Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Victor
Luca's voice exploded through the car phone when my speedometer hit one-forty.
"Listen to me, this is a trap. You can't go alone. We've got men ready." Luca's voice was loud enough he barely sounded like himself. "Victor, are you fucking listening?"
I heard him. Every word.
If it were some random street thug, I'd take Luca's plan.
But this was Marcus.
The man had been at my side for twenty years. He knew every tactical move I had, every deployment pattern of our guard, and understood how to take me down better than anyone alive.
Worse, he had Evelyn's life in his hands.
One gunshot. The second my men kicked in that rusted door, he wouldn't even need to aim. Just pull the trigger. Like he did with Richard. No hesitation. No mercy.
I've never been one to admit defeat. In New York's cutthroat underworld, I clawed my way to the top by crushing bones.
I give orders. I don't bow. But this time, backed into a corner, I did.
I couldn't gamble with Evelyn's life.
"No." I slammed the gas pedal to the floor. "Marcus isn't ordinary. He knows us too well. Any wrong move and he'll kill her. He didn't blink when he shot Richard. You think he'll hesitate with Evelyn?"
"So going in alone guarantees she's safe? You can't even bring a gun!"
I gave the final order. "Everyone holds at five hundred yards. No one moves without my signal. Absolutely no one."
"Victor!"
Luca's roar continued. I reached up and cut the line.
Silence filled the car. Outside the windshield, streetlights flew past one after another, orange light burning afterimages on my retinas.
I'm forty-five years old.
Not a number I think about much. Given the people I deal with, forty-five isn't old, but it sure as hell isn't young.
How many shootouts have I survived? Lost count.
I've killed, been hunted. Spent time in ICU three times, each one a step from hell.
Few people live a life like mine—this vivid, this bloody, this unrestrained.
I've lived enough.
But Evelyn is twenty-five.
Her life hasn't even started. She should do whatever she wants. Walk in sunlight without worrying about bullets in her back. She shouldn't be dragged into this filthy, dark, death-soaked swamp.
She needs to live. Long after I'm rotting in the ground, she should still be somewhere sunny, smiling.
She cannot die.
The landscape changed. Buildings shifted from rundown residential blocks to abandoned factories, then to complete wasteland. Marcus's coordinates pointed deep into this industrial graveyard—an old civil defense shelter marked as decommissioned on my GPS.
I parked three hundred meters out in a dark corner. Drew a deep breath, grabbed the heavy case full of cash from the back seat, and pushed open the door.
No streetlights in the industrial zone. The moon slipped through thin clouds, casting a gray-white light like bone across the ground. The shelter entrance sat fifty meters ahead—a rust-covered iron door.
No hesitation. I walked up and kicked it hard.
The door swung inward. I pushed the heavy case with one hand, the other raised high overhead as I entered.
Water dripped down the shelter walls. Debris and sharp metal fragments littered the ground. A few work lights cast pale, swaying shadows that twisted everything into grotesque shapes.
Evelyn was bound to a rusted iron chair in the center.
Nylon rope wrapped her hands and feet. Silver tape covered her mouth. Her hair looked like it had been yanked repeatedly, one side of her face swollen, blood trickling from her lip and eyebrow, mixed with dirt on her pale skin.
Her thin clothes were wrinkled, covered in dark bloodstains and dust.
She looked so fragile, squeezed between red detonators. Wires extended from each explosive block, converging at a trigger I couldn't see. Enough to turn everything within thirty yards into rubble.
My stomach twisted.
This was my fault.
If I hadn't dragged her into this, she'd be sleeping in some normal apartment right now. Or reading in a library. Or calling friends to complain about Julian being an asshole.
She shouldn't be here, shouldn't be covered in blood and bound to a chair, used as leverage against me.
Evelyn saw me. She made urgent sounds behind the tape, shaking her head frantically.
"Mmm—mmm—"
Couldn't make out the words, but I knew she wanted me to leave. Unfortunately, I had the opposite intention.
I was getting her out.
Marcus sat on a broken wooden table, legs crossed, shotgun resting casually across his lap. The black barrel pointed lazily at his knee. He wore his signature black leather jacket, hair messy across his forehead, that cocky smile on his lips.
