Konstantin
Three days later, Viktor Troskoy's empire starts to crumble.
It begins with the accounts. All seven of them, drained completely by Emilia's relentless work. Two hundred and eighty-six million dollars, redistributed across hundreds of charities and legitimate organizations.
Troskoy doesn't even notice until it’s too late.
When he does, I'm the one who gets to watch his face.
I’m at a meeting with Leonid Reznikov and two o f his most trusted men.
Routine business, territory discussions, nothing unusual.
Troskoy walks in looking like he owns the world.
Expensive suit. Confident smile. The man who survived decades in this business by being smarter, faster, more ruthless than everyone else.
Then his phone buzzes.
I watch his expression change. Confusion. Disbelief. Fury.
He excuses himself, steps out into the hallway. Through the glass walls, I can see him making frantic calls, his face growing redder with each conversation.
Emilia is back at her apartment, working on phase two. But I wish she could see this.
Troskoy returns to the meeting ten minutes later. His composure is back in place, but I can see the cracks. The way his jaw is too tight. The way his hands are clenched into fists.
"Everything alright, Artur?" Leonid Reznikov asks, all polite concern.
"Fine." The word comes out clipped. "Just some banking issues. Nothing serious."
But it is serious. And from the way Leonid's eyes sharpen, he knows it too.
After the meeting, I return to Emilia’s apartment to find her grinning at the monitors daisy-chained across her desk.
"He knows," she says without looking up.
"He knows. I watched him get the alerts during a meeting."
"Good." Her fingers fly across the keyboard. "Now for the fun part."
Phase three is even more vicious than phase one and two.
Emilia has spent the last three days compiling evidence of every illegal deal Troskoy has ever made. Every bribe. Every shipment. Every murder. She's pulled it from his own servers, encrypted files he thought were safe, and now she's preparing to send it to the right people.
Not the police. The Bratva would protect him from that.
No, she's sending it to his business partners. The ones who trusted him to keep their secrets. The ones who will see their own names in those files and realize Troskoy has been keeping records that could destroy them all.
"How long until you're ready?" I ask.
"Two hours. Maybe three." She glances at me over her shoulder. "We should leave the city after I send the files. Things are going to get ugly fast."
She's right. Once Troskoy's partners realize what he's been keeping, they'll come for him. And they'll come hard.
But I'm not ready to run yet.
"There's something I need to do first," I say.
"What?"
"I need to talk to Leonid."
Emilia turns fully to face me, concern written across her features. "Konstantin, if you tell him what we've done—"
"I'm not telling him anything." I move toward her, cup her face. "But I am telling him I'm done. No more jobs. No more enforcement. I'm walking away."
"He'll kill you."
"Maybe. Or maybe he'll respect the honesty." I press a kiss to her forehead. "Either way, I'm not leaving this city with my job hanging over us."
She studies my face for a long moment. Then: "I'm coming with you."
“No,” he says, a finality in his voice that squeezes my heart. “You need to finish this.”