"Seven people. Three children,” Adrik states, incredulity leaking through his voice. “For two hundred thousand dollars."
"I didn't know there would be kids!" Michael’s voice cracks. "They said it would just be soldiers. Assets. I didn't know—"
"You didn't care," I correct. "You took the money and ran. Left your family to face the consequences."
"How did you even access that information?" Adrik asks. "You're nobody. A civilian. How did you get the locations of our safe houses?"
Michaell swallows hard. "I work security. Worked security. For a data center that handles server backups for half the businesses in Vegas. Including some of yours."
Understanding dawns. "You had access to our encrypted files."
"Yeah." He nods rapidly. "I saw an opportunity. The Albanians had been sniffing around, asking questions. They approached me. Offered me money. A lot of money. And I wasn’t going to take it until they threatened my life. I thought—I thought I could take it and disappear. Start over somewhere else. Keep my family out of it."
"You left your family to face the consequences of your actions," Yakov spits.
"I was going to send for them! Once things settled down, once it was safe, I was going to bring them to me. Start fresh."
"Liar," I say quietly. "You abandoned them. Not just to the Bratva, but the feds. Left them terrified and alone. You're a coward and a traitor, and tonight you pay for it."
"Please." Tears stream down his face now. "Please, I'll give you everything. Names, addresses, plans. The Albanians are planning to hit your shipment next week. The one coming through the port. I can tell you exactly when and where."
I shake my head. We'll deal with the Albanians separately. Adrik already has people tracking Kreshnik Doku's movements. We'll dismantle their operation piece by piece.
But this? This is personal.
"Last words?" Adrik asks Michael.
"Wait—wait, please—" Michael’s head swings wildly between us. "I'll do anything. Anything! Just let me see my family one more time. Let me explain to them. Let me talk to Ava—"
"She doesn't want to see you," I tell him. "She chose me over you. She's mine now, and there's nothing you can do about it."
"No." He shakes his head violently. "No, she wouldn't. She's my daughter. She loves me."
"She did love you," I agree. "Past tense. Now she has nightmares about what you did."
Something breaks in his eyes. The last vestige of hope or sanity or whatever kept him going.
Yakov finally loses his patience and drags him into the plastic room we set up before they arrived.
“Michael Torres. You are responsible for the deaths of four women and three children who were under the protection of the Bratva. Do you have anything to say?”
“I just—I just—” he drops his head, shaking it from side to side.
Yakov looks at me, the question clear in his gaze.Shall I take this one?
I nod. Not because I don’t want the pleasure of removing this man from this life, but because Ava shouldn’t have to live with the man who killed her father, even if she understands and accepts the reasons that he has to die.
The shot is quiet and quick. Straight into the top of Michaels head, all captured on Dariy’s phone so it can be shared with the relevant people.
The body slumps to the floor like a puppet with cut strings, and Yakov wastes no time wrapping it in plastic.
“I’ll sort this,” he says.
Adrik sighs. "I want the body found in Albanian territory. Make it look like their handiwork. Let's see how they like being blamed for killing our asset."
"Smart," Rurik murmurs. "Start a war between ourselves and the Albanians. Force them to respond. Then we crush them when they're off-balance."
"Exactly." Adrik looks at me. "You good?"
