The tension is suffocating. It's heavy, pressing against our lungs and making every breath feel shallow. We're all waiting for the sun to set.
Finally, daylight fades.
The natural light vanishes from the high windows. We're left in absolute darkness until the harsh, buzzing floodlights of the warehouse flicker to life, bathing the concrete floor in a sickly glow.
The time for waiting is over.
The armory cage clangs open.
A black tactical vest comes off the rack and goes over my chest. I wrench the side straps tight until the buckles dig into my ribs, welcoming the bite.
From the wall, I take an assault rifle. The chamber is clear. The bolt cycles smooth. Optics calibrated.
Every motion is deliberate. Controlled.
A full magazine slams into place with a solid click.
When I step back onto the warehouse floor, the rifle hangs at my side like an extension of my arm. SUV trunks crash shut in sharp succession. Engines turn over. Men move faster now — sharper, harsher.
Ivan catches sight of me. His jaw tightens as he strides forward to meet me.
Tonight isn’t a mission.
It’s war.
"Listen up! Eyes on the boss!" Ivan roars, his voice echoing off the high iron rafters.
The response is instant. The massive room falls dead silent. Fifty heavily armed soldiers turn and form a huge semi-circle around me. I don't need a microphone. They stop and listen, eyes locked on mine, burning with the exact same violent need for payback that's threatening to tear my chest wide open.
"For a decade, we've moved in the shadows," I call out to my men. My voice rings out hard, deep, and devoid of mercy.
"We've played the long game. We built an empire from nothing, we bought the politicians, we secured the ports, and we waited patiently for the perfect weapons from Venezuela to fight a clean war."
I pace slowly in front of them.
"But the Italians didn't wait," I growl in disgust. "They didn't want a clean war. They ambushed our brothers on a publicbridge. They stole our property.They left our men dead in the streetand put Lev on a surgeon’s table in our basement, forcing him to fight for his life. And they dared to put their filthy hands on my wife."
The mention of Lev and the men sends a visible ripple through the ranks. Grips tighten on rifles until the men's hands are shaking. Jaws lock so hard that teeth audibly grind in the quiet room.
"The Council gave me forty-eight hours to bring that master tablet back, or they'll brand us all traitors to the bloodline," I tell them, laying the brutal truth bare.
"The Elders think we're crippled because we lost the shipment. They think we're weak without those guns. But I look at you standing in front of me, and I don't see crippled men. I see the Bratva."
I stop pacing and plant my feet, locking eyes with the men in the front row.
"I don't need Venezuelan missiles to kill a rat," I say. "I need you. Tonight, we don't sneak in through the back door. Tonight, we leave the shadows entirely. We're going to drive straight up to the gates of that refinery, and we're going to break their front door off its goddamn hinges."
I raise my rifle high into the air. The cold steel feels heavy and perfectly balanced in my grip.
"Tonight, we don't send a message!" I yell, letting all my anger off the leash. "Tonight, we leave no one breathing! We burn the Italians to the ground, we take back our empire, and we show this godforsaken city exactly why they fear the Morozov name!"
"Ura!"The Russian war cry erupts from fifty men at once.
It's a deafening roar that shakes dust from the steel rafters above us.
The sound of fifty heavy boots stomping the concrete in perfect unison vibrates straight through the floor. The tension that held the warehouse hostage all day finally snaps, replaced by an unstoppable momentum.
"Mount up!" I order Ivan. "Breaching teams in the front two vehicles. We roll in five minutes."
