“Of course you didn’t.” My lips twitch.
“Why would I miss the chance to pay my respects?”
His jaw shifts, a faint muscle jumping as he keeps his composure. He lets his gaze flick over my men, then back to me, his eyes narrowing. “Come to disrupt a funeral?” His voice dips lower, “Even for the Kuznetsov Bratva, this is a particularly tasteless stunt.”
I stop beside Clara's portrait. The rain beads on the glass, distorting her smile.
“Tasteless?” I glance at him, my tone as casual as if we were discussing the weather. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Stephan?”
Stephan doesn’t move back. Instead, he straightens, his posture tightening as two of his men edge closer.
The rain picks up, drumming against the umbrellas, soaking into leather and fabric alike. I take another step toward the casket, narrowing the distance between us. Up close, I see how Stephan’s performance works—the controlled presence, the way he plays the role of protector so convincingly. It’s the same act that let him manipulate Clara for years, wrapping her in a web of lies while pretending to be the steady hand she needed.
Sukablyad. He’s good, I’ll give him that.
“Bold of you to host,” I say, stepping closer, my hands sliding casually into my pockets. The rain patters against my shoulders, soaking through the wool of my jacket, but I don’t move to adjust it. I hold his gaze instead, watching the flicker of calculation cross his face as he braces himself for whatever comes next.
“Considering it’s your fault she almost ended up in one for real.”
He’s catching up.
I smirk. “I’m here to make sure it’s you we bury today.”
He recovers quickly, his head tilting just slightly, a subtle signal. His eyes flick to the left, then back to me. A message. An order.
I glance at the edges of the crowd as some of the mourners begin to peel away, their murmurs rising above the patter of rain. They’ve seen enough. They know when to clear out before blood spills. I let them leave. The fewer distractions, the better.
Stephan clears his throat, his hands brushing over his lapels with exaggerated calm, like he’s already moved on. But I see the tension in his jaw, the barely-there tremor in his fingers. He’s rattled, even if he’s too arrogant to show it outright.
“You think you’re clever?” he finally says, his voice dropping low, almost a growl. “Playing your little games while—”
The movement behind Maksim catches my eye. One of Stephan's men, thinking he's subtle.
I don’t answer Stephan. Couldn’t be bothered. Words won’t end this.
My Glock clears leather in a single motion. The shot cracks the air before his man has time to react. The bullet tears through his throat, and he collapses, gurgling, blood spilling onto the wet grass. The crowd freezes for a beat, then erupts into mayhem—screams, umbrellas dropping, people scrambling for cover.
Time to shut this bastard down.
I swing my aim back to Stephan, but he’s already moving. His hand dives into his jacket, pulling out a sleek pistol. His men surge forward to shield him, but they’re too late. My reflexes take over as I pivot to the side, avoiding his first shot by inches. The crack of his gunfire echoes across the cemetery, shattering a marble angel near my shoulder.
My second shot finds him just above the knee, and he drops with a guttural curse, one hand gripping the slick, rain-soaked headstone for balance. Blood pours from the wound, painting the stone in violent streaks. He looks up at me, raw fury twisting his face.
“Fucking shoot them!” he bellows, his voice hoarse with pain. His men respond instantly, drawing weapons and firing as Maksim’s voice cuts through the chaos.
“Get down!” Maksim barks, his Glock already spitting bullets. His grin is feral, adrenaline-fueled, as he ducks behind a tombstone and returns fire. Dmitry’s men descend from the treeline, their movements calculated and precise, tearing through Stephan’s security with ruthless efficiency.
Bullets ricochet off the statues and mausoleums, the cemetery erupting into a battlefield. I crouch behind the shattered angel,my breath steady as I reload. Rain mixes with the acrid tang of gunpowder, and I hear the distant bark of Dmitry’s orders over the bedlam.
Stephan drags himself up, his face pale but his movements frantic. His eyes dart between me and his men, calculating his odds.Coward. His bloody hand catches the collar of one of his men, yanking him into position. The shield flails, panic etched across his face as Stephan shoves him forward to block my line of sight.
“Really?” I mutter, rising from cover and firing again. The shield jerks violently as the bullet rips through his side, dropping him instantly. Stephan stumbles toward a waiting SUV, his remaining security closing ranks around him.
The tires screech as they pull him into the car, the vehicle lurching through the mud and scattering mourners in its wake.
Maksim appears at my side, his Glock still raised, his breathing measured despite the carnage around us. “Want me to chase him down?”
I lower my weapon, watching the taillights fade into the distance. “No,” I say, Ludis has got this.”