Benjamin stood beside him, gripping a Glock, barrel trained on my head. His gun hand was steady—not what you'd expect from a man pushing sixty.
"Well, well, look who's here." Marcus laughed coldly, jumping off the table. His heavy boots thudded against the concrete, echoing through the empty shelter. "The great Victor. Thought you'd drop in from the ceiling or something."
"What you asked for." I pushed the case forward expressionlessly.
It hit the ground hard. The zipper burst halfway open. Bundles of non-sequential hundreds bound with cheap rubber bands spilled out.
Benjamin's eyes locked on the money. He crouched down, gun still pointed at me with one hand while the other greedily rifled through the cash.
"No tricks." My hands stayed raised. I looked past greedy Benjamin, locking eyes with Marcus. "Ten million. Enough for you to live large and raise five kids. Now let her go."
Marcus approached with the shotgun, looking me up and down like a trophy he'd finally pinned down.
"God, you know how long I've waited for this?"
He circled me smugly.
"Twenty years. Twenty years working under you, bowing and scraping, calling you boss. You sent me places, I went. You told me to kill someone, I killed them. But you never respected me, right?"
I watched him silently. Didn't understand where this twisted hatred came from. In this brutal food chain, I'd given him generous pay and status. Who below me could compare?
"But you never knew—every time you gave me an order, I thought about one thing." Marcus stopped in front of me. The shotgun barrel slowly rose to press under my chin.
"I thought, someday, I'll make you pay for your arrogance."
He pulled the gun away and stepped back.
"Search him."
Benjamin obediently left the money and came over. His search was professional and thorough, turning my clothes inside out.
"Clean." Benjamin stepped back and nodded at Marcus.
Marcus grunted with satisfaction. "Victor, you've got men planted outside, right? The second I step through that door, your sniper blows my head off. But you think I didn't leave myself an exit?"
He tapped his head smugly, like showing off some great achievement.
"Too bad you don't know there's a hidden passage here. I won. Finally beat you once."
Then Marcus's expression changed.
The smile vanished, replaced by something dark and vicious. The way he looked at me wasn't shallow triumph anymore—it was pure, concentrated hatred.
"Now the real game begins, Victor."
Benjamin holstered the Glock and walked over. No warning—he swung his fist hard into my stomach.
I grunted, forced myself to stay upright, hands still raised.
Benjamin didn't stop. Punch after punch slammed into my face, abdomen, ribs. Each one full force. Blood ran down my chin.
Then he lifted his boot and kicked my knee.
I finally went down, kneeling on the cold, rough concrete.
"Chest." Marcus directed viciously from the side.
Benjamin hesitated, then raised his foot and stomped on my chest.
Three years ago, in a brutal gang shootout, a large-caliber bullet shattered two of my ribs. Bone fragments punctured half my lung. That surgery took seven hours. The steel plate is still in my chest.
Marcus knew this weak spot. He'd been there.
When that shoe pressed down, pain exploded from my sternum in all directions, whiting out my vision. I collapsed, forehead against the cold concrete, gasping.
Behind me, Evelyn's anguished voice.
She'd torn half the tape off, hanging awkwardly from her bloodied chin.
"Don't! Stop! Don't touch him!"
I swallowed the blood in my throat. Having the woman I loved watch me get beaten down like a dog—pretty pathetic.
But I forced my head up, spat blood.
"Enough." My voice was hoarse and unfamiliar. "Marcus. You want to hit me, hit me. You want to stomp me, stomp me. I swear I won't fight back. But let her go."
I pushed myself up against a support beam, every small movement pulling at that knife in my chest. I looked at Marcus's face, keeping my voice as steady as possible.
"Whatever grudge you have with me, it's got nothing to do with her. Evelyn's innocent. Let her go—she's no threat. One person, no weapons, no backup. She can't do anything. Take the money through your passage. No one will chase you."
Marcus crouched to eye level.
