Chapter 26 Konstantin #2
Viktor’s men react, but not fast enough.
Four scramble to drag Baranov toward a side exit.
Rifat’s team peppers them with controlled bursts.
Wood splinters in sharp bursts. One guard stumbles into a pillar, red blooming across his chest. The others shove Baranov behind an overturned buffet, glass decanters crashing and bathing the floor in amber liquor.
I push off my chair and close the space between me and an oncoming attacker.
He swings a baton at my skull. I duck, feel the wind of the strike, then drive my shoulder into his ribs.
He grunts, air leaving him in a wet rush.
I twist, catch his arm, wrench until the baton drops.
It clatters across marble. I ram my elbow into his throat.
His eyes go wide, hands pawing at his neck, and he wilts, crumpling to the floor.
I don’t wait. I scoop the baton and fling it high and hard.
It spins end over end, striking a gunman who is lining up a shot at Rifat.
The man’s head snaps sideways. He fires wild, rounds tearing a chandelier cable, the heavy fixture crashing between the council table and the wall.
The room shifts with screams and gunfire.
Smoke from the burst lamps mixes with dust and gunpowder.
The noise shreds my hearing in waves, each volley a thunder that rattles ribs.
Still, I track every movement. Near the entrance, two of Rifat’s men take up a crossfire position, one kneeling, one standing behind.
They push Viktor’s guards back step by step, bullets skipping across the parquet.
Off to my left, Viktor remains by the chair he claimed.
His coat flares as he draws another pistol.
He fires three rapid shots across the chaos, dropping one of Rifat’s newcomers.
The man tumbles into a heap of velvet drapes, his weapon skidding from limp fingers.
Viktor’s eyes meet mine again, sharp and bright, unfazed by the hurricane of violence.
He does not signal his men to fold, does not retreat.
He simply watches me, as if measuring how much I will bleed for this room.
I shoulder past a struggling councilor, knock his hand away when he tries to grip my jacket for protection, and charge another guard.
The guard swings a knife. The blade whistles past my cheek.
I seize his wrist, twist hard, and hear the pop of ligament.
The knife drops. I slam his temple against the edge of the council table.
Blood spatters the ledger beneath him, dark drops across the paper that still carries the old crest of my family.
He slumps. I pull the knife free, pivot, knife in one hand, pistol in the other.
Rifat advances, his movements efficient.
He fires short bursts, then darts behind a column of carved oak.
He checks above the table, signals left.
One of his men lobs a flash-bang over the council heads.
The grenade bursts with a searing flash.
White light drowns the chamber, then thunder detonates inside every skull.
I drop behind the table edge, eyes closed tight.
Even through my lids a pulse of white blooms. My ears crackle, pressure popping.
I rise first, trained to recover faster. Viktor’s men stagger, disoriented. I draw a bead on one of them and pull the trigger. The shot feels like glass breaking under my bones. He spins away, collapsing behind an overeager councilor who crawls for cover under the dais.
Viktor levels his gaze at me. He studies the sprawled bodies, the shattered chandeliers, the terrified councilors. Slowly, he holsters his weapon, never taking his eyes from me.
“It seems we have guests,” he says, voice calm as if discussing the weather.
Rifat plants himself between us, barrel aimed low but ready to rise. His eyes flicker to me in silent question, waiting for an order.
I take two measured steps forward, keeping my gun steady. The muzzle points straight at Viktor’s chest. Rifat’s presence between us is a barrier I no longer want. I glance at him, my tone flat.
“Step back, Rifat.”
For a second he hesitates, eyes searching my face. Then he nods once and eases to the side, weapon lowered but ready if I call on him again. The distance between Viktor and me is clear now, nothing but broken glass and blood on the floor.
Viktor tips his head, a laugh rumbling out of him. “Look at you. I do all of this for you and this is how you repay me? A pistol in my face?”
“You did this for yourself,” I say, voice low. “You bought your way in, you played both sides, and you used my grief as a lever.”
He chuckles again, wiping a smear of dust from his sleeve as if the violence never touched him at all. “I stabilized a fractured council, cut down the traitors, and handed you the room. You needed a purge and I gave it. The city will fall in line by morning.”
“At what price?” I ask. “How many bodies before you feel you proved your point?”
Viktor spreads his hands. “Bodies are the language of power, Konstantin. Speak it or be silenced. I did exactly what you could not the moment your wife walked away. I kept us on top.”
Anger pulses behind my eyes, but I keep the gun steady. “You kept yourself on top. Do not pretend this was anything but self-preservation.”
