The Range – Moments After
The echo of the last shot hung in the air like smoke that wouldn't clear. Viktor checked the magazine.
Two bullets left.
He hadn't come to kill anyone. Just shoot a watermelon and purge Lev from his thoughts. But now someone had tried to put him down with surgical precision.
He breathed slowly, forcing his pulse to calm. He peeked over the wooden barricade. Nothing.
Rook, crouched ten meters to his right, whispered, "I can draw him out."
"He's too good," Viktor hissed. "If he shoots again, he'll kill."
Rook huffed, muttered a curse, then pulled the trigger. BOOM. The bark of the shotgun echoed.
Another sharp crack — the sniper's reply.
Viktor spotted the muzzle flash. The tree line. Left ridge.
He lifted his rifle, fired twice in quick succession. Then silence.
Rook ducked back. "Did we get him?"
"Let's find out."
They darted from cover like wolves through the brush, boots crunching over frostbitten grass, flanking each other.
No body. Just drops of blood. No casing. No scope. Nothing but tire tracks behind the ridge fence.
An engine roared.
Rook bolted to the edge. A black SUV —no plates—peeled away into the woods.
Viktor cursed. "That was too clean. Professional."
Rook frowned. "He was waiting. Probably tailed me."
Viktor turned to him. "You stop anywhere?"
"Bar on the edge of town. One drink."
"You were followed."
Rook stiffened. "I need to go check that bar."
Viktor didn't argue.
Outside Borya's Storefront – Midday
Arman lit a cigarette and cracked his neck as he approached the dingy storefront. Snow mixed with oil beneath his boots. The windows were cracked. The bricks crumbling. Borya lived like old Bratva.
The bell above the door jingled.
Borya appeared behind the counter, eyes wide. "Arman? I thought… I had one more day."
Arman took a slow drag. "Nastya says the clock ran out this morning."
Borya fumbled beneath the counter, pulled out a stack of rubber-banded rubles. "It's all there. I had to pull from old stashes, but it's clean."
Arman took it, flipped through casually. Then his eyes narrowed. "I was told to leave here with your payment... or a souvenir."
Borya's hands trembled. "I ran for Lev for years. I bled for this name. I don't get one damn day?"
Arman stared him down. "That was then. This is Nastya's Bratva. Loyalty's not a shield, it's a receipt."
He tucked the money inside his coat. "You're square. For now."
He turned, leaving Borya staring daggers, knuckles white.
Unknown Location – Abandoned Motel Safehouse
The sniper growled as he forced antiseptic into the bullet graze on his shoulder. Blood stained the towel he clenched between his teeth.
The phone rang.
He snatched it. "What?"
A calm voice answered. "Is it done?"
"They're alive. One might be hit. I took a shot."
"The Director wants a full debrief. Tonight."
He clicked off.
He exhaled hard, wiping sweat from his brow.
In the drawer beside the bed was a photo of a woman sitting on a hospital bed. She's smiling with a pale face.
He kissed the frame. "Just a little longer, love. Then I come home."
Zara's Loft – That Afternoon
Dan stood with arms behind his back, face impassive as Zara poured dark liquor into a crystal tumbler. The Chechen queen was pacing slowly, like a lioness between strikes.
"He's dead," she muttered. "Ruslan. Shot in Grozny."
Dan raised an eyebrow. "That was fast."
"His replacement wants fire and numbers. He's moved all the timelines up. That's why I dropped the payload on Nastya."
Dan nodded. "You think she can handle it?"
"I think she'll either drown in it or ride the tide."
She turned to face him. "Either way, we get product moved. I need wins. I can't afford a turf war."
Dan's lips twitched. "Even if she pulls it off, she'll remember how close she came to burning."
Zara raised her glass. "That's the best kind of loyalty. The kind born from fire."
Dmitri's Cell – Same Time
The bolt snapped. The door groaned.
Dmitri looked up, sitting on the edge of his bunk. He smirked as the guard stepped in.
"Time for your sunshine, Romanov."
"If I get a tan, I'll hold you personally responsible."
The guard snorted. "Keep dreaming, princess."
Dmitri stood, stretching his shoulders. He leaned closer. "That little favor I asked?"
The guard slipped something into his palm. "You owe me double."
Dmitri smiled darkly. "Only if I survive the yard."
Prison Yard
The sky was bruised with cold clouds. Dmitri stepped into the yard and immediately clocked the Bratva crew near the far wall.
And the brute. Nose broken. Bandaged. Talking animatedly.
Then he stopped. Eyes met.
The brute smiled.
Dmitri sighed. This is gonna hurt.
He approached.
The Bratva watched. Silence dropped.
Dmitri raised both hands. "I'm not here for trouble. I'm here for business."
One of the older men raised a brow. "You don't have your daddy's ring anymore."
"Don't need it. Chechens lost the yard. Zara's people have not been pushing weight in here. But there's demand. I can supply."
One of the men chuckled. "You?"
"Lev's name meant something once. It can mean something again. I have routes. Contacts. All I need is muscle."
The brute stepped forward. "You want us to work for you?"
Dmitri shook his head. "With me."
Tension crackled. Then—
CRACK.
The brute's fist connected with Dmitri's jaw. He stumbled back, lip split.
"That's for the nose."
Silence.
Dmitri wiped the blood and stood tall. "Now we're square?"
The brute stared, then grinned. "Maybe."
The others chuckled. Someone clapped Dmitri's shoulder.
"You got brass balls, kid. Let's talk weight."
Unknown Location – Private Jet, night
The Director stood at the window, sipping black coffee.
Behind him, the sniper's face appeared on a wall screen.
"One wounded. No kills. They're ghosts."
The Director didn't blink. "And you let them vanish."
"There were civilians and unexpected factors."
"Excuses."
The sniper winced as he adjusted his sling. "I'll clean up the mess."
The Director turned, eyes like knives.
"You'll do more than that. You'll erase them. I want a mission accomplished report next time I call"
He ended the call.
The cabin returned to silence.
He turned to his aide. "Prepare the Warsaw team. They go in on my signal, but let's give him some time to handle things quietly."
Outside The Bar – Night
Rook pulled the car to the curb. Viktor slid out, scanning the storefront.
"There," Rook said, nodding to a grocery across the street. A rusted camera above the door.
They entered. Rook flashed a fake badge. Viktor showed the gun.
"We need footage from last night. Now."
The clerk paled. Minutes later, they had the feed. Rook scrubbed through. There he was—leaving the bar.
Seconds later, the black car rolled by.
"That's him," Viktor muttered. "Back it up."
They paused on the plate frame.
Clear.
"We've got a lead."
Rook grinned. "Time to make noise."
Viktor's face stayed still. "Ghosts never ride registered plates"
Rook sighed, shrugging. "Maybe.. Only one way to find out if this ghost slipped up or not."