Chapter 27 – Dimitri
Peace never lasts for men like me. It comes in shallow breaths, fleeting, fragile—always followed by the scent of blood.
A week after Vivian’s decision, when I’ve finally started to believe the storm is quieting, Sylvester bursts into my office. No knock. No hesitation. Just a pale face and a tablet in his shaking hand.
“We intercepted something,” he says.
The message is short. Cold. Fatal.
“Zurich was only a test. The empire falls next.”
My spine goes rigid.
Zurich…a test?
Someone wants to see how far we’ll go.
How many lines we’ll cross.
How loudly we’ll bleed.
“What’s the source?” I demand.
Sylvester swipes, showing the trace. “Brooklyn. An abandoned shipyard. Old Koval territory. Looks like they’ve resurfaced.”
Of course they have. Cockroaches always return when the lights go out.
I stand, already dialing the private line.
Roman picks up first.
Lev joins seconds later.
Their voices are sharp, grim.
They don’t need to hear the entire message to understand.
“We’ll send men,” Roman says.
“I’m already assembling a unit,” Lev adds. “Just give the command.”
But I shake my head, even though they can’t see me. “No.” My voice is ice. “I’m leading the raid.”
A heavy silence follows.
“Dimitri,” Roman warns, “you’ve been in nonstop conflict for weeks. You need—”
“What I need,” I cut in, “is to end this before it touches Vivian again.”
Lev exhales a curse.
But neither of them argues further. They know better.
“We’ll send reinforcements,” Lev says at last. “But if you’re going…we’re backing you.”
“Good,” I reply. “Because this ends tonight.” I hang up and turn to Sylvester. “Call every available soldier. Full artillery. Full teams. We’re burning that shipyard down.”
His jaw tightens with grim determination. “Yes.”
War is coming.
Not the careful, calculated kind I’ve danced with for years, but the old kind. The kind that forged me. The kind that breaks men.
I holster my gun, grab the second one from the safe, and pull on my jacket.
The Rusnak empire has been hunted long enough.
Tonight, we hunt back.
***
The storm breaks over the docks like the sky itself wants war.
Rain slaps my face, cold and merciless, mixing with gunpowder and the metallic sting of blood. Thunder rolls as if echoing the gunfire ripping through the shipyard. Shadows sprint between rusted containers, muzzle flashes carving them into brief, dying silhouettes.
I move through it all like I was born here, in the dark, in the violence, in the unrelenting hunger to end every threat to what’s mine.
Sylvester fights at my side, a silent butcher of the night. Every shot he fires lands; every man who charges at us falls with a wet thud.
A grenade explodes behind us, rattling the earth.
Men scream.
Metal shrieks.
The storm rages.
We push forward.
One by one, the Kovals fall.
Until only one remains.
I corner their lieutenant behind a collapsed shipping crate, his leg mangled, blood leaking fast. He tries to lift his gun, but I kick it out of his grasp and plant my boot on his chest, pinning him to the wet concrete.
He laughs—hoarse, delirious, broken.
Red mixes with rainwater and pools around him.
“You think you’ve won?” he rasps. “Deveraux was nothing. We have roots everywhere. Every deal you’ve made, every empire you’ve built—tainted. You’ll never wash the blood off your name.”
I raise my gun.
He grins wider, almost ecstatic. “Go on. Kill me. It won’t change a damn thing.”
My voice is calm. Cold. Final. “I don’t need clean hands. I just need them off my family.”
One shot.
Straight through his skull.
The echo is swallowed by thunder.
I step back, the rain soaking into my clothes, washing nothing—because nothing needs washing. I’ve made my choice.
I’ll do anything—burn any empire, shatter any alliance, commit any sin—as long as Vivian is safe.
And tonight, the Kovals learned exactly what that means.
When the smoke finally thins, and the last gunshot fades into the rain, Sylvester limps toward me through the wreckage—blood on his sleeve, soot on his jaw, eyes sharp even through the exhaustion.
“It’s done,” he says. “Warehouse is secured. No survivors. The Kovals are finished…for now.” He pauses, catching his breath. “Oh—Roman texted. Henri Laurent has been handled. Sent away. Permanently.”
A slow exhale leaves me, long and heavy. Henri is gone. The Kovals are broken. Zurich, the shipyard, Deveraux—all of it has finally cost them something back. And maybe—just maybe—it’s enough to buy us time.
I turn toward the river.
The night is dark, ink-black and endless, the rain falling in relentless sheets that soak through my shirt and cool the fever under my skin. The Hudson churns violently below, reflecting the fractured city lights like shards of glass.
For the first time in weeks, the rage simmering in my chest loosens.
Not gone—never gone—but quiet.
Obedient.
I let the storm wash over me, the cold biting through my bones, and breathe. The city roars quietly in the distance, but inside me, everything finally—finally—goes still.
My phone buzzes.
I pull it out, thumb smeared with rain and gunpowder.
Vivian.
Where are you? Will you be home in time for dinner?
My chest tightens, but in a different way this time—warm, grounding, real. A slow smile pulls at the corner of my mouth.
I type back:
Yes. I’ll be home soon.
And for the first time in a long time, the word home feels true.