I grab my phone, scrolling through his last message—the one asking to meet privately about a ‘collaboration.’
I let out a humorless laugh. “He’s about to get his meeting.”
Roman’s gaze follows me as I pocket my phone. “Lev,” he says quietly, his tone carrying that rare thread of concern, “be careful. This could be a setup. Viktor’s not the kind of man to invite you into a room unless he’s already decided how you’ll leave it.”
I pause at the door, my hand tightening around the handle. For a moment, I meet his eyes. Roman’s expression is grim, the kind that comes from too many years of seeing people walk into traps they never walked out of.
“I know,” I say, voice low and even. “But I’m not the kind of man who hides when someone comes for what’s mine.”
He shakes his head slightly, but there’s the faintest hint of a smirk. “Then I’ll keep a body bag on standby, just in case.”
I ignore the jab, open the door, and step into the hall.
Every part of me is taut—focused, alert. I can already smell the calm before the storm in the air. Viktor thinks he can come into my world, into my house, and lay claim to my wife?
He has no idea what kind of hell he’s about to walk into.
I walk out of the office, the door shutting behind me with a soft click, sealing the quiet promise that whatever comes next, I’m ready for it.
The drive to the docks is silent except for the hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of my thoughts.
Salt and diesel fill the air long before I see the cranes. The closer I get, the heavier the air feels—thick with the kind of tension that only ever means trouble.
As soon as I pull in, three black SUVs slide out of the shadows like they were waiting for me.
Figures step out—armed, uniformed, and unsmiling. One of them gestures for me to stop.
“Mr. Rusnak,” the man says in a heavy accent, eyes sharp, body rigid. “We’ve been instructed to escort you to Mr. Markovic.”
I kill the engine, step out, and shut the door behind me with measured calm. My gaze sweeps over them—counting heads, noting holsters, gauging distance. Twelve men. Highly trained.
“Lead the way,” I say, voice flat.
Their formation shifts automatically—two in front, two behind. The others fan out, creating a silent corridor as I follow them deeper into the docks.
My expression doesn’t change, but every instinct I have is awake.
I don’t trust Viktor, and I know he can change on me at any time, but I’m ready for him. Nothing can stop me from going back to Sasha alive.
Viktor Markovic waits inside a glass-walled office overlooking the dockyard. The room smells faintly of expensive cigars and sea air. He’s seated casually behind a mahogany desk, a tumbler of amber liquor in his hand, like this is a business brunch and not a potential bloodbath.
“Lev Rusnak,” he says with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “At last. I was beginning to think you’d send one of your brothers instead. Please sit.”
I sit, calm and easy, and take the glass Viktor offers. The liquor catches the light—amber, expensive, meant to impress. I don’t drink it. I set it down carefully on the desk between us.
Viktor watches me, eyes gleaming like a man who enjoys testing others. He smiles, and I match it with one of my own.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking I’m on edge.
“I’ve heard a lot about your operations,” Viktor says smoothly. “Efficient. Ruthless. Very…Rusnak.”
I tip my head slightly. “And I’ve heard the Markovic name still opens doors in Athens. Even the ones that should’ve stayed shut.”
He laughs, low and rich. “You flatter me.”
“Just stating facts.”
The smile stays on his face, but his eyes sharpen, assessing. We sit like that for a few seconds, the sound of distant waves breaking against steel hulls outside filling the silence.
