But my finger won't pull the trigger.
"She alienated everyone," he continues, gaining confidence from my hesitation. "Made you reckless. Made you—human. A Pakhan can't afford to be human, Boss. You know that."
"So you're glad she's gone?"
"I didn't say?—"
"But you're thinking it." I barely lower the gun. "You're thinking now we can do Dmitri's deal. Make everything right again. Go back to how it was."
He doesn't deny it.
I'm going to kill him.
The thought sharpens. Clear. Certain. I'm going to kill Misha. My second. The man who's been with me since before my father died. The man who's saved my ass more times than I can count.
I'm going to fucking kill him for this.
I close the distance, gun still in hand, but I don't need it. Guns are too quick. Too clean. My hand finds his throat again and pins him against the wall. Harder this time. Meaning it.
He doesn't fight or beg. Just looks at me with those calm fucking eyes.
"Go ahead," he manages, voice strained but steady. "I've always been loyal. Always did what you asked. Never stepped out of line." He swallows against my grip. "I'm saying this because someone has to. Because anger doesn't win wars, Boss. Strategy does."
My grip tightens.
His face starts going red. He won’t defend himself or fight back. He’ll let me kill him for speaking the truth I don't want to hear.
FUCK.
There's no way I can kill Misha. The man who stayed when everyone else bailed. Who questioned my father's decisions to his face and still executed them perfectly. Who pulled bullets out of my shoulder and never asked for anything beyond his share.
But he disrespected her. Called her a liability. Said he was glad she's gone.
That requires punishment. Requires blood.
But she's gone. Will his death even matter? Will it bring her back? Or will I be alone with one less person I can trust in this fucked-up world?
"I hope—" His words are barely audible, strangled. "I hopemy death goes to a good cause. I hope it makes you see clearly, Boss."
The door opens.
"Boss, I got?—"
Pyotr. He’s standing in the doorway, taking in the scene. My hand around Misha's throat. Misha's face red, his eyes beginning to glaze.
Pyotr's expression changes. Shock. Then a different emotion—one that looks like fear, but not for himself.
His eyes go to Misha and stay there.
And I see it. The way he looks at him. Not like a coworker. Not like a fellow soldier.
Like more than that. A connection I should've noticed before. One everyone probably knows except me.
FUCK.
I can't kill Misha. I can't kill him and watch whatever that is in Pyotr's eyes die with him. That’d alienate the last two men who trust me. Who believe in whatever the fuck I'm trying to build here.
I hold for three more seconds. No, five. Let them both sweat it. Let Misha feel how close he came. Let Pyotr understand what almost happened. Then I release him.
