Chapter 28 Konstantin #2
A clang from above. I look up and catch the glint of a gun barrel, barely a silhouette. I gesture—Arman covers the ladder, Rifat moves left, and I take the right, scaling up onto the next deck with a grunt of pain.
Suddenly, a figure lunges from the darkness.
I don’t see the knife until it’s almost in my side.
I twist, catching the blade on my forearm, the edge biting through my sleeve but not deep.
I grab the attacker’s wrist, wrench hard, and knee him in the gut.
He crumples, gasping. Rifat finishes him with a sharp blow to the head.
We pause, listening. A distant cry echoes through the hull. I freeze—Nikolai? Nadya?
Arman’s hand on my shoulder brings me back. “This way.”
We move fast now, following the maze of corridors, past flaking paint and leaking pipes. There’s blood smeared on a door handle up ahead. My heart hammers. I push inside and the smell of old sweat and iron fills my nose.
Maksim is there, slumped against the wall, head lolling. I drop to my knees beside him, checking his pulse. Still breathing. No gunshot wound, just a purple welt forming above his temple. Someone knocked him out, but didn’t finish the job.
I pat his cheek. “Maksim,” I whisper, urgent. “Come on. Wake up.”
He groans, eyelids fluttering.
Arman steps over, scanning the corners. “What happened?”
“No idea.” I glance back to the hall, remembering the gunshot I heard earlier. The memory needles at me. There’s no blood on Maksim, no sign of a struggle. Where the hell did that shot come from?
Rifat covers the door, keeping us shielded. I grab Maksim by the collar, hauling him upright. He blinks, unfocused but alive.
There’s no time to linger.
We leave Maksim propped against the wall, still dazed but breathing. There’s no time to argue or drag him along. Rifat checks the rear, Arman gestures for me to move. Every step down the corridor grates on my nerves, the regret twisting deeper in my gut.
I can’t stop thinking about the decision that put Nadya in here alone. The plan had never sat right with me. I can hear her voice as if she’s right beside me…
“I don’t like this,” I say, my hand tight on the encrypted receiver, staring out my apartment window as the city lights blink back, uncaring. “I should be there, with you.”
“It’s a trap, Konstantin. You know it is,” she replies, her voice steady, but underneath I hear the fear she won’t show anyone else. “That’s why I have to go alone.”
“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t,” I say, anger and worry vying in my throat. “You’re not alone in this anymore.”
She sighs, sharp and tired. “If they see you, or any of your men, they’ll know we’re onto them. The whole thing falls apart.”
I press my palm to my forehead. “You’re not going without backup. At least take Maksim. If you don’t, I swear to God, I won’t go to the council meeting tonight. I’ll follow you onto that ship and tear it apart myself.”
A long pause. I can almost see her weighing the risk, stubbornness warring with logic.
“Fine,” she finally says, reluctant. “Maksim can follow at a distance. But no one else. No heroics, Kon.”
Up ahead, the deck yawns open under the harsh spill of moonlight, all rusted steel and sharp shadows. I scan the space, searching, and then I see her. Nadya. Limping, clutching Nikolai tight, blood streaming down her leg, her jaw set with that stubborn will I know too well.
Relief crashes into me, so sharp it hurts. I open my mouth to call her name—
Another gunshot cracks the air. I freeze. For a single, endless heartbeat, I’m sure she’s been hit. She staggers, almost goes down, but keeps moving. A dark figure charges from the shadows behind her, reaching out.
Nadya spins, teeth bared, and kicks hard with her good leg, catching the figure in the knee. The attacker grunts, stumbling back, arms flailing.
Out of the gloom, a large man barrels at her.
I see his arm outstretched, fingers grabbing for Nikolai.
Nadya twists, her movement all desperation and muscle memory.
She knees the man with her good leg, driving him back, but he’s too strong.
He drags her toward the railing, forcing Nikolai from her grasp.
“Leave him!” I roar, but my shout is buried in the metallic clang of boots behind me.
I fire, the shot taking the attacker in the thigh. He drops Nikolai, who scrambles for Nadya. Another shot sings by, and this time, it’s dangerously close—I spin to see another figure stepping out.
Her gun is leveled straight at my son.
“Everyone stop,” Anya commands. Her voice echoes over the wind and chaos. Even the wounded man goes still, blood slicking his hand as he stares at her in disbelief.
She’s focused, breathing hard, her pistol unwavering. “Step away from the boy, Nadya,” Anya snaps. “Or I shoot him and then you.”
