Chapter 27
GABE
Since I started all this, I kept telling myself that the men who work for me are interchangeable. Some are more competent than others, but in general they’re bodies with guns attached and not much more.
I’ve been good at lying to myself.
Now sitting in a car outside of a Parisian apartment complex, I wish Daniel were here. I’d feel more settled.
Instead, I have other good men. Solid soldiers, skilled at their jobs, prepared to kill and to risk their own lives for the mission. They understand what’s at stake. We win this, we win it all. The ultimate prize.
“Sir, we’re in position.” An older man called Evgeny sits in the passenger seat frowning at a tablet. It shows positional data screaming in alongside call records and other communications. The text flows across the screen like a tide of language.
“And you’re sure this is the place?”
“It’s where all the calls route through.” He looks up at the building. “Penthouse apartment. Whoever’s inside is running the show.”
I consider that for a few minutes. This is a risk and we all know it.
There’s no guarantee Artyom’s in there. But based on the communications network we hacked into, all calls lead back to here, which makes me think the head of the snake is waiting inside.
Maybe it’s a trap, or maybe we misunderstand something fundamental, but either way I don’t have anything else to go on.
If Daniel were here, he’d make some stupid joke.
“I’m going in first.” I push the door open and get out. “I want a team on the windows. Snipers need to watch the entrances and exits. I don’t want to get trapped in there.”
“Understood, sir.”
“And Evgeny? This car doesn’t move from this spot unless I’m confirmed dead, understand?”
“I won’t go anywhere, sir.”
“Good. Where’s my fire team?”
“Waiting there.” He indicates a black van parked across the street. “You make a move and they’re with you.”
I take a deep breath. Paris in the springtime.
It’s a beautiful city filled with beautiful, vain, ugly, hateful people.
That’s how cities are. All that humanity crammed tightly together creates gorgeous nightmares, and maybe that’s what I love about them.
I miss New York sometimes, miss my old beat, miss my brothers and my family.
The Russo world feels so far away, so fucking small.
But in the end, what I learned kicking down doors and selling drugs to crackheads applies to high-stakes Dragon warfare too.
Winners pull the trigger first.
I stride forward, pushing down any nervousness and keeping my face calm.
As I pass the van, the back door opens and five men clamber out, all of them wearing black pants and big jackets.
At a glance, they look normal, except a second look would make it clear they’re in full on tactical gear and barely concealing assault rifles.
We push through the front lobby. The doorman cries out, trying to stop us, but one of my men shoves a gun in his face to make sure he doesn’t call the police.
I take the stairs, leading the remaining four shooters at a fast clip up four flights, until I push through another door into a cramped hallway.
There’s not much here. Tile floor, probably from when the building was made in the twenties. The elevator entrance is to the left. Straight ahead is my target.
“On me,” I say, striding straight up to it. I hesitate, about to kick—
But try the knob first instead.
I laugh, unable to help myself.
The fucking thing is unlocked.
“Arrogant fucking bastard,” I murmur, pulling the door open.
I charge inside, my men at my back. My gun’s leveled as we storm into a beautiful Parisian sitting room.
There’s a couch, a coffee table, a fireplace, tons of art hanging on the walls, so much art it covers almost every inch of available space.
Light streams in from enormous windows. It’s gorgeous, and a stupid thought occurs: I wish Nika could see this. She’s an art fiend. She’d love it here.
“Well now, that’s far enough.” The voice has a Greek accent. It’s very calm, which is strange, considering the number of guns pointed in this enclosed space.
I stop dead.
There are more men waiting. A dozen of them at least, all of them heavily armed and patiently standing there with their barrels aimed at my chest. Several laser sights waver over my heart. I’m wearing ceramic body armor, but that’ll stop a bullet or two, max.
Sitting on the couch is an older man. My guess is fifties.
His hair’s thick, black, and graying at the edges.
He’s paunchy, heavyset, with dark bags under his eyes, olive skin, and black stubble on his cheeks and chin like he’s perpetually filthy.
He’s sitting back comfortably, dressed like an average golfer out for a round in a casual collared shirt and khakis.
But while he looks like an average businessman, I know him by sight, and my blood runs instantly cold.
“Dragon Zohran,” I say, heart hammering into my throat.
“Hello, Gabriel. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Zohran smiles at me kindly and gestures to the man at his side. “You know Artyom, yes? Your wife’s cousin? I suppose that makes you two related, ha ha, very funny.”
Artyom glares at me. He doesn’t look good. His skin’s pale and pallid and there’s a twitch to his eye. “I told him to shoot on sight.”
“Nice, thanks for that.” I don’t look away from Zohran. My calculus immediately changes. Artyom is no longer the threat here.
In any room, the Dragon is always the most dangerous.
“Come, come, join us. Tell your men to lower their weapons. There’s no need for killing today.” Zohran waves me over and gestures at the coffee table. “Tea and cookies if anyone is hungry.”
I don’t move. “Why are you here? What’s going on right now?”
“That’s what we have to talk about. Come, sit, and let’s end this.” Zohran’s kindness drains from his face. He fixes me with the blank, baleful expression of a man used to killing and getting what he wants. “Or else I will simply give my friend here what he wants.”
I hold my hand out to the side. “Stand down.” I walk to the couch and sit opposite Zohran and Artyom. My men back off uneasily.
Zohran’s smile returns. He snaps his fingers and his soldiers ease off. They don’t put away their weapons, but the red dots of death aren’t attached to my chest anymore at least.
“Wonderful, I’m happy you could be so reasonable.
” He leans in and pours three cups of tea.
