Chapter 2 - Dmitri
I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white from the sheer force of my grasp. Beside me, Alexei fidgets with the radio, verifying the frequencies one last time. His usual playfulness is replaced by a tense silence, a silence that hangs heavy in the air like a thick fog.
This is it, the moment I've been waiting for, the chance to finally make Sergei Makarov pay for what he did to my family.
My eyes scan the deserted street, searching for any sign of movement. Beside me, Alexei speaks into the radio.
"The convoy is approaching from the east. Thirty seconds out."
Thirty seconds. That's all the time I have to prepare myself for what's to come.
My heart pounds like a jackhammer against my ribcage as my mind races through the plan again, even though every detail is ingrained in my memory like a well-worn map.
"Positions," I bark into the radio, my voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within me.
This is for you, Mama, for you, Papa. For the life that was stolen from us.
The first vehicle rounds the corner, its tinted windows concealing the occupants from view. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, my body coiled like a spring, ready to strike.
"Now!" Alexei shouts.
I slam my foot on the gas pedal, the engine roaring as our armored SUV barrels forward, cutting off the lead vehicle in Sergei's convoy. Screeching tires and the acrid stench of burning rubber fill the air as his men scramble to react.
No going back now.
I fling open the door, using it as a shield as I return fire with a hail of bullets. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alexei moving swiftly, his lithe form weaving through the chaos toward Valentina's car.
A guard rushes me, his face twisted in rage. I drop my emptied gun and meet his charge head-on, my fists connecting with his jaw in a brutal uppercut. As he staggers back, I draw my knife, the razor-sharp blade glinting in the dim light.
You'll pay for what you've done, Sergei. All of you.
I lunge forward and sink the knife deep into the guard's abdomen with a sickening squelch. He collapses at my feet, but I don't linger, pivoting to engage the next threat.
The fight rages on, a whirlwind of fists, blades, and gunfire. I move with a cold, calculated fury, each strike landing with lethal precision. These men are nothing more than obstacles in my path to vengeance.
Suddenly, Alexei's voice cuts through the chaos: "I've got her! Let's move!"
In chaos, I catch a glimpse of her, Valentina, eyes wide with terror. Alexei moves like a panther, grabbing her from behind and clamping a hand over her mouth before she can scream. With ruthless efficiency, he binds her hands and covers her eyes with a thick blindfold.
She means nothing to me. She means nothing to me now, I chant to myself. Let her taste the terror my family felt that night. The Makarovs will know my pain.
With one final sweep of my blade, I withdraw from the fight and sprint toward the waiting car. Alexei has the engine revving as I leap into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind me.
"Drive!"
Alexei doesn't hesitate, the tires kicking up plumes of smoke as we peel out from the ambush site, leaving a trail of bodies in our wake.
One battle down, but the war has only just begun.
9 years ago
I sit at the worn wooden table, the rich aroma of my mother's borscht filling the small kitchen. Across from me, my little sister Katya giggles, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Dima has a big crush on Valentina Makarov," she singsongs in that annoying way only little sisters can manage.
Heat rushes to my cheeks as I shoot her a withering glare. "I do not!"
But my denial only makes her laugh harder. Even Mama can't hide her smile as she ladles the bright red soup into bowls.
"Aw, leave the boy be," she chides gently, her tone warm with affection. "Young love is nothing to be ashamed of."
I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. Easy for her to say. She's not the one being teased mercilessly.
Papa chooses that moment to enter the kitchen, his brow furrowed in that serious way of his. He takes his usual seat at the head of the table and fixes me with a stern look.
"Your mother is right about one thing. There's no shame in admiring a beautiful girl." His gaze intensifies. "But you need to remember your place, Dmitri. The Makarovs are powerful, and Valentina is off-limits to the likes of us."
I know he's right, of course. The Makarov family runs this city's underworld with an iron fist. We're nothing but foot soldiers in their ranks. Still, I can't help the way my heart flutters whenever I catch a glimpse of Valentina's raven hair or the sound of her lilting laugh. She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.
I'm jolted from my thoughts by a sharp rap on the front door. It sends a chill down my spine. Papa tenses, his hand instinctively going for the pistol at his hip as the laughter dies in Katya's throat. A hush falls over the kitchen, and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.
Papa rises slowly, exchanging a loaded glance with Mama before cautiously making his way to the door. The rest of us hold our breath, bracing for the unknown.
