Chapter 45
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
VIKTOR
Another day and another lead on Gennady. The tip off says that he might be at a meeting tonight.
We head to the location after the sun begins to set.
The air hangs heavy over the ruins of an old cement plant.
Concrete skeletons loom in the distance, half-swallowed by weeds and rust. This disused rundown place located in some industrial area is the perfect cover for covert arms dealing.
And it’s a perfect place for someone to die.
My hand tightens on the gear shift for a fraction of a second before I step out of the SUV. Boots crunching on the gravel, the cool metal of my sidearm presses firm and reassuring against my ribs.
Nikolai is already scouting the perimeter with two of our men.
Matvey lingers at my six, silent as death.
And Grigory is standing by the open trunk and loading a second clip into his rifle.
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t need to. He’s as invested in this as I am.
It’s bad for business. It’s just bad overall. And it’s fucking personal.
“We’re ending this tonight,” I grit out.
Grigory nods once. “No witnesses.”
The Albanians made their move too early.
Got greedy. Thought they could carve out a seat at the table by aligning with Gennady and skimming from the same pot we’d built brick by bloody fucking brick.
Whatever Gennady offered them—access, immunity, leverage—it won’t be enough.
This is Bratva territory now. And I’m here to show them they have nothing unless we’re the ones to give it to them.
The crackle over the earpiece tells us it’s time.
The cement plant stinks of mold and machine oil. Wind whistles through rusted beams like the ghost of men who built this place and died beneath its weight.
We move fast, splitting into teams with a silent and deadly precision.
Grigory takes the south flank. I lead the strike toward the loading bay where the meeting is supposed to go down.
Our intel is solid. They’re moving crates from a truck into the holding bay. A makeshift operation if we’ve ever seen it. A deal arranged by someone with just enough clearance and no soul left to sell.
And Gennady is central to it all. My jaw tightens. The FSB doesn’t create men like him by accident. They design them. Strip out hesitation. Wire loyalty into their bones. But Gennady is a unique breed all of his own.
We slip through a side entrance. I count five men guarding the first hallway. Two with rifles, three with sidearms. All Albanian.
I nod to Grigory. The wicked smirk on his face makes me shake my head.
I aim a bullet into a man’s chest. Another in the throat. The silencer makes quiet work of it.
Grigory takes out the others before their weapons even clear their jackets.
Blood paints the ground and walls.
My pulse doesn’t spike. My breathing doesn’t change. This is simple muscle memory. Precision. Execution.
We push forward. I step over a body still twitching.
Nikolai’s voice crackles through the comms. “Southeast clear. Two trucks. Multiple crates of weapons for delivery. I count six more inside.”
“Copy,” I say, turning toward the men and Grigory. “Hold. Wait for my go.”
Through the cracked glass of a busted office window, I see them standing over the desk making the deal. It’s a crowded room. Mostly muscle.
Two men shake hands. One is in a leather coat, broad-shouldered and scruffy—he’s an Albanian boss. The other wears a tailored jacket and dark gloves.
And there he is, in the flesh.
Gennady.
My hand tightens around my gun.
He looks calm. Almost bored.
I breathe deep, letting my rage settle in my bones. My emotions are wild, complex, disorganized. But discipline and calculation guide my actions—all the parts of me the military never quite broke but reshaped into something cold and precise.
Gennady turns kids into assets.
He did it to Avelina.
He wants Sofia too.
But he made the mistake of coming after my family.
“Go!” I order.
Grigory and Matvey breach from the side, sweeping the room with rifle fire. I move in fast, gun raised. Bullets rip through flesh. Screams echo against worn walls. One man thinks he can escape—I shoot him in the back without even thinking.
Gennady’s gaze darts around before he runs.
Fucking coward.
“He’s mine!” I pursue him, yanking the earpiece from my ear. I can’t afford to be distracted.
I can hear my name being called. I see Grigory move to cover my back. But this is for me to do alone. Chaos reigns behind me before it fades into the background as I break off toward the back exit. My steps are fast. But the bastard’s gaining ground, slipping between the stacks and debris.
My boots pound like thunder. I chase him into the gated parking lot. Abandoned vehicles scatter the lot like corpses. Gennady veers left, heading for a rusted-out truck.
I duck behind a steel barrel. And as I aim at him, for a split second, I see his eyes.
