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“Oh, you keep telling yourself that,” he says, chuckling. “Why else would you refuse to let her go back to New Jersey even after she tried to run from you?”

I groan and rub my temple. “Shut up and focus on the road, Viktor.”

He laughs louder, the bastard.

Viktor and I have been friends since we were boys. His father worked for mine, and he’s been by my side through every bloody step of this life. When I had to come to New York ten years ago, he didn’t hesitate, he packed up and followed me, even though he could have stayed comfortable in Moscow. He’s the only man alive who can talk to me about my personal life, laugh in my face and still walk away with his head attached.

I brood on his words. Am I really in love with Rosie? No. A man like me isn’t capable of love. Obsession? Possession? Yes. But love is soft. Love is weak. Love gets you killed in this world.

I push the thought away as we pull up to the location.

It’s a rundown neighborhood on the outskirts, cracked sidewalks, flickering streetlights, buildings that look like they’re one strong wind away from collapsing. I still don’t understand why these biker assholes always choose the slums to set up base. The place is a dingy bar with a faded neon sign that’s missing half its letters. Several motorcycles are lined up.

Viktor kills the engine and mutters, “Shit’s about to get real.”

We step out into the cool night air. I give a signal with my hand. My men move like shadows, some spreading out to cover the front, others slipping around to the back and sides.

On my nod, we storm the place. The door crashes open with a loud bang. The inside reeks of stale beer, sweat, and cheap cigarettes. Heads snap toward us. For half a second, everything freezes.

Then chaos erupts. Gunshots explode through the bar. My men open fire. Bottles shatter. Tables flip over as people scramble for cover.

A few unlucky patrons who were just there for a drink scream and dive behind whatever they can find—chairs, the bar counter, even each other. One biker reaches for his gun too slowly and takes a bullet to the chest, slamming backward into a pool table.

I move through the room like a ghost, gun steady in my hand. A big, bearded asshole lunges at me with a knife. I sidestep and put two rounds in his stomach. He drops with a wet gurgle.

“Keep the leader alive!” I shout over the noise.

Viktor is already dragging a struggling man out from behind the bar, the one with the distinct tattoo on his neck that matches the description we got. The man kicks and curses, but Viktor presses a gun to his temple, and he goes still.

The shooting dies down quickly. The air is thick with gunpowder and the metallic scent of blood. A few bodies lie motionless on the sticky floor. The survivors who weren’t part of the crew are huddled in corners, shaking and crying.

I nod at two of my men. “Get the women out of here.”

They move quickly, grabbing the terrified girls by the arms and hauling them toward what looks like a back office. The women beg and sob as they’re dragged away.

“Please don’t kill us! We didn’t do anything!”

I’m heartless in many ways, but I’m not that heartless. Harmless women don’t need to die tonight.

Once the room is cleared of civilians, I step forward, gun still in my hand, and look at the men on their knees.

“Who’s in charge here?”

No one answers. They just stare at the floor or at me with defiant, scared eyes.

I raise my gun and put a bullet through the head of the man on the far left. He slumps sideways, blood oozing onto the sticky floor.

“I’m going to put a bullet in another person’s head every time I don’t get an answer,” I say calmly.

My gaze lands on the man Viktor is holding. The way he’s looking at me, a mix of fear and barely contained rage, tells me everything I need to know. He’s the leader. But I feel like playing with him a little.

I shift my aim and shoot the man kneeling right next to him. The body jerks and collapses.

The leader flinches violently and finally cracks. “Okay! Stop!” he screams, voice cracking. “I’m the leader! I’m in charge!”

I tilt my head, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “Oh, I was just beginning to enjoy the game.”

I walk slowly until I’m standing directly in front of him. He’s breathing hard, sweat and blood mixing on his face.