Through the smoke, I catch a glimpse of Daniil’s body crumpled against our car, and my chest fills with white-hot rage. He’s worked for my family since I was sixteen years old.
“Boris, we need to move now!”
But Boris is engaged with two attackers who’ve flanked us from the east, and I can hear more footsteps approaching through the haze. They’re surrounding us.
A stun grenade detonates somewhere behind me, and the world goes silent except for a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I spin around to find Katya, but she’s not there.
Through the murk, I see two silhouettes hauling a limp body. Platinum hair snags the light like a flare.
Katya.
“No!” I lunge forward, but someone tackles me from the side and drives me into the pavement hard enough to rattle my teeth.
I roll with the impact and come up with my knife in my hand. The blade slides between my assailant’s ribs with the wet sound of punctured organs, and he collapses with a gurgle of surprise.
By the time I’m on my feet again, the van is pulling away with squealing tires, taking Katya with it.
Boris appears through the smoke with blood on his face and murder in his eyes. “They got her, boss.”
They think they can take what’s mine?
I’ll light this city on fire before I let her go.
“Get Alexei on the line. Full mobilization. Every asset in the city.”
“What about the police?”
“What about them? We own half the precinct commanders, and the other half know better than to interfere.” I step over the body of the man I just killed and head for what’s left of our car. “This is family business now.”
The drive back to headquarters takes fifteen minutes that feel like hours. Every red light, slow-moving pedestrian, and moment of delay makes me want to put my fist through something solid.
Alexei has begrudgingly assembled our top lieutenants in the conference room by the time I arrive, and their faces tell me that word has spread through the organization.
“Talk to me,” I demand as I pour myself three fingers of vodka.
“Preliminary reports indicate six attackers, all deceased except for the extraction team,” Semenov begins. “Professional operation, military-grade equipment, coordinated timing.”
“Which family?”
“That’s where it gets interesting.” Alexei slides a photograph across the table.
I study the image of one of the attackers Boris photographed before the police arrived. Clean-shaven, no visible gang markings, and expensive tactical gear that you don’t buy at civilian stores.
“Government?”
“Possibly. Or mercenaries working for someone with serious money.”
“The Borisenkos?”
“That’s my guess.”
I down the vodka in one swallow and slam the glass on the table hard enough to crack it. “I want every Borisenko safe house, business front, and fucking parking meter they own under surveillance within the hour.”
“Already in progress,” Alexei replies. “I’ve got teams moving on their primary locations now.”
“What about informants?”
“Igor’s working his contacts in the police department. Yuri’s reaching out to our people in the hospital networks in case they need medical attention.”
