The sun breaks fully, spilling gray light across the table. My apartment is quiet, too quiet, but for the first time all night my breath steadies.
I plan the next move. Another meeting to shadow, another file to access, another chance to push deeper before the walls close in.
Chapter Eight - Alexei
The call ends, and the silence it leaves behind is heavier than any gunfire. Dimitri’s face is carved in stone, but his eyes flick to me like he’s waiting for the storm. Around the table, the men shift uneasily, not one of them daring to speak above a whisper.
I stand. The chair’s legs scrape the floor, loud and final. “Coats,” I say. “Now.”
Dimitri falls in beside me as we head for the door. Behind us, the men scatter, some fumbling phones, others grabbing weapons they won’t need until later. My driver barely gets the ignition before I wrench the back door shut. The SUV roars into the dark streets, tires spitting gravel.
“They hit the convoy hard,” Dimitri says, his tone clipped. “Fast. Precise. Like military.”
I light a cigarette, draw slow. “Survivors?”
“None.”
The smoke tastes bitter. “That’s impossible.”
“Not if someone handed them the route.”
The words hang between us.
We reach the outskirts just as the sky starts to pale. Smoke hits my nose first—rubber, metal, blood. Then the sight: two trucks gutted and blackened, SUVs riddled with holes, crates scattered like bones. The smell of fire and iron clings to everything.
I step out, boots crunching on gravel and broken glass. The wind pushes smoke low, stinging my eyes, but I keep walking, slow, deliberate.
“Christ,” one of the younger men mutters behind me. “It’s a slaughter.”
“Shut up,” Dimitri snaps.
Bodies lie crumpled where they fell. Some burned, others shot. Their weapons are gone. Whoever did this knew exactly what to take, what to leave, how to leave it. Not chaos—control.
“This was no accident,” I say.
Dimitri nods grimly. “They knew everything. Timing, route, numbers. They came prepared.”
“Then someone close fed them.” My jaw tightens. “Someone who breathes my air.”
I kneel beside one of the bodies, fingers brushing the cold fabric of his jacket. A man I trained myself, whose loyalty had been tested more than once. Now his eyes are glass, his mouth slack. He hadn’t even had time to raise his weapon.
I stand again, the cigarette burning low between my fingers. “This was a message.”
One of the captains clears his throat, voice low. “Boss, maybe it’s—”
My glare cuts him off. “Say it.”
He swallows hard. “Maybe it’s not just rivals. Maybe someone inside… maybe someone tipped them.”
The others shift uncomfortably, as though even speaking it might draw suspicion.
I take another drag, exhale slow. “You think I don’t already know that?”
The captain drops his gaze to the ground.
“Lock it down,” I say to Dimitri. My voice is steady, but the weight in it makes even the wind still. “Every phone, every file, every person. Nobody breathes unless I tell them to. Anyone who hesitates, anyone who feels off, you bring them to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
