He flashes me a grin, pleased as punch to see me. “Petyr Gubarev. As I live and breathe.”
Not for long.
As if on cue, the shadows ripple with muffled movement, but Anatoli doesn’t catch it. He doesn’t think he has to be on his guard, so he’s not.
But my men already have him surrounded. They close in one by one and quietly take his troops out of commission. A hiss of a blade here, the soft thud of a body dragged out of sight there. Silent, fast, efficient. Mikhael’s best handiwork.
I keep moving. Grit and glass crunch under my feet, until there’s nothing between Anatoli and me but the night air and the lingering scent of Lev’s blood on my hands.
He smirks and drops the cigarette to the ground. “I waswondering if you’d actually have the balls to come,” he taunts as he crushes the stump under his heel.
I don’t answer right away. Behind him, another body drops soundlessly into the night. He still hasn’t noticed.
“You called,” I reply flatly. “Couldn’t sit at home watching TV without knowing what you wanted.”
“Wise choice.” His Cheshire grin is vicious. “Curiosity would have killed you.”
He thinks he’s being funny. Like he knows something I don’t, but will soon enough. He has no idea I’m ten steps ahead of him.
But then his gaze flicks past me, scans the shadows, and his grin falters when he doesn’t see the other man he expected tonight: Lev.
His mouth twists. “Where’s your guard dog?”
I stop a few feet away from him. My grip on the gun is steady, my finger already on the trigger.
“I put him down,” I say. “I have no use for mutts who bite the hand that feeds them.”
Anatoli’s eyes flicker as the meaning sinks in.
It takes only a fraction of a second for his whole face to change. His smirk is gone now. His nostrils are flaring; his hand is twitching towards his jacket.
But like I said, I’m ten steps ahead.
My jaw clenches. My shoulders roll back. In that fraction of a second, I lift my own gun.
Then I pull the trigger. Once, twice. The shots crack through the night. Both of Anatoli’s guards jolt. Red blooms across their chests, and they crash to the ground.
Anatoli’s eyes go wide. I never noticed this before, but he has the same eyes as Sima. The same dark shade, the same cut. Only, they look much crueler on him.
He jerks for his gun, but I’m already moving. I fire again. The round punches through his knee.
He crumples with a ragged roar and clutches at his leg. His weapon slips from his grasp and clatters to the ground.
I don’t stop there.
Another bullet tears into his shoulder, knocks him sideways. He howls and writhes into the dirt. Blood is already soaking through his clothes.
He stretches one hand towards the fallen gun. I step forward fast and kick it all the way into the water, then slam my heel into his palm. The crack of broken bones echoes through the night.
“FUCK!” he screams. “Help! Someone?—”
My other boot comes down hard on his chest. He gasps. His ribs buckle under my weight as he claws uselessly at my leg.
“There’s no one to help,” I say, cold and final. “My men already took out yours. It’s over,mudak. You lose.”
“Like fuck it is!” But one glance around the docks makes it clear: he’s alone. Whoever he brought along isn’t there anymore.
I bring the barrel up, steady between his eyes. My finger tightens, but I don’t fire. Not yet.
