing Desya stole from me.
I take a deep breath and close his eyes. His body is still warm, but there’s no life behind them. Sightless, glassy, still.
Maksim comes up behind me. “He’s…?”
“Dead.” I don’t bother to sugarcoat it.
“Blyat’,” Kazimir mumbles next to us. “Poor bastard. At least he didn’t suffer.”
“I’ll make sure to send Desya a thank-you card for that.”
Kazimir shuffles, uncomfortable. “Apologies. I misspoke.”
It’s not fair of me to take my anger out on Kazimir, I know. But right now, I don’t give a shit about what’s fair. Because this? Rurik’s blood on my floor, on my hands? It’s not fucking fair, either. Nothing about this hunt is.
“Boss.” Maksim hands me something. A handful of bullets. “Look.”
I roll them in my palm. One is etched—no, all of them are.
And they all say,4.
“Motherfucker.” It’s all I can do not to crush them in my fist. If there was any doubt about the culprit, this fucking seals it. Desya is hunting my generals, one by one, and Rurik was his second victim.
Two down, four more to go.
I rise and let the bullets clatter to the floor. “Check in with Zhenya and Anton. If they’re so much as thinking of surfacing, shoot their goddamn kneecaps.”
“On it,” Maksim says.
“Kazimir, you’re joining them. Right now.”
“Oh. Alright.” Kazimir blinks. “Can I at least swing by my place and grab?—”
“No.”
He sighs, but doesn’t argue. “Fine. Hope Anton brought every pair of boxers he owns.”
“If he didn’t, I’m sure Zhenya will let you borrow from her drawer,” Maksim adds unhelpfully.
I tune them out. Right now, the last thing I need is my men making light of the situation. Twovoryare dead—that’s not just two less men in our ranks. That’s inviting chaos. Or worse, a coup.
If the other criminal syndicates of New York smell our blood in the water, Desya might not even need to finish the job.
“We’ll die, all of us, like flies.”
I clench my fists, knuckles popping like firecrackers.Let them come.Anyone who wants a piece of my Bratva is welcome to try and take a bite. They’ll end up with a bullet between their teeth instead.
I’m not giving up. My Bratva, my revenge—I will keep them both alive.
And the rest of myvory,too.
I step out into the hallway and walk deeper into the building, as far from the windows as I can get, because the last thing I’m going to do is give Desya the gift of an easy prey. If he wants me, he’s going to have to come get me.
But what if he does?