"Let her go?" He laughed and shook his head mockingly. "Victor, you don't know, do you? Your dear ex-wife put in serious work on this. Caroline paid big money to make your little mistress disappear permanently. I go back empty-handed, she'll eat me alive."
He stood, dusting off his hands.
"Besides, I want her to die right in front of you. I want you to watch. That's the price for riding my ass all these years. Now you'll know—even dogs bite when cornered."
He turned, eyes going cold.
"Benjamin, finish her."
Benjamin pulled the Glock from his waist and racked the slide. The sound of the round chambering echoed clearly in the quiet shelter.
He walked toward Evelyn.
Evelyn watched Benjamin approach and stopped screaming. Her swollen lips slowly curved into a cold, mocking smile.
"My dad raised a real animal."
Benjamin paused.
"He treated you like family. We all did. Invited you for Christmas dinner. This is how you repay him?"
Benjamin's jaw muscle twitched. His gun hand didn't waver, but his eyes flickered for one second.
"Truth is, I had nothing against your father." Benjamin's voice was dry as sandpaper on wood. "He just got in the way. That's how things work—people in the way get moved. Sorry, princess."
He raised the gun, black barrel aimed at Evelyn's forehead.
"Now I'll send you to join him."
Marcus's gaze followed. His entire attention fixed on Benjamin and Evelyn. His face showed near-pathological anticipation, waiting to see Evelyn die in front of me, waiting to see me completely break.
His shotgun hung casually at his side.
This was the moment.
My right wrist snapped inward. Middle and index fingers precisely gripped the edge of the blade hidden in my cufflink, yanking it out.
My body exploded like a spring. The blade sliced smoothly across Marcus's throat.
Blood fountained out immediately. Marcus's eyes went wide with shock and disbelief. His hand went to his neck, mouth opening but producing no sound except a hissing wheeze.
The shotgun slipped from his powerless grip.
I caught it, flipped it smoothly. Barrel pointed at Benjamin.
All of this happened in less than two seconds.
Benjamin's reaction was faster than I'd anticipated. The instant he heard Marcus fall, he spun around. His Glock moved from Evelyn's forehead to me.
We fired simultaneously.
Pain in my chest threw off my aim. First shot missed.
"You fucking—" Benjamin fired wildly while backing up, trying to use Evelyn's chair as cover. "Don't move! I'll kill her! I'll kill her right now!"
I didn't dodge, didn't seek cover.
I stood up from behind the beam, shouldered the heavy shotgun, and walked straight toward him. Sharp pain lanced through my left shoulder. A bullet punched through. Warm blood ran down my arm, dragging a dark red line across the cold concrete.
"I'm afraid you won't get that chance."
I stared at his terrified face. In this world, with guns, I've never lost to anyone.
I pulled the trigger.
The shotgun's close-range blast made my eardrums ring. Dense pellets hit Benjamin's chest with devastating force. The impact threw him back two meters. His back slammed the wall, and he slowly slid down.
His mouth hung open, eyes still wide, but the light was gone. He didn't move.
Over.
I dropped the shotgun and stumbled toward Evelyn bound to the chair.
My left arm was useless. I could only use my right hand to pull at the nylon rope. It was tied tight. My fingers were covered in blood, slippery and shaking. Took effort just to work on the first knot.
"Victor, Victor."
Evelyn kept saying my name. Her voice was broken, body trembling violently, making the ropes shake.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left. I'm sorry."
"Shh." My lips pressed against her messy hair, voice so gentle it was barely a breath, afraid of scaring her. "Don't. You're okay. You're okay."
All the sounds in the world receded. The shelter's hollow echo, dripping walls, distant rumbling of something collapsing—all of it faded into insignificance.
Only her heartbeat. Her heart was beating. Too fast, but beating strong.
Alive.
She was alive. That was enough.
Then a bone-chilling laugh echoed. My eyes snapped open.
In the darkest corner of the shelter, Marcus was laughing.
His throat was sliced open, dark red blood still gushing out, staining the ground. But he wasn't quite dead. His fingers gripped a small black box with a red button.
The detonator.
His eyes gleamed, smile bright. Reminded me of the first time I met him.
"I'll see you in hell, boss."