“Where?”
“Basement level. We’re holding position there. It’s the only spot clear of hostiles. My men are with them.”
“And Viktor?”
“Not here,” Marco says. “He’s left Luca in a room then ran.”
Goddammit. It means he’s slunk off somewhere.
“Keep them there. Don’t let anyone through.”
“Copy.”
I can breathe again. For the first time since this nightmare started, I can actually breathe. But there’s still work to finish.
Viktor is somewhere in this cathedral, and I’m going to find him. I’m going to end this.
The gunfire has dwindled considerably. Most of Viktor’s men are dead or dying, scattered across the cathedral floor like brokendolls. My own losses are bad, even worse than I hoped, but we’ve won the battle. What’s left now is personal.
I move through the sanctuary, stepping over bodies, scanning every shadow for movement. Blood squelches under my boots. The snow drifting through the broken windows is pink now, melting into pools of red.
I keep scanning the environment like a hawk until I finally see him. Viktor is limping toward the exit at the inner main altar.
Bastard. I groan, moving swiftly as a cat.
“Running already?” I call out. He stiffens and turns sharply.
His face is slick with sweat, pale beneath the grime, and a jagged wound drips blood in slow trickles down his armored cargo pants. It must have cut deep.
He raises his gun and squeezes the trigger.
Nothing.
He tries again.
Nothing.
The bastard isn’t even keeping track of his ammo.
“Out of bullets?” I ask, approaching slowly.
“What do you care?”
I aim at the wounded leg, intending to answer that, but my gun doesn’t respond.
Shit. I’m out of bullets too.
Viktor laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just exhaustion. “So it comes down to this. Just you and me, like the old days.”
“The old days didn’t involve you kidnapping my son.”
“No.” He straightens himself, wincing slightly at the movement. “The old days involved me saving your life. Repeatedly. Remember Milan? Budapest? That clusterfuck in Jersey when the Colombians tried to take your head?”
“I remember.”
“Fifteen years, Dante. Fifteen years I had your back. And what did I get? Nothing. Not respect, not trust, not even a goddamn thank you.”
“You got paid. You got a position. You got my loyalty.”