Nadya gathers Nikolai behind her, holding her knife at her side, never taking her eyes off Anya. My pulse pounds in my throat. I edge left, lining up a shot, but Anya notices and points the gun at Nadya’s head.
“Don’t test me, Konstantin. I only need one of you alive to get what I want.”
Footsteps thunder above us—Rifat and Arman, finally, appearing on the upper deck. Rifat fires a warning shot that forces one of Anya’s backup to duck. Arman shouts, “Cover!” and I use the split second to surge forward.
Anya fires. The bullet grazes my side, white-hot pain flaring, but I reach her and knock her arm wide. Nadya lunges with her knife, slashing Anya’s gun hand. Anya screams, the weapon spinning across the deck.
The wounded man tries to drag Nadya back, but Nikolai, surprisingly brave, bites his wrist. Nadya elbows the man hard, sending him reeling into the railing.
Anya’s pistol hovers between Nadya and Nikolai, her gaze icy and bright in the stuttering ship lights.
Every muscle in my body tenses, my own weapon steady but useless while my son is in her line of fire.
I aim my gun at Anya, gritting my teeth, forcing my breathing to slow.
“Why are you doing this, Anya? For Viktor?” My voice cracks over Nikolai’s small sobs.
Nadya coughs, blood staining her lips, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Anya. “Konstantin,” she wheezes, voice barely a whisper, “it’s not Viktor. He was never the mastermind. She is. She’s a Veles.”
My heart stutters. I glance at Nadya, see the raw certainty in her gaze. My thoughts race as I shift my stance, every muscle coiled.
Anya’s lips curl into a smile, cruel and oddly triumphant. She lowers the gun just a fraction, her eyes burning with something like pride.
“My name isn’t Anya,” she says, voice ringing out over the battered deck. “It never was. I am Yelena Veles. My family wore the serpent long before Viktor crawled into our ranks.”
My blood chills. Nadya meets my eyes—pain, fury, and a grim sense of vindication written across her face.
Anya—Yelena—turns her gaze on me again, a mocking edge to her smile.
“I fought for you. I wanted you to win, Konstantin. Don’t you get it?
Alexei was a thorn in your side, and I took him out for you.
I gave you every chance to take this city.
But you clung to your weakness. To your family.
To her.” She spits the last word like a curse.
I keep my gun trained, barely breathing. “You killed Alexei?”
She shrugs, a strange sorrow flickering in her eyes.
“I did what had to be done. The future of this city was never meant for old men and ghosts. I needed someone with vision, someone strong enough to rule. But you—” She shakes her head.
“You disappointed me, Konstantin. You let your heart get in the way.”
Beside me, Nadya holds Nikolai tighter. I see the fight still burning in her, defiant and unbroken.
“We’re not your pawns,” I say. “Not now, not ever.”
Yelena lifts her gun again, her jaw tight, eyes shining with a feverish certainty. “It’s too late now. Your family is branded,” she whispers, almost to herself. “I need to finish this. Tie off every thread.”
Nadya pulls Nikolai closer, breath ragged, blood seeping from her thigh. I keep my aim steady, my mind racing for a way out, some final card to play.
“None of us asked for this,” Nadya says, voice shaking but strong. “Alexei set this in motion, not us. And he’s dead. He’s paid his debts, Yelena. You can’t do this, whatever twisted legacy you think you’re protecting, this isn’t it.”
Yelena’s eyes flick to Nadya, her resolve faltering just for a breath. “Perhaps,” she murmurs, the word a soft ghost between her lips, “but I will.”
In that moment, something flickers behind her.
It’s Rifat, moving in, gun drawn, but Yelena’s senses are too alert; she pivots, firing a shot that sends him sprawling to the deck.
He isn’t dead, but she’s forced them all back, her attention turning toward me, gun trembling for the first time all night.
I see the hesitation in her eyes, the doubt, the rage, the ancient loneliness. I don’t wait. I raise my weapon, years of training and pain steadying my hand.
Our eyes lock.
For an instant, she almost smiles, an echo of the woman I once thought I understood. “You really should have loved me back,” she breathes.
My finger squeezes the trigger. The shot rips through the air, hitting her square in the chest.
Yelena staggers, mouth falling open in shock. For a moment she’s just a woman again, lost and alone, then she collapses, the gun skittering from her grasp. She lies still, blood spreading beneath her on the steel deck.
Silence falls, broken only by the slap of water and Nadya’s ragged breathing.