I watched a tall man in a black outfit slit another man’s throat in a single sweep. My breath hitched, and my palm flew to cover my mouth. Shocked to my bones, my eyes widened in fear, and my heart began hammering in my chest. I felt weak in the knees and was already sweating in awkward places.
To make matters worse, I recognized the killer—it was the same man from the library.
He was surrounded by armed, hefty men, and at his feet were three others, kneeling with their hands bound behind their backs. They were pleading for mercy, but this devil paid no attention to them.
My heart shattered when I watched him drive his knife into their hearts, one after the other. Blood pooled at his feet, staining his polished shoes as he towered over their corpses.
This devil showed no remorse or guilt—almost as if to him, the men he’d just killed were nothing but chickens.
I pressed my palm tightly against my mouth so no sound would escape and expose me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
Panic had fully set in by this point, and I nearly peed my pants out of fear. I’d walked into something that most people didn’t survive.
My brain went blank, and I couldn’t think of anything at that moment. All I knew was that I was so screwed and that there was a 99.99 percent chance I might not live to tell the tale of what I had just witnessed.
I should’ve stayed back in my dorm—I never should’ve come out here.
Fuck.
Chapter 6 —Demyon
My team was able to decipher the code without stress, and we tracked the location to a warehouse at the river docks. We lurked in the dark corners like predators, waiting, watching.
The warehouse was dimly lit by fluorescent bulbs and the moon’s soft light streaming through the broken glass windows. The air was thick with the smell of diesel fuel and seaweed, mingling with traces of salt and iron.
My men had already surrounded the place, and there was movement that would go unnoticed. Ilya, my cousin Adrik, and a handful of my best foot soldiers were lurking in the shadows with me, observing in silence.
Four men in dark suits walked through the front door, their shoes scuffing the pavement. One held a briefcase in his hand, while the others flanked him like a shield. They were his bodyguards—tall, huge, and armed.
They stopped at the center of the warehouse, their watchful eyes scanning the surroundings. The one with the briefcase, a short, portly man with brown hair and a brown beard, glanced at his watch. He mumbled something under his breath, his face a mask of impatience.
I recognized him in an instant: Alexei Udinov. He was the leader of a small Russian Mafia group that operated independently of the Bratva. The bastard had tried to cross me one too many times in the past, but I never gave him the attention he craved.
Alexei was an ambitious man who was willing to do the unthinkable just to feel relevant in the criminal underworld. Clearly, the asshole didn’t know where to draw the line, as he decided to make an enemy of the Bratva.
He’d always been poking his nose in other people’s businesses, trying to find ways to bring them down. He’dsucceeded a few times after dismantling a couple of gangs from the inside. He turned them against each other, then sat back and watched them destroy themselves.
It was a brilliant move, and I was impressed when I heard what he did. But I guessed that victory had gone to his head, because now he thought he was big enough to take me on. What a delusional son of a bitch!
“We can take them out, Boss,” Ilya suggested, his voice barely above a whisper.
“No,” I replied with the same tone. “Not yet. He’s waiting for someone.”
I wanted to know who was feeding him information because he definitely wasn’t working alone. I knew someone within the Bratva had been selling sensitive information to our enemies. Tonight, I was going to catch them red-handed.
“Gentlemen,” a voice rang out from across the space, echoing off the walls. “You made it.”
“You’re late,” Alexei said, turning to face the newcomer.
“Apologies,” he answered, approaching the four men. “I had to make sure I wasn’t followed.” He halted before then and adjusted his flashy red tie.
“Anatoli, you son of a bitch,” Ilya mumbled under his breath as the newcomer came into view.
Anatoli was one of my men: the mole within the organization, the fucking traitor.
“Is he one of us?” Adrik asked me, his voice low and venomous.
