Dimitri’s gone. Shit.
I take a deep breath, pushing it down and locking it away to deal with later. I promised Nala I’d come and I’m coming home no matter what. I turn to Lev on my right. “You’re in charge. I’m going to Dimitri’s team to take out that fucking PKM.”
I don’t wait for his response. Within seconds I’m halfway to the south. I pass Dimitri’s body bleeding out on the ground, sidestepping it, not stopping until I spot his men pinned behind broken stones and overturned ceramics. They’re heads down while the PKM tears the courtyard apart.
Crouching, I drop in beside them, firing once and missing. The gunner doesn’t slow down, so I wait through the next burst of shots. I fire again. Someone beside me fires off another round at the same time and the PKM stops. The gunner goes down and the man feeding it topples over the railing.
The alarm starts screaming, alerting everyone that we’re here.
“Inside,” I shout to my men.
Weapons up, we advance fast, reaching a side entrance where I see Alexei’s team already there. Another burst of gunshot vibrates throughout the fortress, loud and uncontrolled. We’re not suppressing anymore. It doesn’t matter.The police aren’t coming. I made sure of it. As for anyone living close by, they keep their eyes and ears closed, afraid to get involved in Bratva business. As they should.
The main entrance gives after a few rounds to the handle and some heavy kicks. Once we’re through the door, we stalk across the marble floor, toward the main hallway. I eye the curved staircase, leading upward, to my target.
I’m so close.
Our footsteps echo, giving us away as a muzzle flashes at the top of the stairs. An old Bratva guard. This fucker has a shotgun in his hand. He fires and buckshots chew into the wall beside me, marble chips shattering. A chandelier takes a hit, crystals raining down then crashing on the floor.
I’m on it, already firing and getting two shots off, right in the center of his chest. The old guard drops his shotgun, tumbles down the stairs to land in a heap at the bottom.
“Stairs,” I call out, waving my hand.
The men move fast behind me, jumping over the body to take the stairs two and three at a time. We make it to the second floor, the council room within my sight. I know my father’s in there, probably barricaded too.
Soon, I tell myself. Soon.
I stay focused even when three guards come around the corner. Two more Old Bratva, see us and immediately raise their weapons.
The only thing is, they’re pumping between shots, a death sentence against our AKs. All three guards go down before they can get off a second round. My men and I round the corner, and I call out to Alexei into the mic. “What’s happening?”
“All dead. It’s clear.”
I see the council room up ahead. Lev and the others close in from the opposite side, masks splotched with blood. I put one finger to my mouth. I hear my father shouting andanother voice, an accented one— an Albanian, trying to calm him down.
I step aside and Lev fires off a shot at the handle. The door is sturdy, solid oak, but nothing against the force of men determined to see their Pakhan dead. We ram it, over and over. There’s a heavy scraping against the door, like furniture being used as a barricade. The wood eventually gives, splintering until the door finally shatters.
A shelf skids across the floor landing with a heavy thud. My rifle and at least three others are already up and firing at the guard. He goes down in an instant, blood spraying and splattering on the wall.
I’m through. I’m fucking through.
My father, soon to be a dead man, sits there behind his desk. His face is red, veins bulging in his neck and forehead, breathing harsh and loud enough to hear from one end of the room to the other. His hands shake around the barrel of his gun, a Soviet issued Makarov waving back and forth like he’s having a seizure.
He just might.
His early morning guest, stands near the wall, wearing a tailored suit. His dark hair is slicked back, and I can tell he’s trying to look calm, even though he’s probably pissing himself.
I lower my rifle, sling it across my back, then reach up and pull off my balaclava. My father's eyes bulge. For a whole second his mouth hangs open, stunned into silence. The calm breaks and he slams his fist on the desk, launching from his chair.
“Roman! You… You piece of shit, coming into my house.” He gestures at the men beside and behind me, arms flailing in the air. “What the fuck is this? Who are they? You shoot up my place. For what? What the hell do you think this is? You’re dead. You’re all fucking dead.”
“I’m dead?” I point to his guard on the ground. “Who’s going to kill me? Your guard right here, or the others bleeding out…everywhere.”
He rages again, spit flying in the air. “I knew I couldn’t trust you, you goddamn pig. That’s how I’ll gut you. Like I should’ve done years ago. What do you think you’ll get out of killing my guards? If I don’t kill you, Volchya will make you dig your own grave and tear you limb from limb. I’m the fucking Pakhan. You hear me.”
I stalk closer to him. His hand tightens on the pistol, and the barrel starts to rise. I know he won’t get a shot off because his hands are dead weight with all their shaking.
"Go ahead," I tell him. "The second that barrel points at me, every man in this room will put a round in you. Is that what you want?”
