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“You built graves,” I rasp.
He responds with a soft, cruel laugh. “Graves create empires.”
The words slide under my skin, and I picture Sophia’s bright eyes and full lips, latching on to that image in an effort to stay conscious.
Vincent lazily swirls his drink. “You should see New York now. All that empty space after the last little war. Leadership is such a fragile thing. Falls apart the moment you squeeze.” His chair scrapes the floor as he adjusts in the seat. “I was generous with Gabi. Even offered him a seat at the table.” A low chuckle. “He said no.”
Dread coils in my gut.
“So I went knocking on older doors.” Vincent pauses to sip his drink. “The ones that still remember how all this works.”
Volkovs. He doesn’t have to say the name for it to land.
“Routes, territory, protection… All the things men kill for. And they will.”
He closes the distance until I can feel his breath on my face. “When it’s done, your city won’t recognize itself.”
He winks at me, and then he’s gone, like the ghost he’s been for the last five years.
As hours crawl by, the pain in my ribs sharpens everything, so I note details.
Guards rotate every half hour. The young one always slips away for a smoke by the same vent, dropping his stub inside before returning.
The next time they loosen my binds to inspect the wounds, I twist wrong on purpose. I draw a curse from the guard and catch sight of the cigarette stub in the vent. The guard steps back, leaving the vent exposed.
A small opportunity, but that’s all I need.
I hold my zip ties to the still-glowing cigarette butt, melting the plastic with the heat until it weakens. Then I pull myself free.
I lie back on the spot where I was earlier, the blade from my boot in my grip. When they return, I’ll be ready.
The young one comes in first. I pretend to be asleep against the wall as he bends down to inspect me, my right hand slashing the blade across his throat while my left rips the shotgun strap off his shoulder in the same move.
He collapses to the floor, his eyes wide, his life seeping out of him quickly.
His partner lunges, but he’s too slow from the knife wound, so I manage to get off a shot before him. His flesh muffles the gunshot.
I burst through the open door into the adjacent room, where I discover the leader seated at a long table, a laptop open in front of him. Vincent’s face fills the screen. Two armed men in fatigues flank him.
“…shipment scheduled at dawn,” one of them is saying. “You should kill him before extraction.”
My boot squeaks on the floor.
The leader shifts. When he spots me, his face drains of color, his mouth falling open as his hand jerks toward the weapons laid out on the table.
I’m already moving. I close the distance in three strides, my shotgun leveled at his chest. “Don’t.”
His hands, palms out, go up slowly. I adjust my aim just enough to keep him covered as I glance at the screen. “You’re lucky you left,” I say to Vincent. “Your men don’t improvise well.”
Vincent offers me a thin, pleased smile. “I’ve got my own army here, enforcer. This is my ground. You don’t get to walk out, and you don’t get to kill me.”
“Maybe not today,” I answer evenly, “but you just signed yourself up for a longer war. I’ll let you live long enough for you to understand what that costs.”
The leader lunges. I turn to shoot him, but I’m too slow. As soon as his thumb presses a button under the table, an alarm screams to life.
Red lights strobe, and the room fills with noise.
Vincent’s laughter erupts from the laptop. “The cavalry’s on its way, Enzo. You’ve got less than a minute.”
