“This is serious,” she says. “More serious than you’re saying.”
“Yes.”
“You think you’ll be safer if I’m not there to worry about.”
“I know I will be.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then, reluctantly: “Fine, but you tell me everything afterward. No sanitized version. I want the truth.”
“Deal.”
***
The alliance meeting happens in a secured conference facility we use for high-stakes negotiations.
Twelve family representatives. Security details for each. The kind of gathering where everyone is armed but maintains the fiction of civility.
Sergei arrives early to coordinate. I watch him from surveillance feeds, noting how he subtly adjusts guard positions, how he ensures certain routes stay clear.
Setting up the kill zone without realizing we know.
Viktor’s counter-team is in place. Ready to move the moment shooting starts.
The meeting proceeds normally for the first thirty minutes. Discussion of territory boundaries, revenue splits, operational disputes that need mediation.
Then I feel it. The shift in atmosphere that comes before violence.
Sergei’s hand moves to his earpiece. A signal.
The doors burst open. Not one entry point—three simultaneously. Armed men in tactical gear, weapons raised, targeting me specifically.
I move on instinct. Don’t think, just react.
Drop and roll as the first shots crack past where my head was. Come up behind the table, using it for cover while my own security returns fire.
Chaos erupts. Family representatives diving for cover, security details engaging threats, the controlled meeting dissolving into gunfight.
Through the confusion, I see Sergei. Not engaging the attackers. Not protecting me.
Drawing his own weapon. Aiming at me while I’m focused elsewhere.
I see it happen in slow motion. His finger tightening on the trigger. The angle that will catch me exposed.
Then Elena is there.
She wasn’t supposed to be here. Was supposed to be secured off-site. But she’s rushing through the side entrance, face white with terror, screaming my name.
“Aleksandr, down!”
I drop instinctively at her voice. Sergei’s shot goes wide. But the distraction costs me—one of the breach team has a clear angle, fires three rounds that punch into my chest before Viktor’s team takes him down.
The impact throws me backward. Kevlar catches two rounds but the third finds the gap under my arm. Pain explodes, hot and sharp.
I hit the floor hard, vision swimming. Sounds becoming muffled and distant.
Through the haze, I see Elena. On her knees beside me despite the ongoing gunfire, hands pressing to my side where blood is spreading, screaming orders at my men in a voice that carries absolute authority.
“Get medical here now! Someone secure Sergei; don’t kill him, I want him alive! Viktor, lock down the building!”
