If anything, my grip on the gun tightens.
I aim directly at him.
“Take one more step,” I say, my voice low, steady, “and I will shoot you.”
He doesn’t look impressed.
He looks…pleased.
Anton laughs softly, like this is all entertainment to him.
“I know you will,” he says, amused. “I know because you’re one daring bitch.”
A smirk pulls at my lips despite everything. “You’ve pissed off this daring bitch, Anton,” I reply coldly. “And she’s thirsty for your blood.”
He rolls his eyes, completely unfazed. “You might have to wait a bit,” he says lazily. “Because I don’t plan to die today.”
“Too bad.”
I pull the trigger.
The shot cracks through the room—sharp, deafening in the enclosed space.
But he moves.
Fast.
The bullet misses him by a fraction, embedding into the wall behind him.
I don’t hesitate. I re-aim instantly, tracking him as he shifts position, my finger tightening again.
My heart is pounding now—but not from fear. From focus. From something colder.
“You die now, Anton.”
He nods slowly, like he’s considering the idea. Like this is a negotiation, not a standoff.
“If you want to kill me,” he says calmly, “fine. But here’s some news for you.”
Something in his tone shifts, and I feel it before he even finishes.
“I kept him,” Anton continues. “Your father.”
My grip tightens instinctively. “What?”
His smile widens, just slightly. Enough to make my stomach turn.
“I never gave him a proper burial,” he says. “I had him taken. Hidden.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
For a second, the room tilts.
“If you kill me now,” he adds, voice almost conversational, “no one will ever find him. Worse—” He tilts his head. “I’ve already made arrangements.”
My pulse spikes.
“If I don’t check in,” he finishes, “his body gets desecrated…and displayed across Moscow.”