It’s not fear but recognition. Like he knew it’d be me.
He returns fire. “You can’t stop it!” he yells out.
My jaw tightens, lining up my next shot.
“I’m going to take them. And I’m going to break them!” the fucker taunts.
He breaks cover and runs toward the perimeter.
I sprint after him.
He spins around. And the sound of a gun going off hits my ears.
Pain flares, white-hot and immediate, as I look down. Something seeps into my shirt. Blood. I drop hard, the ground knocking the breath out of me. My vision blurs. And a metallic taste fills my mouth.
Another gunshot echoes.
My neck cranes to see Gennady escaping into the darkness, vanishing just past my line of sight toward the broken fence and rotting machinery.
I breathe through the pain, gripping my side as the sticky warmth coats my fingers.
It’s bad. Not lethal, not yet, but deep enough that pushing to sit up sends lightning through every nerve in my body.
Still, I try to stand. The world spins. And my knees buckle.
“Fuck!”
I drag myself behind the wheel of a nearby truck, shielding myself from sight lines as my breath comes in sharp, shallow pulls. I fumble with my comms.
Static. Then Matvey’s voice—calm but urgent—breaks through. “Vik? Viktor? You good? C’mon, man…”
I focus on the sound of his voice and not the throbbing pain in my side. Trying to block it all out and focus. It’s harder to do now. “I’m hit. He’s gone. Secure the area… Do not engage unless he comes back. I want to be the one…to kill him.”
“Copy.”
I close my eyes for a second, biting down hard as pain spikes again. My hands shake. My ribs scream. My side is slick and warm. And I can feel the stickiness coating my fingers as I press harder.
But none of it matters.
He fucking got away.
I let him get away. Fuck!
I press harder on the wound, teeth grinding as the pressure sends fire lancing through my side. The world around me blurs in and out. The scent of blood and dust chokes the air. Every breath feels wrong. Too shallow. Too sharp.
I’ve been shot before. While I was in the special forces and also while I’ve been working with Grigory and the others. I remember the agony of being shot in the ribs during an extraction in Ukraine and another time in the knee during a hostage retrieval that went sideways.
But this?
This is different.
Because I’m not focusing on the mission. Or the facts. Or the neat little boxes to distract myself. I’m thinking about her.
Avelina’s voice drifts into my head. Soft and steady. The memory of her hands on my chest when she thought I was asleep. The way her body fits into mine. The warmth in her sunshine smile. The way her fingers trace my tattoos like they’re something more than just skin and ink.
I failed her.
The sound of boots stomps toward me.
Movement in the corner of my eye gets my attention.
Nikolai’s shadow rounds the corner first, his rifle sweeping the lot, jaw clenching tight when he spots me.
“Shit.” He drops down, already checking the entry and applying pressure. “Gotta be the dramatic one, huh?”
“I wanted a nap,” I grunt.
He snorts, but it’s a tight sound. He’s worried. “I’ll kill him…and you too if you fucking die on us,” he mutters as Matvey jogs up behind him with a medical bag.
“No,” I snap, my voice hoarse but firm. “He’s mine.”
“Yeah, you’re really gonna show him by bleeding out.”
Matvey is already working, injecting me with a pain suppressant and gauze-packing the wound. His fingers are efficient, like he’s working on a keyboard. His expression is emotionless, but I see the twitch in his brow.
“I should’ve got him,” I grit out.
“You’ll get your chance,” Matvey says. “Just not tonight.”
Grigory’s voice crackles through the comms. “Evac two minutes out. Status?”
“Vik’s hit. We’ve got him, but Gennady and the Albanian boss got away.”
There’s silence for a few seconds. “Hold tight.”
I don’t know if I’ve simply closed my eyes or passed out, but the squeal of tires hits my ears. I want to open my eyes. But I can’t. They’re heavy. And everything is getting cold.
“Fuck,” I hear Matvey say before he begs me to open my eyes.
But dizziness makes it impossible. Have the pain meds even kicked in yet? Or maybe they’re working now, and I just don’t realize it. But every bit of pressure I feel makes me wince.
I mumble something, forcing my eyes to creak open a little. I press my hand to my side. Dizziness washes over me again. “He’s…still out there,” I mutter. “We gotta…”
I close my eyes with another sharp inhale.
I need to focus.
To find him.
But all I can think about is the sound of Avelina’s voice calling mine.