CHECHEN SAFEHOUSE, DAWN
Zara leaned against a crate in a dim safehouse, smoke curling, Aslan looming at her side, scars glinting.
Kuznetsov stood opposite, bull-necked, eyes darting like a cornered dog. The air stank of cordite and bad faith.
"No one followed you?" Zara asked, voice a blade.
Kuznetsov smirked, smug. "Made sure. Sent my guards home—any snoopers think I'm tucked in bed." His grin hid lies.
Zara's eyes narrowed. "Set the hook, Kuznetsov. Bait Lev, make him bite. If he doesn't, I'll think you're playing both sides and fucking with me. You don't want that." Her hand grazed her Tokarev, Aslan's knife twitching.
Kuznetsov nodded, pulling his phone. He dialed Lev, voice steady. "I Found Chechens, a low profile, a warehouse in Khimki outskirts. Someone big's calling shots. I'll be there to make sure no fuck-ups. Bring your men, let's hit it tonight."
Lev's voice crackled, eager. "Good. Meet me—we plan, we bleed them at midnight."
Kuznetsov hung up, smirking. Zara's stare carved him raw. "Don't miss," she hissed.
MOSCOW STREETS, MORNING
Dmitri stepped out of a greasy diner, takeout bag swinging, humming off a phone call. His grin faded as a police cruiser screeched up, blocking his path.
Detectives Volkov and Irina—same bastards from the precinct board—stepped out, eyes cold.
"Hey, asshole, you're under arrest," Volkov growled, cuffs glinting.
Dmitri blinked, bewildered. "What for? No evidence I sling drugs, if that's your game," he rasped, voice cracking.
Irina smirked, dark. "Sexual assault, genius. That girl you groped at the club two nights ago? She's got our full support."
Dmitri's jaw dropped as cuffs snapped, his takeout splattering asphalt, Moscow laughing at his fall.
LEV'S COMPOUND, MID-DAY
Lev paced his study, TT pistol dancing in his hand, gesturing wild as he barked into his phone.
"Nastya, Kuznetsov's got Chechens pinned—warehouse in Khimki. We hit tonight." He paused, eyes glinting. "Still got eyes on Kuznetsov's dogs?"
Nastya's voice crackled, cool. "Yeah, we're on them."
Lev nodded, pleased. "Alright, keep me posted." He hung up as an enforcer burst in, face grim. "We're set, boss."
Lev stood, bloodthirsty grin splitting his face, eyes feral. "Time to gut some dogs."
VIKTOR'S FLOP, MID-DAY
Viktor and Nastya lay tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, naked, catching their breath after screwing each other to oblivion.
Nastya tossed her phone aside, just off with Lev.
Viktor's face froze, shocked—she'd lied, claiming they were tailing Kuznetsov when they were humping in his flop.
"Lev thinks we're on Kuznetsov," she said, casual as a cigarette drag. "Dmitri's got it covered—last I heard, he's meeting Yuri to stay on Kuznetsov's crew."
Viktor sat up, skeptical. "Lev's got a Chechen hideout? If he wipes them, he's king of this shithole. My revenge is fucked."
Nastya stared at the ceiling, lost for a beat, then her eyes lit up, wicked.
"You got a plan?" Viktor asked, voice low.
"Crazy one," she grinned, dark humor glinting. "Better than nothing."
POLICE PRECINCT, DUSK
Dmitri slumped in a stark interrogation room, sweat beading, staring at his reflection in the one-way glass—transparent, mocking. His heart pounded, nerves frayed. Why the fuck am I still here? Processed, he'd be in a cell, not this sweatbox. He fought to stay cool, but panic clawed—something was off.
Outside, Volkov and Irina sipped coffee, watching him like a lab rat. "He's cracking," Irina said, smirking. "Let him stew more?"
Volkov chuckled, dark. "Oh, yeah." He flicked a switch on the wall, cranking the room's heat, air turning soupy. Dmitri's shirt clung, sweat pooling.
"Give him time," Volkov said, grinning like a bastard. "He'll sing or snap."
KHIMKI WAREHOUSE, DUSK
In a shadowed warehouse, Zara's Chechens prepped for war. A dozen men hustled—clips loaded, rifles checked, crates of C4 stacked.
Rook stood at a table, fingers dancing over a sniper rifle, scope gleaming like a predator's eye. He wasn't his old self—no chatter, no jokes, just a hollow edge, maybe from his "death" in GROM's ashes.
Zara approached, voice low. "You handle that rifle well."
Rook's lip twitched. "Learned from the best—he thought I wasn't listening." His eyes darkened. "Can't wait to see Lev bleed."
Zara's grin was feral. "No headshots, Rook. Wing him. I want the pleasure of ending him myself."
"Copy that," Rook said, sighing deep, ghosts heavy in his stare.
POLICE PRECINCT, NIGHT
Dmitri slumped in the interrogation room, sweat-soaked, reflection mocking in the one-way glass.
Volkov and Irina stormed in, slamming photos on the table—slaughtered bodies, guts spilled, massacres Dmitri knew too well. His stomach churned, memories biting.
"I'm sorry!" he blurted, voice shaking.
"Groped that lady, I'll pay a fine, whatever!"
Volkov laughed, cold. "Don't care about the waitress, dipshit. Rape her for all we care—that's another desk's mess."
He jabbed a photo—blood-soaked street. "We know you're in this. Name names, or you're the scapegoat."
Dmitri broke, panic spilling. "Petrov! Viktor—he's a demon, loves killing. Something's off, I don't trust him." Irina slid Viktor's side-profile shots across.
Dmitri nodded, frantic. "That's him! I'm free now, right?"
Volkov smirked, dark. "You just confessed, idiot. No walking." Irina leaned in. "Cooperate, maybe you can get a lighter sentence. Lev? Nastya? Talk."
Dmitri clamped shut, protecting family. "Lev didn't order those kills—Viktor's the cause, all him!"
They stared, hard, then walked out. Dmitri screamed, "Wait!" as two officers dragged him, yelling, to processing.
NASTYA'S SEDAN, NIGHT
Nastya and Viktor sat in her car, engine off, air thick with sweat and secrets.
Nastya's voice cut through. "Got word—a Chechen bitch is in town, calling shots. Kuznetsov's playing Lev, and something big's brewing. I'm going to find her, cut a deal before the shitstorm hits."
Viktor's eyes narrowed. "That's insane. You'll get carved."
Nastya's face lit with mock shock. "Care in your voice, Viktor? Oh, he cares about me," she teased to herself, dark humor glinting.
Viktor hardened. "Fine, but I'm coming."
"No," she snapped, firm. "I go alone. You meet Lev—keep him blind, or he'll smell us. Tell him I'm chasing Dmitri; he's not answering calls." Her tone softened, sly. "Not that I care much, but he's probably drunk in a ditch. Big sister duty, you know."
Viktor nodded, grim, alliance a tightrope over a blood-slick pit.