Her dark hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, her chin tipped high as she looks out over the empire I laid at her feet.
The docks are swarming with my men. They're heavily armed and moving with precision to secure the area.
Ivan stands to my right, and directly to my left is Lev, stubbornly standing on his own two feet.
It's been over a week since the ambush on the bridge. Lev looks like hell. He survived a near-death experience and fought his way out of a medically induced coma, yet here he stands.
The side of his face is still bruised purple, and his coat barely hides the medical tape wrapping his ribs. He's leaning his weighton a steel-capped cane, breathing shallowly with the effort of staying upright.
Ivan hovers behind him, ready to catch him if his leg gives out. I told him to stay in bed, but he is too stubborn to miss this moment.
"You look like you're about to faint, Lev," I murmur, keeping my eyes on the ship. "If you fall on my docks, I'm letting Ivan toss you in the harbor."
He lets out a pained chuckle and leans harder on his cane. "And ruin the suit, Boss? My tailor would kill me before the salt water did." He shifts his weight and looks at me with a knowing glint. "Besides, I had to see it for myself. The man who said he'd never let a woman cloud his judgment traded a war for one. You're getting soft, Konstantin."
"He isn't soft," Ivan grunts, holding Lev’s elbow to steady him. "He's efficient. He kept the girl and still got the guns. That's not softness. That's greed."
"Greed," Lev repeats, his grin widening despite how pale he is. "I can live with greed."
My chest warms with pride. The loyalty of my men built this place. This moment.
The screech of tires draws my attention back to the warehouse. A convoy of armored SUVs rolls onto the docks and comes to a stop.
The doors swing open.
The Elders step out into the biting wind, their coats snapping around them as they approach. Their faces are blank, carved into the expressionless mask of the Brotherhood’s law. They’ve come to witness the delivery. To face what they can no longer deny.
Sokolov stops in front of me as the crane clamps onto the first shipping container. Stressed steel groans while the box lifts from the deck of theLady Anastasia, swinging out over the water before slamming onto the concrete with a thunderous boom.
A small nod to Ivan is all it takes.
Bolt cutters snap through the seal, and the doors are thrown open to reveal a reinforced crate inside, its digital interface glowing red.
Sokolov steps closer, inspecting the seal before turning back to me, waiting.
From inside my coat, the tablet emerges — the exact piece of tech we bled for. Wind tugs at the fabric as I step toward the crate and connect it to the interface port. The screen flares to life, decryptions running across the display.
The master passcode is entered. My thumb meets the scanner.
A single beep.
Green light washes over the lock. With a sharp hiss, the bolts disengage.
The steel handle is seized, and the lid is pulled back.
Inside, perfectly stacked in shock-absorbent foam, sit crates of military-grade RPGs, C-4 explosives, and automatic rifles.
Millions of dollars in untraceable product.
Sokolov stares into the crate and nods, satisfied.
"This shipment was nearly lost to us," Sokolov says. "The Italians brought this family to the brink of disaster."
"But the Italians are dead," I reply. My tone leaves no room for debate.
Sokolov looks up and takes in the scale of the operation I've built.
"Yes," Sokolov declares, turning toward the Council and my soldiers. "You eliminated Moretti. You secured this route for good."
