I sank into the nearest chair. Every joint protested. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the occasional drag from someone’s cigarette.
“Tell me,” Maxim said.
I did. The bank job. The clean entry. The vault. The two wingmen—Kolya and Misha—laughing as we loaded bags. Then the SWAT team pouring in like water through a broken dam. Gunfire. Kolya taking rounds to the chest, dropping without a sound. Misha turning, firing back, catching buckshot to the face. I’d grabbed the bags, fired my gun fast and true, then ran through service corridors, out the loading dock, into the street. Cops everywhere. Dogs. Helicopters overhead. I’d lost them a melee involving a nosy and luckily for me highly unhelpful local police force. Kept moving until I hit the forest. Jumped the cliff. River carried me downstream. Washed up alive.
When I finished, the room stayed silent.
Maxim studied me like I was a puzzle he hadn’t expected to solve tonight.
“Kolya and Misha,” he said quietly. “Good men.”
I nodded. My throat was too tight for words.
Maxim leaned forward, opened the duffel. Stacks of cash stared back—hundreds, fifties, twenties, all banded tight. He lifted one bundle, thumbed the edge, then handed it to Grisha without looking.
“Count it later,” he said. “For now… well done, Viktor.”
I looked up. “The men?—”
“Will be remembered. Families taken care of. Funerals arranged. No questions.” He leaned back. “You brought the money. You survived. That’s more than most would have managed.”
I exhaled through my nose. “I almost didn’t.”
Maxim smiled—small, cold, approving. “But youdid. And that’s why you’ll go far in this family. You have the stomach. The nerve. The luck.” He tapped the table once. “One day you’ll find yourself in another situation like this. On a cliff edge. No way out. No rope. No net. Just darkness below and dogs behind.”
I met his gaze. “What then?”
He leaned forward again. “You jump. Like you did today. Into the dark. Because sometimes the only way to live is to risk dying.”
The words settled over me like cold water. I nodded slowly. “I won’t stop fighting. For the family. For honor. For success.”
Maxim’s smile widened—just a fraction. “Good. Because we’re not done with you yet.”
He stood. The others followed. Grisha took the duffel. Maxim clapped a hand on my shoulder—firm, heavy.
“Clean up. Rest. Tomorrow we talk about what’s next.”
He left the room. The others drifted away. I sat alone at the table, blood drying on my shirt, the taste of copper still in my mouth.
I looked at my hands—trembling slightly now that the adrenaline was crashing. Then I clenched them into fists.
Tomorrow I’d be back on my feet.
And one day, when I was the one sitting at the head of the table, I’d remember this night.
The jump.
The survival.
The promise.
I stood, slow and painful, and walked upstairs to the bathroom. The mirror showed a man half-dead: swollen eye, split lip, blood-crusted hair.
But alive…
PRESENT DAY…
Time moved slowly.But I didn’t give an inch…
