My thoughts drift to Andrey as I run. I picture him walking into Bogdan's territory, surrounded by armed men, his expression cold and controlled as he delivers his ultimatum. Join us or bedestroyed. There's no middle ground, no room for negotiation beyond those two options.
It's brutal. Efficient. Exactly the kind of move Andrey would make.
I wonder what Bogdan will choose. Pride might make him refuse and force a confrontation that could turn bloody. Or survival instinct might win out, convincing him to accept absorption into Andrey's organization rather than facing complete annihilation.
Either way, lives will change today.
The thought makes my chest tighten with anxiety again, but I push it down and focus on the rhythm of my breathing, the steady beat of my heart, and the feeling of my body moving through space. This is what I needed. Movement. Action. Something to burn off the nervous energy threatening to consume me.
I'm approaching the section of fence near the old oak tree when something catches my eye.
Movement. Just beyond the fence line, but partially hidden by the thick trunk and surrounding brush.
I slow my pace, my pulse quickening for reasons that have nothing to do with exercise. The guards are still behind me, close enough to reach if I call out. But I don't. Not yet.
I move closer to the fence, my eyes straining to see through the shadows and foliage. The figure shifts slightly, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of a face.
My breath stops.
It can't be.
But the features are unmistakable. The shape of the jaw, the set of the shoulders, the way he stands with weight shifted slightly to one side.
My father.
Yegor Puskin is standing just beyond the fence, half-hidden by the tree and brush, watching me.
46
ANDREY
The convoy rolls through the city streets with military precision, three armored SUVs moving in tight formation toward Bogdan's estate on the northern edge of the territory. I sit in the lead vehicle, my hands resting calmly on my thighs despite the adrenaline pumping through my veins. This has been building for weeks.
Beside me, my captain checks his weapon for the third time, his scarred hands moving with practiced efficiency. In the seat behind us, two of my most trusted enforcers sit in silence, their expressions hard and focused. Everyone knows what we're here to do.
End this.
I've been systematically dismantling Bogdan's organization for months, picking apart his network piece by piece until there's almost nothing left. His captains have either defected to my family or disappeared entirely. His smuggling routes are mine now. His protection rackets pay tribute to me. Even his own menhave started questioning whether their Pakhan can protect them anymore.
The answer is no. He can't.
My phone vibrates with an incoming message from one of my scouts positioned near Bogdan's compound.Minimal security visible. Maybe six men total.
Six. That's all that's left of an organization that once controlled a third of the city's criminal operations. The thought brings a cold satisfaction settling in my chest.
"Almost there," my captain says quietly, his dark eyes tracking the streets as we pass through increasingly familiar territory.
I nod once but don't speak. My mind is already three steps ahead, running through contingencies and backup plans. Bogdan isn't stupid. He knows I'm coming. The question is whether he'll fight or surrender.
Personally, I hope he fights. It'll make this more satisfying.
The estate comes into view as we round the final corner. It's smaller than mine, less fortified, with walls that look impressive but won't hold against a determined assault. The main gate stands open, which immediately raises my suspicions. Either Bogdan is inviting us in or he's already fled.
"Stop here," I order the driver.
The convoy halts about several feet from the entrance. I step out of the SUV, my boots crunching against gravel as I survey the compound. Men climb out of the other vehicles, taking positions with efficient silence.
The compound is quiet. Too quiet. No guards visible on the walls. No movement in the windows. Just the faint sound of wind rustling through the trees lining the property.
