Point-blank with no hesitation or even a slight tremor in his hand. He's done that before, too.
I frown, my gaze fixed on the road ahead.
And when he said, "For my family." Why?
Why would a man like Victor personally execute a low-level thug like Bogdan? Why not send someone else? Why not use his own network of hitmen and cleaners?
What did Bogdan do to the Ionescus that warranted Victor showing up and pulling the trigger himself?
I glance at my passenger seat.
Was he after the hard drive, too? He tackled me when I went for it, but he could have done that just to come after me. He didn't mention anything about it, but then why would he?
The questions gnaw at me because I suddenly have many with no clear answer.
However, my boss has a narrative that's clean and simple. Ivan says the Ionescus are power-hungry expansionists trying to swallow up Volkov territory. They're dangerous, ruthless, and will need to be contained.
But if that's true, why does Victor care about some nobody like Bogdan from Constan?a?
I shake my head, dismissing the doubt.
It doesn't matter.
My loyalty is to Ivan and the Volkov Bratva. He's the one who saved me. Who gave me a job, a life, a purpose after everything fell apart.
I owe him everything, and if he says the Ionescus are the enemy, then they are.
I glance back down at the hard drive sitting on the passenger seat. Whatever's on that drive, it's what Ivan wanted. I got it, and that's all that matters.
Looking at the GPS, it guides me down DN39. The Black Sea is to my left, but it's too dark to see it. The road is quiet at this hour, and only a few cars have passed me.
I drive, staring at the road ahead, trying my best to stop my thoughts from whirling in my head.
Eventually, I arrive in the town of Mangalia, and I follow the blue line more closely now, making every turn without missing.
It eventually leads me to a parking garage down a side street. The entrance is unmarked, but I find the ramp and turn into the darkness.
I roll the car slowly, my headlights the only source of light cutting through the black. The garage is empty except for a single dark sedan parked in the far corner.
I pull up beside it and kill the engine.
For a moment, I sit in silence, my hand resting on the handle of my gun.
Then I see movement. The door opens, but the overhead light remains off.
A man steps out. He's tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark coat and a stern expression. I recognize him from the last time I was in Bucharest.
He's one of Ivan's handlers. I'm used to it. He's old school like that. Always a chain of people to accomplish a task.
I roll down my window halfway while still keeping my other hand on my pistol.
He approaches slowly and stops a few feet from my car, his gaze cold and assessing.
"Loose end tied up?" His voice is deep.
"He's dead," I say.
I don't mention Victor or the fight. I also don't mention the fact that I didn't pull the trigger.
