Page 151 of Mafia and Scars

My hand tightens around my gun.

He looks calm. Almost bored.

I breathe deep, letting my rage settle in my bones. My emotions are wild, complex, disorganized. But discipline and calculation guide my actions—all the parts of me the military never quite broke but reshaped into something cold and precise.

Gennady turnskidsinto assets.

He did it to Avelina.

He wants Sofia too.

But he made the mistake of coming aftermy family.

“Go!” I order.

Grigory and Matvey breach from the side, sweeping the room with rifle fire. I move in fast, gun raised. Bullets rip through flesh. Screams echo against worn walls. One man thinks he can escape—I shoot him in the back without even thinking.

Gennady’s gaze darts around before he runs.

Fucking coward.

“He’s mine!” I pursue him, yanking the earpiece from my ear. I can’t afford to be distracted.

I can hear my name being called. I see Grigory move to cover my back. But this is for me to do alone. Chaos reigns behind me before it fades into the background as I break off toward the back exit. Mysteps are fast. But the bastard’s gaining ground, slipping between the stacks and debris.

My boots pound like thunder. I chase him into the gated parking lot. Abandoned vehicles scatter the lot like corpses. Gennady veers left, heading for a rusted-out truck.

I duck behind a steel barrel. And as I aim at him, for a split second, I see his eyes.

It’s not fear but recognition. Like he knew it’d be me.

He returns fire. “You can’t stop it!” he yells out.

My jaw tightens, lining up my next shot.

“I’m going to take them. And I’m going to break them!” the fucker taunts.

He breaks cover and runs toward the perimeter.

I sprint after him.

He spins around. And the sound of a gun going off hits my ears.

Pain flares, white-hot and immediate, as I look down. Something seeps into my shirt.Blood.I drop hard, the ground knocking the breath out of me. My vision blurs. And a metallic taste fills my mouth.

Another gunshot echoes.

My neck cranes to see Gennady escaping into the darkness, vanishing just past my line of sight toward the broken fence and rotting machinery.

I breathe through the pain, gripping my side as the sticky warmth coats my fingers.

It’s bad. Not lethal, not yet, but deep enough that pushing to sit up sends lightning through every nerve in my body.

Still, I try to stand. The world spins. And my knees buckle.

“Fuck!”

I drag myself behind the wheel of a nearby truck, shielding myself from sight lines as my breath comes in sharp, shallow pulls. I fumble with my comms.