Page 35 of Bratva Prince
Sofia unconscious on the pavement, the blood on her face, and the terror he’d felt when he thought he might lose her.Those images still surfaced every time he closed his eyes, and every single one led back to Sergei Orlov.
Dimitri was merely five feet away from the bastard now.Sergei finally sensed something, a slight shift in the air perhaps.The older man began turning, but it was too late.
Sergei widened his eyes when he recognized Dimitri.Surprise flashed across his face, then understanding, and finally actual fear.
Dimitri raised the suppressed pistol.The silencer looked almost elegant beneath the streetlamp.For a second neither man spoke.Rain dripped somewhere above them.The dead traitor remained sprawled between them.
Sergei flickered his gaze toward the weapon, then back to Dimitri.
“Dimitri,” Sergei said, trying to appear calm, to regain control maybe.Too bad it didn’t work.
“You’ve had a busy week,” Dimitri remarked.
Sergei tightened his jaw.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sergei said, lying effortlessly.
Dimitri almost admired the commitment.
“Of course,” Dimitri said.
Sergei moved his gaze subtly, calculating, searching for escape routes perhaps, or his guards.There was nothing.The alley suddenly felt very small and empty.
“You can’t kill me,” Sergei blurted.
The statement lacked conviction.Dimitri found that amusing.
“Why not?”Dimitri asked.
“You’ll start a war.”
A humorless smile touched Dimitri’s mouth.
“A war already started the moment you decided to assassinate my wife.”
The words landed exactly as intended.Sergei jerked his head.He understood immediately.His expression changed to one of regret.The old man must’ve finally realized that he’d miscalculated and pushed too far.
Dimitri thought of Sofia again.Her voice over the phone, the sound of gunfire, and the crash.Something cold settled inside him.The same feeling he’d experienced before eliminating particularly dangerous threats.
Absolute certainty filled Dimitri.This was the correct decision.Sergei must have seen it in his eyes, because the older man suddenly reached for his own weapon.His movement was quick, faster than most men his age, but still not fast enough.
The suppressed gun coughed once, a small sound.The bullet struck Sergei high in the chest.The older man staggered, shock crossing his face.
Dimitri fired again, and again.Three precise shots total.Sergei hit the pavement hard.The gun slipped from his fingers.Silence returned to the alley.For several seconds nobody moved.Then Dimitri lowered his weapon.
Finally this sordid business was finished.Sergei stared upward at the rain-dark sky, not breathing.
Dimitri felt no triumph or excitement, merely satisfaction.The kind that came from completing an unpleasant task that had nevertheless needed doing.He holstered the pistol, turned and walked away.Behind him, distant shouting suddenly erupted.
Orlov guards, finally realizing something was wrong.Well, it was far too late.By the time they reached the alley, Dimitri was already stepping into the waiting black SUV parked around the corner.
The door closed and the vehicle pulled away.No dramatic chase, gunfight, or last-minute surprises followed.Without Sergei, the Orlov organization would fracture within weeks.
His sons lacked discipline and intelligence.They’d spend more time fighting each other than threatening anyone else.The organization would collapse beneath its own weight, exactly as it deserved.
Rain streaked across the SUV windows as the city rolled past.For the first time in days, Dimitri felt himself relax slightly.The threat was gone.Alexei would receive the news soon enough.Maksim would probably complain that he hadn’t been invited.
Business would continue, and so would life.Most importantly, Sofia would be safe.The thought surprised him less than it once would have.A month ago, protecting Sofia had been an obligation, a responsibility.Now it felt different.More personal.
