The sun dipped below Moscow’s jagged skyline, casting long, blood-red shadows across the city. Alex leaned against the steel railing of the rooftop, his eyes cold and focused on the streets below. The bustling city was a blur—his mind fixated on one man, a ghost from the past who had resurfaced, threatening everything Alex had fought to build.
The weight of the Glock at his side was familiar, yet it offered no comfort. Alex had been with the Volkov family for over a decade, climbing the ranks to become Roman’s most trusted ally. His loyalty was etched in blood, each scar a testament to his unwavering dedication. But tonight was different. Tonight, it was fucking personal.
Ten years ago, Alex had been a soldier in the Russian military, stationed in the volatile Caucasus region. There, he encountered Ivan Sokolov—a corrupt officer who profited from selling weapons to the highest bidder. Ivan’s greed had left villages destroyed and families shattered. When Alex attempted to expose him, his complaints were buried, and he was reassigned. That’s when Alex realized that justice was just another commodity.
Disillusioned, Alex left the military and drifted until fate brought him to the Volkov family. Under Nikolay Volkov’s mentorship, he found a new fucking purpose. The Volkovs weren’t saints, but they had a code—a code that Alex respected. Yet, he never forgot Ivan Sokolov.
The sound of a car engine pulled Alex from his thoughts. A black Mercedes rolled to a stop in front of the building, its tinted windows reflecting the last rays of the sun. The door opened, and Ivan stepped out, flanked by two bodyguards. Even from a distance, Alex recognized him. The years hadn’t softened Ivan—if anything, they had sharpened his arrogance.
“Target’s inside,” Alex said into the earpiece.
“Understood. Proceed when ready,” Roman’s voice was calm, controlled.
Alex descended the fire escape with practiced ease, blending into the shadows. The building was an old Soviet-era warehouse, now a haunt for the desperate and the damned. Alex slipped through a side entrance, his movements silent, purposeful.
The sound of muffled voices guided him to a room at the back. He paused, listening. Ivan’s authoritative and self-assured voice sent Alex a wave of anger. He could hear the clink of glasses—likely celebrating another blood-stained deal.
Alex steadied himself. This wasn’t just about revenge. It was about sending a message. Ivan had to know why he was going to die.
The door flew open with a force that sent it crashing against the wall. Ivan’s bodyguards barely had time to react before Alex’s Glock barked twice. The guards crumpled to the floor, their weapons useless at their sides.
Ivan stumbled back, his face pale. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, voice trembling.
Alex stepped over the bodies, his gaze locking onto Ivan’s. “You don’t remember me, do you?” His voice was cold, emotionless.
Ivan’s eyes narrowed, then widened in recognition. “Alexei…”
“That’s right,” Alex said, raising his Glock. “It’s been a long time, Ivan.”
Ivan’s hands shook as he tried to placate the inevitable. “Wait, we can talk. I can make you rich—richer than you’ve ever been.”
“This isn’t about money. It’s about what you did—the lives you ruined.”
Ivan’s voice quivered with desperation. “Please, I have a family—”
“So did they,” Alex interrupted his voice, which was as hard as steel. Without another word, he pulled the trigger.
The shot echoed through the room, and Ivan crumpled to the ground. Alex stood over him, his breathing steady. The past had finally caught up with Ivan, and now it was over.
“Mission accomplished,” Alex muttered into the earpiece, turning to leave.
“Good. Come back. We’ve got work to do,” Roman’s voice crackled in his ear.
As Alex entered the cold night, he felt no satisfaction, only a cold emptiness. The debt had been paid, but the void remained. He had avenged the past, yet the shadows still lingered.
He walked through the narrow alleys, his boots crunching against the gravel. The past was a heavy burden, but he knew he couldn’t let it define him. The Volkovs had given him a new life, and he would remain loyal until his last breath. But tonight, as he disappeared into the Moscow night, a bitter smile played on his lips. The debt had been paid in blood—just as all debts in his world were.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.