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Roman nods. "Once we take Vladimir, we end this chapter for good."
I take a deep breath, readying myself for what's about to happen. All the planning, the strikes and counterstrikes, they all lead to this moment. We're on a knife's edge, the future hanging in precarious balance.
As I stand there in the blinding headlights, next to the man who's managed to tear down the walls I've spent years building, the weight of the upcoming confrontation settles in. Vladimir isn't just my brother; he's a part of my past, a link to the life I used to have, a life I'm on the cusp of leaving behind for something unknown yet potentially beautiful.
I feel Roman's hand slip into mine, his grip firm but gentle, as if he's trying to offer me the strength to face what comes next. And in that moment, surrounded by the looming darkness and glaring lights, I realize that whatever the outcome, this is a point of no return. For Vladimir, for me, for the Bratva—and for whatever it is blooming between Roman and me.
As we lock eyes, Vladimir's voice rises in pitch, dripping with a malice so potent it could almost be physical. "You think you can stop me? Do you? I'll take down every last one of you. Starting with you, my dear sister."
His words hang in the air, acrid and vile, lacing the atmosphere with an unmistakable sense of menace. "I'll ruin you. I'll ruin your son, and this pretty boy you're so smitten with. You think you're safe with these Russian dogs? They're lambs compared to the wolves I'll send after you."
He steps forward as if to make his point more clearly, his finger jabbing in the air as if it were a weapon. "I'll make sure you all suffer. You'll pray for death, but it won't come. Not for a long, long time.”
His eyes are alight with the ferocity of his convictions, as if he could will his threats into existence through sheer force of personality. He's so engrossed in his own vindictiveness he doesn't notice my hand slipping to the gun at my side.
Roman stands stoic beside me, but the muscles in his jaw twitch. He's holding back, giving me room to make the call. He trusts my judgment, but the air is thick with tension, each second ticking by like an hour. It's clear to everyone present that my next move will decide the course of events.
Vladimir stands there, encircled by cars, his face twisted in rage and disbelief. His men are backing away slowly, silently surrendering. A look of pure loathing is etched into Vladimir’s eyes, and the way he's staring at me, it's like he's trying to incinerate me on the spot.
"You treacherous bitch," he snarls, his voice venomous. "You turn your back on your own flesh and blood for them?”His gesture encompasses Roman, Samuil, Leo, the rest of the men—the whole Bratva.
"For the life of my son, I would turn against the devil himself," I shoot back. "You forfeited your claim as family the moment you threatened his life."
Vladimir laughs, a mocking, ugly sound. "Do you think they'll protect you? The Bratva? They're nothing like us."
"Last chance, Vladimir," I say, my voice ice-cold. "Take everything back, walk away, disappear. I won't hunt you down."
My hand finds the gun holstered at my side. Roman watches me but says nothing. He knows the score. This is my call, my closure.
Vladimir sneers, spitting on the ground. "So long as I breathe, I will make sure you and that bastard son of yours live lives more wretched than the lowest worms. You can't stop me."
"Wrong answer," I say, my voice calm but loaded like the chamber of the gun I raise.
Vladimir's eyes widen for a split second, realizing the gravity of his mistake too late. "You can't be serious. My own sister wouldn’t kill—"
"I'm not your sister anymore," I interrupt him, locking eyes one final time as my finger moves to the trigger. "I'm the Ghost."
The shot rings out, echoing in the empty space around us. Vladimir crumples to the ground, life extinguished in an instant. The road is awash in a silence so profound it's almost surreal, shattered only by the sound of a spent shell casing hitting the pavement.
As Vladimir's lifeless body hits the ground, I feel a strange sense of finality. It's not triumph; it's closure. A dark chapter has come to an end, but at a cost I'm still reckoning with as I lower my weapon.
Roman steps closer to me, placing a hand on my shoulder, offering silent comfort and approval. I glance at him, a mute conversation transpiring in the span of a heartbeat. It says, "We did what we had to do.”
The lingering smell of gunpowder fades into the background as Roman's arms wrap around me. His embrace is the tether pulling me back from the precipice of emotions threatening to consume me. I don't even need to say anything; Roman just knows.
"I'll handle the cleanup. Go back to the hotel, call Nikita and Ilya. You've done enough," he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
I nod, welcoming his words but not entirely convinced I've "done enough." Sometimes doing what's necessary leaves an aftertaste, a residue no amount of reasoning can wash away.
I get into the car, gripping the wheel with the realization that it's over. Vladimir's reign, the fear he instilled, the cloud that had been hanging over us—it's all gone. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs as if I'm inhaling freedom for the first time.
Driving back to the hotel, my thoughts drift to Ilya. My beautiful, innocent boy who deserved none of this chaos. I quicken my pace, eager to see him, to reassure myself with the sight of him sleeping peacefully.
Upon arriving at the hotel, I FaceTime Nikita. She answers, and the look on her face suggests she understands the gravity of the evening’s events.
"All done?" she asks.
I nod. "Yeah, all done."
