“Viktor.” Nikolai yanks me back by the shoulder. “Don’t. He isn't worth it.”
Ignoring my friend, I feel my jaw tighten. I shove Petrov again before anyone can move to stop me. I want to feel his ribs crack under my hands. But then Jonah’s fingers close around mine. They are small.
“Don’t, malysh,” he whispers.
The word hits like a physical heat under my skin. I still, my breath misfires. I don't remember anyone ever stopping me like that. I don't turn toward him. Not with Petrov watching. I won't give him that satisfaction. But Petrov’s smile sharpens knowingly as he studies Jonah once more.
“Oh, Viktor,” he says. “Your uncle is eager to see whether you learned anything from the last time you misjudged your own perimeter.”
He straightens his coat and looks at his watch as if we are already late for an appointment. “He’s waiting at the docks. Warehouse seven. Right now. I will leave you to it. The clock is already counting.”
Then he turns and walks out. The door shuts, and the bass from the club swallows the silence he left behind. Nikolai exhales slowly. “So this was the game. Petrov clears the path. Sokolov fires. Of fucking course.”
“Sasha.” The guard steps closer immediately. “I want a list of everyone who had access to the perimeter tonight. Cameras. Doors. Shift changes.”
Her jaw tightens. “Da.”
“Find the one who let him in,” I continue. “Quietly.”
A beat passes while I feel the heat of the room and the weight of Jonah's gaze. “And when you do,” I add, already turning toward the exit, “kill them.”
Jonah’s hand tightens around my wrist. “Viktor.” His voice is strained. “What happens now?”
Looking at him, I see the fear in his eyes. I see the man who just called me malysh and settled my rage with a touch. Knowing Petrov was the one who opened the door makes the air in my lungs turn to lead. “We go to the harbor.” I glance at Lev, who’s already reaching for his phone to coordinate the cars. “You wanted war. So let’s fucking finish it.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
JONAH
The city passesthe windows in broken strips of light. One block disappears while another takes its place. These are streets I used to walk. Streets I used to know. But looking at them through the tinted windows of the Maserati, I realize how little I ever understood.
We pass the hospital and my breath catches. Would they miss me? Would they even notice I’m gone?
Viktor sits beside me, our thighs pressed together. Tension rolls off him in waves. He hasn't spoken since the bar. I wonder if he’s going to die tonight. I wonder if he thinks it too.
The second car stays close behind, Sasha following at the rear. At one stoplight, she turns her head toward the mirror, her eyes meeting mine through the glass. She gives a small nod. I close my fingers around Viktor’s hand. He glances down. His palm opens for mine without hesitation. I may have squeezed his hand harder than I intended. He answers with one firm squeeze.
Nikolai’s voice crackles through the radio, breaking the silence. “Two cars already at the docks. They’re Sergei’s men. The bastard counted on you showing up. Petrov has also arrived.”
“Of course he did,” Lev mutters from the front seat. “Doctors love a front-row seat to the autopsy.”
“Focus, Lev,” Viktor states, his voice a low rasp. “I don't want jokes. I want targets.”
“I can do both, Vitya,” Lev counters, though I hear him chambering a round. “It’s called multitasking. Nikolai, tell me the perimeter is clear.”
“Clear enough for a Maserati and a death wish,” Nikolai’s voice returns. “Sasha is in position. Try not to get shot in the face, Levushka. It would be a waste of a good suit.”
“I’m wearing my lucky socks,” Lev retorts. “I’ll be fine.”
I look at Viktor, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Nikolai is right. About the suit. Tell Lev to be careful.”
Viktor’s gaze shifts to me, a small, dangerous smile ghosting his lips. “My brother has survived worse than a stained lapel, krasavchik. I'll make sure he keeps the mess off himself.” Then his expression hardens. “You stay close to both Nikolai and Lev. No matter what.”
Something cold moves along my spine. I want to argue. Instead I nod.
“Good boy.” Viktor brushes a finger over my cheek. The rest of the ride he seems absent, as if he’s already preparing for what’s to come.