Viktor’s expression tightens. “I left Nikolai alive for you. That was mercy.”
“Mercy?” My finger tightens on the trigger. “You do not know the word.”
The room holds its breath. Rifat’s men have fanned out, weapons still trained on Viktor’s remaining guards. Council members cling to shattered tables, terrified to move. Glass crunches under my boots as I close the last steps until my gun is an inch from Viktor’s heart.
“Konstantin,” Viktor says softly, almost pleading now. “Everything I did was for the throne. For us.”
“For the throne,” I repeat, the weight of the gun suddenly cold in my hand. “Not for me. Never for me. This was for Alexei, wasn’t it? He came to you. Promised you the city if you helped him break me.”
Viktor’s jaw tightens. A shadow flickers in his eyes, something almost like anger, but he shakes his head. “He didn’t come to me.”
Viktor’s guards are outnumbered and disarmed. The room belongs to us, but Viktor’s challenge hangs thick in the air.
“Drop the gun,” he says, voice calm, eyes glittering. “Fight me on your own terms.”
For a long moment I study him, weighing pride against purpose. Then I open my hand. The pistol hits the marble with a dull clack and slides away. Rifat mutters a curse, but I step forward into the space between Viktor and me.
We circle, each of us listening for the smallest tell.
Viktor strikes first. A quick jab to measure distance.
I parry, feel the sting of his knuckles graze my forearm, then counter with a sharp elbow to his ribs.
He grunts, sidesteps, and hooks his heel behind my ankle.
I twist free, drive my knee toward his stomach, but he blocks and hammers a forearm across my jaw. Stars burst behind my eyes.
“You can rule this city,” he spits, closing in, fists flying. “Yet you waste time chasing ghosts and a woman who no longer trusts you.”
I twist, driving my elbow at his jaw, but he parries. “And who is responsible for that?” I snarl, pushing him back a step. “I’m not a fool, Viktor. I know exactly what you’ve been trying to do, parading your sister in front of me like bait.”
He laughs, wiping blood from his mouth. “You noticed.”
I catch his next punch, wrenching his arm aside. “You thought she would drive Nadya and me apart? Thought I would forget everything for a pretty face?”
Viktor yanks free, swinging wide. I take the hit on my forearm, feel the bruise bloom, then smash a knee into his thigh. He grunts, staggered.
“You looked tempted enough,” he spits.
“Not tempted,” I growl, slamming my shoulder into his chest and forcing him against the wall. “I was collecting proof.”
His eyes flare, surprise cutting through the arrogance. I hammer a forearm into his neck, pinning him.
His lip curls. “Believe what you like. Anya only showed you what power looks like when it is not afraid.”
I feel anger surge hot in my veins. “Power?” My fist drives into his ribs once, twice. He gasps, sagging. “You mistake poison for power.”
I shove away, letting him slump.
“And you don’t know the first thing about being a king or ruling,” he retorts. “Anya was wrong about you, and she’s never wrong about anything.”
“You talk about ruling,” I say, catching his wrist and wrenching it down. “All you did was open the gates so Veles could walk through. How long have you been their bitch?”
Viktor’s lips pull into a hollow smile. “You underestimate what an outsider can do when the insiders look away. They dismissed me. Same as they dismissed you when you were limping through these halls with that cane. I learned from their mistakes.”
I catch the lapel of his shirt. He gives me a bloody smile and spits on my face.
I keep my foot on Viktor’s chest, his breath ragged beneath my heel. Blood streaks his lip where my last punch landed. One question still burns in my mind.
“There is one thing I don’t understand,” I say, breathing hard. “Why kill Alexei? He was your lever against me.”
Viktor’s smile twitches, a crack in his mask. “You know about that.”
I nod once, letting the truth settle. “You underestimated me at every turn. Did you really take me for a fool?”
Before he can answer, I drive my boot into his ribs.
He grunts, twists, and in one quick motion yanks a knife from his belt.
The blade flashes. Pain splits my leg as he jams it into the damaged thigh I spent months rebuilding.
White heat floods my vision. I howl and drop to one knee, the world tilting.
Viktor pushes to his feet, knife slick with my blood. He raises it, eyes blazing with triumph, ready to finish me.
A gunshot cracks like thunder. Viktor’s body jerks. The knife slips from his hand. He collapses onto the shattered glass, eyes wide in shock.
Arman steps into the light behind him, pistol leveled, smoke curling from the barrel. “I see you boys started without me,” he says, voice calm as if he has walked into a card game, not a battlefield. “I never did play fair.”