Page 104 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

I rise, slowly. Crack my neck. Draw my twin blades from my back holster. My guns are holstered on either hip. Blood’s already coating my gloves from the earlier kills. I don’t care. I want more.

They took her. They touched her. They drugged her.

They will bleed for it.

I move through the smoke like a phantom. A bidder sees me—he turns to run. A shot to the back of his head sends him crashing down. Another tries to duck behind an overturned table—I slit his throat before he can even scream.

One guard rushes me with a blade. Rookie.

I twist his wrist, yank the knife, plunge it into his thigh, then again into his stomach. I don’t even pause as he falls. I hear him choking behind me. Let him die slow.

Gunfire erupts to my left—LaFarge’s men trying to retreat toward the back.

Cowards.

“Don’t let a single one escape!” I bark into my comm.

Niko responds instantly. “Copy that. Front is sealed. We’re thinning them out.”

Good.

The main auction hall looks like something out of hell now. Velvet chairs are overturned, chandeliers shattered. Blood pools on the marble floor like spilled wine.

I move like death itself. Every target I see goes down in seconds—neck snapped, bullet in the skull, spine cracked. I don’t flinch. I don’t pause. I don’t hesitate.

This isn’t vengeance.

It’s judgment.

One of the Solokov brothers tries to beg. “Wait—wait—Kaz—”

I shoot him twice in the knees and once in the chest.

“No more Solokovs,” I whisper.

Another tries to crawl toward the door. I shoot him in the back, walk over, and stomp his skull into the floor until there’s nothing but pulp.

I’m not just ending them.

I’m erasing them.

One by one, room by room, I wipe this place clean. I become the monster they whispered about. The shadow in the dark. The ghost in every war story from Moscow to Milan.

Because they made the mistake of taking what was mine.

By the time I walk back into the main hall, the bodies are everywhere—sprawled over velvet cushions, slumped against blood-stained marble, throats slit, skulls caved in. No survivors.

Only silence.

And me.

Drenched in blood. Still breathing. Still burning.

Niko approaches, gun still smoking. “You got everyone?”

I nod once. “Anyone left?”

He tilts his head. “Only you, brother. Only you.”