In a blur of movement, the front door bursts open and Papa is shoved violently back into the room. I jump to my feet as more than ten armed men pour into our small kitchen, their weapons trained on my father.
"What is the meaning of this?" Papa demands, but his words are cut short as the barrel of a gun slams into the side of his head. He falls to the floor with a pained groan.
Rage courses through me, and I lunge forward without thinking. A searing pain explodes across my skull as one of the intruders brings the butt of his rifle down on me. The world tilts violently, and everything goes black.
When I regain consciousness, I'm lying on the cold, hard floor, my wrists and ankles bound tightly with coarse rope. The rough fibers have rubbed my skin raw. I push myself to sit up, resting my back against the wall, and the pain in my joints intensify with every movement. Katya is beside me, her eyes wide with fear, her small frame trembling. Only her wrists are bound. Across the room, Mama and Papa are similarly restrained, seated on the floor with their backs against the opposite wall. Their wrists are tied behind them, and their ankles are bound together. Papa's face is a mess of bruises and blood.
"What do you want from us?" I demand, glaring at the armed men who stand over us.
A burly man with a twisted scar on his face steps forward and slaps me hard across the face. My head snaps to the side, pain exploding through my cheek.
"You do not speak unless spoken to, boy," he snarls. "Show some respect to your elders."
I taste blood but keep my mouth shut. What could we have done to deserve this?
The scarred man's sneer grows as he grabs a fistful of Papa's hair, wrenching his head back. "Sergei Makarov does not tolerate mistakes, Ivanov. You know the price for disloyalty."
Papa grimaces but holds the man's gaze. "I have been nothing but loyal. Whatever you think I've done, you're mistaken."
"Liar!" the scarred man roars, slamming his fist into Papa's face.
Mama cries out with tears streaming down her face. "Please, he's telling the truth! We don't know what you're accusing him of!"
Fear churns in my stomach as I struggle against the ropes, the fibers cutting deeper into my skin. But the knots are too tight.
"Tell us what we want to know," the scarred man growls, "and this can all be over quickly."
Papa remains silent.
"Wrong answer."
A gunshot rings out, deafening in the small room. Mama's body jerks violently, and she collapses to the floor, blood spreading across her chest. Her lifeless eyes stare blankly, frozen in an expression of shock.
"Mama!" The anguished cry tears from my throat before I can stop it.
Katya's screams mingle with my own as she stares at our mother's still form, her face streaked with tears and spattered with Mama's blood.
"You animals!" I roar, my voice cracking with rage and despair. "She did nothing to you!"
The scarred man turns his cruel eyes on me, his expression utterly devoid of mercy or remorse. "She was given a chance to persuade her husband to tell the truth. Now it's the girl's turn."
"No!" Papa bellows, his face ashen. "I've told you everything I know! Leave my children out of this!"
My heart sinks as he nods and one of the thugs grabs Katya, dragging her across the floor despite her frantic struggles. She kicks and screams, but her small frame is no match for the thug's strength. "Dmitri, help me!" she cries.
"No! Leave her alone, you bastards!" I shout, thrashing against my bonds.
The scarred man turns his gaze on me, a sadistic grin spreading across his face. "Maybe your father needs some... persuasion."
I pull against the ropes with all my strength, but it's no use.
"Tell us what we want to know!" the scarred man demands, his face twisted with glee. "You have one last chance, Ivanov. Where is the shipment?"
"I swear to you, I don't know anything about a shipment!" Papa's voice is filled with anguish. "Please, I'm begging you, don't hurt my little girl!"
For a moment, I think the scarred man might relent. Doubt flickers in his eyes. But then his expression hardens, and he shakes his head.
"The poor child."
A gunshot rings out, deafening in the small room. Katya's body jerks violently, and she collapses to the floor in a lifeless heap. A guttural scream tears from my throat as I thrash against my restraints, ignoring the pain.
"No! Katya!" I sob, tears blurring my vision. "Oh god, no..."
Papa's howls of anguish echo through the room. Even the thugs seem taken aback by the brutality they've inflicted.
The scarred man turns his gaze on Papa, his lips curling in contempt. "This is what happens when you lie to Sergei Makarov."
Before Papa can say another word, the man raises his gun and fires twice more. Papa's body jerks with the impact and slumps forward, blood pooling around him.
A scream builds in my throat, but it feels like all the air has been ripped from my lungs. I can only stare in numb disbelief at the broken, bleeding forms of my family as the room spins around me.