“Do you know I love Paris? What a wonderful city. So many gutters. And the catacombs, so beautiful and deep, easy to get lost. Easy to bury anything that needs to be buried, ha ha.” His laugh is forced and strange, like a nervous tic.
He lifts his tea up and sips, waiting for something.
Artyom realizes before I do, takes his cup, and drinks.
Reluctantly, I do the same. It’s weak and bland.
“I was under the impression that the Dragons weren’t going to get involved in this dispute.” I say it as calmly and dispassionately as I can, but inwardly my skull is screaming, you fucking cheating traitor piece of shit bastard.
Zohran clucks his tongue and wags a finger. “Come, come, don’t treat me as though I were a fool. You think I don’t know you’ve had visitors? Special guests, friends of a certain Dragon we both know very well?”
I grit my teeth and glance at Artyom. The smug fuck’s looking pleased with himself. “Big difference between talking to a lieutenant and having the full weight in the same room.”
“Yes, what is the phrase? Split hairs? We shall split the hair a thousand ways and still we are all wrong. Can we skip this part now?” Zohran reaches forward and takes a cookie, chewing obnoxiously.
He talks with his mouth full. “Truth is Gabriel, you have done very well. Much better than anyone expected. You managed to insert yourself into Medved’s former network, ripped his Bratva in half, and would have likely muscled your way to victory if I hadn’t stepped in.
” Zohran slaps Artyom on the shoulder and it all slips into place.
That’s how Artyom’s been able to hold together his coalition. Zohran’s been backing him from the start.
But that raises a question. “Why him? What’s the point?”
“I thought that was obvious. What’s better than one Dragon?” He waits, eyebrows raised.
“He’s going to be your pawn. You install him into his position, and now you control two Dragon seats.”
“Exactly! Dear young Artyom here is a clever man, very strong, vicious too, but our deal is clear. He works for me, and when your employee is a Dragon, well—“ Zohran spreads his hands wide with a massive grin. “This is the game, isn’t it?”
“The others have to know.”
“Perhaps they do, perhaps they don’t, but it’s too late for that. Massimo was so honorable, only sending lovely Lucy to do his bidding, but he was a fool. He should have thrown all his weight behind you from the start.”
“They’ll realize. If you kill me here.” I’m doing the math, running the figures, trying to work through the implications. “The meeting is soon. There’s no way Artyom could put me down on his own.”
“I agree! I entirely agree, which is why I’m giving you an opportunity.
I am not a stupid man, Gabriel, and I know talent when I see it.
So I am going to make you this offer, and I am going to make it once only.
Step away, cede the seat to Artyom, and come work for me.
I will place you in a lucrative and powerful role within my organization.
I will give you a kingdom. You will be a Dragon in all but name, believe me. ”
He beams at me, seemingly convinced by his own bullshit.
I sit back and pretend to consider.
In other circumstances, in other lives, an offer like that from a Dragon isn’t exactly something a man can turn down.
It’s not empty, either. He has the ability to give me anything I want, and if Artyom really does work directly for him, that means he’s going to be the most powerful man in the world.
Nations will bend to his will. International treaties will be signed at his say-so.
The world will jump when he snaps his fingers.
It might not be so bad.
Nika would be safe. I could protect her, full and truly. If Zohran really is serious about employing me, I could help him grow his empire. I could become a part of something enormous.
All these people who rely on me… my family back in New York… my brothers and Nika and Daniel…
“It’s a generous offer, Dragon Zohran. But do you know what’s better than working for a powerful man?”
His smile fades. “What’s that?”
“Becoming one. I have to respectfully decline.”
“Oh, Gabriel, Gabriel, please reconsider.” He tuts disapprovingly.
“You are going to lose. The other Dragons have already decided against you. Too violent, too risky, they all say. Massimo, yes, he’ll have your back because he’s married to your sister, but that is not enough.
You will lose, and when you do, you will die.
You will burn. But here I am, offering you life instead.
This is a way out, Gabriel, a future for you and your family. ”
“I’m sorry. The answer is no.” I stand. Zohran sighs, lips pursed together. I move away from the coffee table, keeping my hands visible in case one of the Dragon’s men decides to do something stupid.
“You know where this leaves us then. You will lose, and you will die.”
“I’m taking that chance.”
“Kill him now,” Artyom says, snapping it sharply. “Why let him go?!”
“Because Massimo will be furious if that happens, and I don’t want a war.
” Zohran sips more tea, watching me shrewdly.
“This is your one pass. You may leave here alive. But your breaths are running out. Your heart will beat only so many more times. The end is coming, Gabriel. When you decide to be a smart man, contact me. Come back to this apartment. Slip a note under the door. Don’t come inside though.
” His smile lights up again. “I’ll make sure the men stationed here shoot first next time. Bye bye then!”
My soldiers shuffle from the apartment. I linger, watching Artyom.
He’s livid but controlling himself. And in that moment, I’m sure that Zohran isn’t bluffing.
Artyom really does work for him, and when the meeting happens, the other Dragons will choose him.
Massimo’s work behind the scenes won’t amount to anything.
I’ve already lost.
But anger steels me. Rage washes over my skin as I walk back down the long flights of stairs, the sound of boots on stone ringing in my ears.
I’m a comet speeding through the atmosphere.
I’m bright and fire and death. I’m the apocalypse coming.
Zohran, that bastard, that arrogant fuck, he thinks he can take what he wants, he thinks he can bend any rule and get away with it, but I won’t roll over.
I won’t give the future to him. I won’t let him take the world and make it his own playground.
There’s still time.
Even here, at the end of a long, dark tunnel, staring at only more darkness ahead: there’s still fucking time.