“We need to destroy all the evidence that can point a finger at us,” Vladimir says. “I got rid of everything on my side the same day Volkov escaped from foster care.” Of course, he did nothing of the kind. Just like Oleg, he kept the evidence locked in his safe as insurance for the day he needed something to blackmail Oleg with. The only one who knows Vladimir never burned the evidence is himself. “Do you have anything that’ll incriminate us?”
“No,” Oleg says, averting his eyes briefly before meeting Vladimir’s gaze again.
Vladimir smiles. Oleg has just given him a valid reason to off him. No one in the bratva will blame him for executing a traitor.
“Call your men.” Vladimir checks his watch for dramatic effect. “We need to ambush Volkov before he makes it out of his house. If he catches us here, we’re fucked.”
Oleg clutches the armrests of his chair. “Between your men and mine, he’ll be outnumbered.”
“He’s got Turgenev on his side, remember?”
“Mudak,” Oleg says, now sweating so profusely that dark patches stain his shirt around his armpits.
Pushing to his feet, Oleg takes his phone from his pocket and dials his second-in-command with a swift instruction to bring the highest-ranking men in his organization to Vladimir’s stronghold of a house. Fast.
“Let’s drink to our victory,” Vladimir says when Oleg ends the call, producing a bottle of vodka.
Oleg looks aghast. “You know it’s bad luck to drink before the deal is done.”
“Come on,” Vladimir says with a mocking smile. “We have to behave like victors, not losers. Besides, we’ll catch Volkov by surprise. He won’t expect us to storm his house. He’ll expect us to hide in our fortresses where we’re best protected.”
Oleg wets his lips. Hesitantly, he takes the glass Vladimir offers.
They drink a toast, and then another. Oleg’s men arrive just as they finish the third. The five men who rank highest in his organization are his cousins, an uncle, and a nephew.
Vladimir gets to his feet with effort, his joints groaning under his weight. His words are loaded. He chooses the right expression to go with them, enjoying the little drama he’s putting on. “Let’s go talk where it’s safe.”
The men nod in unison. Vladimir sweeps his study daily for bugs, but the opposition and the clean players in the police force always find new ways. Their latest favorites are drones.
Vladimir leads the way. His men wait outside the door to his study. They let Oleg and his men pass, discreetly covering Vladimir’s back before following the entourage to the basement.
Like the study, the basement is soundproof, but for a different reason.
Vladimir walks down the well-lit stairs to where a guard stands at the bottom. Taking his gun from his waistband, he hands it to the guard, who places it on a table where a bottle of vodka and shot glasses are set out to look like a preview to a celebration.
“Gentlemen,” Vladimir says, motioning at the table for them to disarm as well.
One by one, they lay their weapons on the table.
When the guard pats them down for concealed guns and knives, Vladimir says, “My apologies for the necessary precautions, but you know how heated we men can get when the testosterone levels run high.”
Everyone laughs at that, except Oleg’s uncle. He glances at Oleg. “I don’t like this.”
Lowering his head to Oleg’s ear, Vladimir says in a conspiratorial tone, “I don’t need to remind you that Volkov could already be on his way here as we speak. We have one shot at taking him out. If we fuck it up…” He leaves the sentence hanging, letting Oleg imagine the worst.
Oleg commands his uncle with a flick of his head. Like the rest of the men, his uncle disarms and hands over the gun strapped to his ankle.
“Through here.” Vladimir motions at the door down the hallway that his guard opens. “I have a surprise waiting for you.”
Oleg tenses at surprise. “What’s inside there?”
Vladimir gives him a pat on the back. “Go see for yourself.”
Oleg’s uncle is the lamb who sacrifices himself for the slaughter and goes in first. Sticking his head back around the frame, he says with a frown, “It’s a woman.”
“A woman?” Oleg asks, sounding confused.
Equally baffled, the uncle replies, “Handcuffed.”
“Go on,” Vladimir says, hardly able to contain the spark of excitement igniting inside him.
Oleg catches that spark. His eyes gleam with wicked intent as he forgets to be frightened and goes inside to see which whore Vladimir is gifting him and his men. He’s done it before. It’s only natural that Oleg believes the lie.
When Oleg and his entire crew are inside, Vladimir’s men pick up their guns and follow. The guard locks the door.
Oleg blinks at the fearful woman in the cheap, revealing clothes who’s handcuffed to the metal frame of the bed. Her thin arms and legs are dirty, and her bleached hair is oily. Usually, they go for high-class hookers, and they like to play dress-up. Oleg’s favorite is a dominatrix uniform and a whip.
“Why is she dressed like that?” Oleg asks, wrinkling his nose. “She looks like a whore you snatched from a street corner.” He turns on his heel. “What’s going on, Vlad?”
Vladimir’s men pull their guns.
Oleg raises his hands, palms out. “Vladimir.” His voice trembles. “What are you doing?”
“On your knees,” Vladimir grits out. “All of you.”
When they don’t react, Vladimir takes a gun from one of his men and slams the weapon against the side of Oleg’s head.
Oleg drops to his knees.
“Down,” Vladimir says, pointing the barrel between Oleg’s eyes.
One by one, Oleg’s men kneel.
Good. They should be crawling in the dirt at his feet.
“Fucking traitor,” Vladimir says. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“Please.” Oleg cowers with his hands in front of his face. “Bes blackmailed me. He said he’d kill my family if I didn’t give him the information.” When Vladimir only grins, Oleg cries out, “He tricked me.”
Vladimir sneers. “I know that, you motherfucking stupid idiot.”
“He told you,” Oleg says, tripping over the words. “It’s Bes who told you. He’s playing us, Vladimir. He’s playing both of us.”
“Do you really think I’m dumb?” Vladimir caresses the trigger with his finger. “It was a test. My test. One you failed miserably.”
“Vladimir,” Oleg begs.
And that, very fittingly, is the last word he says.
Vladimir pulls the trigger.
The whore screams as Oleg falls backward like the dead weight he is.
All hell breaks loose. Oleg’s men try to disarm Vladimir’s guards, but it’s nothing but a futile show of bravery. They die like they should, with bullets in the backs of their heads.
Executed.
Wiping blood splatters from his hand, Vladimir says to his man in charge, “Clean up this mess and shut that woman up.”
“Gladly,” the man says, aiming his gun between her eyes and pulling the trigger.
The high-pitched screaming stops.