Page 156 of The Cost of Silence

“Is this what you signed up for? A decades-old grudge?”

Orlov looks to his men and then back to Nico. “You got a better offer for me?”

Nico looks at me and I nod. “Maybe. How about you walk away, and I’ll speak to a friend of mine over at city planning, and ensure that the construction deal you bid on goes through?”

“I’m listening,”

Orlov drops his gun, as do his men and I let out a slow breath. This isn’t over, but the odds are better.

“You walk away and leave me and my family alone. You forget our name and you get to make an eight-figure deal which will secure you as head of the Bratva here.”

For a second, the warehouse holds its breath.

Orlov shifts his weight, calculating. His men’s hands hover near their weapons, waiting for the spark.

I feel my own breath catch, my heart pounding so hard it hurts. Part of me wants to shout, to make them stop, to dragus all into some courtroom where rules exist, but another part knows that isn’t where this was ever going to end.

“You have a deal, Nico.”

Domenico’s hand moves. “No!”

He goes for his gun, a sleek piece half-hidden under his coat, a familiar gesture he’s probably made a thousand times. His fingers close on the grip, his elbow bends…

The crack of Nico’s shot slams through the space, impossibly loud, the kind of sound your body recognizes before your brain does.

For a split second, everything freezes.

Then Domenico jerks, the impact punching into his chest, just left of center. His eyes go wide with disbelief as he stumbles back, coat flaring. Blood blooms over his shirt like a dark flower.

He drops to his knees.

For a moment, he stays there, breath ragged, gaze swinging between the three brothers like he’s trying to choose which of them to hate most in the last seconds he has.

“You… owe me…” he manages, voice wet.

“No,” Nico says softly. “We owe you this.”

Domenico’s eyes find mine.

For the first and last time, there’s something like recognition there. Not quite remorse. Not quite peace. Just a brief, strange acknowledgment that I exist outside the role he wrote for me.

Then he slumps sideways.

The warehouse exhales.

“Leave, and the deal still stands,” Nico promises.

Orlov, ever the survivor, raises his hands, dropping the cane. Men in dark tactical gear flood in from the side entrance. Our men, the ones Matteo and Adi positioned earlier, despite Domenico’s insistence on ‘no extra baggage’.

They disarm the remaining Russians with professional efficiency, and escort them from the building.

The air is thick with cordite and breathing and the echo of what we just did.

I step out from behind the pillar, legs shaky, and look at the body on the floor.

Domenico looks smaller now. The lines on his face have softened, the anger bled out somewhere I can’t see. He could be any old man who made too many bad choices and not enough amends.

Except he isn’t.