And it is absolutely terrifying.
And utterly mesmerizing.
My chest tightens as I watch him work. I feel lightheaded. Dizzy. Like watching a panther toy with its prey just before the final kill.
Then—crack.
The sound of Aleksandr's fist colliding with the man's jaw rings out like a firecracker, bouncing off the alley walls in a brutal echo. There's nothing theatrical about it. No wild swings. Just clean, practiced violence—delivered with surgical precision.
A grunt, low and choked. The man slumps further.
Aleksandr grabs him by the collar, yanks him upright with one arm like he weighs nothing. Then—another blow. This one lands somewhere deep—stomach, ribs, maybe the liver. The man coughs, sputtering, blood flecking the grayed snow in front of him.
I flinch, even though I knew it was coming. My fingers tighten on the takeout bags, crinkling plastic and paper like brittle leaves. The warmth from the egg roll dies instantly on my tongue.
Aleksandr's knuckles are split now—red blooming across skin, dripping in rivulets that stain the front of the man's coat.
And still, Aleksandr's face remains composed. Emotionless. Only his eyes—those pale, eerily dead grey eyes—burn, and Aleksandr looksalive.
I want to capture this moment. I want to make it happen again. Fuck, how can I witness him alive like this again, make him see that I want this side of him. That despite what he said all those years ago. I can take it. I want it.
"That was for expecting me to betray my family the way you did yours Jakub," Aleksandr murmurs.
There's the sickening sound of a body slamming against the wall. The groan that follows is raw and guttural.
"I've got the evidence. You kill me, it doesn't disappear." Jakub coughs into the snow. "You are going to go down with the rest of them. Do you know what the FBI has on us? Murders? RICO charges? You will never see the light of day again."
Aleksandr doesn't even raise his voice, and he leans back onto the heel of his feet, cracking his neck from side to side. "You think we do not control the courts? You think there is no way out for us, Jakub? That we would allow scum like you into those rooms without knowing exactly who you are?" Aleksandr taps his cheek twice. "Don't make me laugh, Jakub, or should I call you Officer Lyon in your final moments?"
Officer?
The word slams into my brain like a brick. My mind kicks into overdrive—Officer Lyon. Undercover. A cop. They just found a cop that was in the conference room for hours with both the Petrov siblings.
And I saw the ice cream truck. And Dahlia just tried to talk to me about getting into the building so late, and she was too dry for a snowstorm, asking weird questions.
Fuck.
This whole thing is a setup. The Petrov building is compromised.
Everything in me screamsrun. Get everyone out of here.
But I can't.
Because Aleksandr leans in just slightly, his voice dropping low and lethal. "Any last words, traitor?"
Jakub wheezes, blood-slick and shaking. And somehow, laughs.
"Yeah, dipshit," he slurs. "You're under arrest."
Aleksandr's face doesn't twitch. But he lets out a single laugh—sharp, cold, amused like he's genuinely baffled by the stupidity in front of him.
Then—he flicks off the safety.
The sound is louder than it should be. Like it slices the air in half, and steals every ounce of oxygen from the air.
"Aleksandr, don't!" I shout, the words ripping out of me as the takeout bags crash to the ground.
I take a shaky step forward, heart in my throat, breath caught somewhere behind it.
