When we roll onto the docks, both cars cut the engines. The sudden quiet is almost violent. Night air pours in through the vents, carrying salt and oil. Sodium lamps cast long cones of yellow light across the concrete.
Lev knocks twice on the wall. The interior lights fade. He cracks open the center console and takes out a compact radio, handing it to Viktor. Viktor’s thumb rests against the metal side button. His posture changes, shoulders settling. His face goes cold, every line sharpening. Then he presses the transmit key.
A soft burst of static fills the SUV. “These docks are already ours, but tonight we take back the rest of the city. Tonight is no fucking negotiation.”
Acknowledgments crackle through.
Viktor clips the radio to his jacket and opens the door, reaching out to help me out. I blush. Even here, with guns being drawn in the shadows, he handles me like I’m something precious. It makes my heart ache in a way I can't name. “You don’t have to. With everything happening tonight?—”
“I’m still a gentleman, krasavchik.” He crooks a finger. “Now, let’s go.”
My fingers settle into his palm. He closes his grip and keeps me close as we walk forward. Nikolai and Lev fall into step ahead of us. “You look like you're going to a wedding, Vitya,” Nikolai mutters, adjusting his own holster. “Try to keep the blood off the silk. It’s a bitch to clean.”
“If there's blood on me, it won't be mine,” Viktor answers.
“That’s the spirit,” Lev adds, his eyes scanning the containers. “I’ll take the two on the left. Nikolai, you take the crane. Let's make this quick. I've got a date with a bottle of vodka after this.”
“Only one?” Nikolai scoffs.
“Make it two,” I whisper, my voice steadier than I feel. “I think we’re all going to need it.”
Viktor squeezes my hand. “You heard him, Lev. Two bottles. One for the suit, and one for the survival.”
Sasha brings up the rear, a shadow following a shadow. Viktor’s men fan out across the pier. The wind kicks harder near the open water. I’ve never been at the pier late at night, certainly not surrounded by mafia. The word makes me shiver.
“Okay?” Viktor eyes me.
“Yeah.” But part of me feels stupidly exhilarated. Never did I think I’d get to live the true Brava our city is infamous for. The danger doesn't feel like a threat anymore. It feels like home.
Viktor lifts his chin, eyes fixed on the dark shape waiting at the end of the pier. The voice comes before the man steps fully into the light.
“Well, well, well. If it isn't the whelp himself.”
Sergei moves forward at an unhurried pace. His coat is dark and perfectly fitted—the kind meant for boardrooms, not docks. His shoes are polished. Clean. Untouched by the place he’s standing in. He stops a few feet from the edge and looks directly at Viktor.
“Tell me, Vitya,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.” Viktor squares his shoulders as he takes a step forward. “Because I came to take back what’s mine. So thank you for the invitation.”
Sergei chuckles. “My pleasure. Everything for the family.”
Viktor scoffs. “That includes shooting your family members?”
“Of course,” Sergei says lightly. “I told you the old dog wanted to do me a favor.” Then his gaze pins Viktor in place. “But I’m the one who decided you’d live.”
“You could've left him for us to take home instead of killing police officers,” Lev snaps.
Sergei’s gaze flicks to him. “Easy, Levushka.” His attention slides back to Viktor. “And didn't it feel good to be back in your bedroom again? Andrei prepared you something special.”
My stomach turns. I find my voice, sharp and cold. “You didn't decide he'd live. You decided to torture him. There's a difference, Sergei.”
Sergei’s eyes find me, surprised by the interruption. His lips curl into a sneer. “The nurse has teeth. How cute.”
“He has more than teeth,” Viktor growls, pulling me closer. “He has my protection. Watch your mouth.”
Sergei laughs, the sound hollow against the wind. “Why? Will you shoot me here? With half the port watching?”
“And you were never good at shutting up,” Nikolai mutters.
