Page 140 of 10 Days to Ruin

Salt spray from the harbor slicks the docks into a black mirror. Cranes loom like skeletons above us, casting shadows over tonight’s target: a ship calledThe Odyssey. The scuttled cruiser lists in its dry dock cradle, exposing barnacles coating the underside. One porthole flickers dimly; the rest are dark.

It’s seen better days. This whole place has. But the rust and rot have an epicenter, and it’s exactly where these Serbian rats like to congregate.

At my side, Feliks adjusts his night vision goggles. “Thermals show twenty-three hostiles. All concentrated in the main bridge, right where that window is lit.”

I check to my left and right. The darkness amongst the boatyard is filled with darker shadows amongst it. My Bratva, out in full force, bristling with enough guns to empty clips down every last Serbian throat.

“The exits?” I ask.

“Barred.”

“Their boats?”

“Burned.”

Finally, I let myself indulge in a grin. It’s been a good fucking day already. And it’s about to get even better. “Alright then,” I say. “Give the order to move in.”

Feliks murmurs into the radio clipped to his tactical vest.

Then the shadows descend onThe Odyssey.

We move in tandem, boots silent on the gangplank. Nearly a hundred of my best killers, all thirsting for Serbian blood. This will be over quickly.

The first sentry dies with a knife in his trachea. The second barely turns before two silenced bullets rearrange his face.

Chaos blooms slowly, then all at once. By the time we hit the casino doors, the Serbs are scrambling. Dice and poker chips scatter as Dragan’s lieutenants reach for weapons. A blonde in a sequin dress screams, champagne flute shattering.

I put a round between her companion’s eyes. “Dragan! Come out, come out…”

He emerges from the VIP lounge, face a rictus of rage. Our last meeting wasn’t kind to him—the bruises remain jarring and purple. But those piggish eyes still glint with the same cruelty that once made Jasmine tremble.

“Ozerov.” He spits at my feet. “Here to finish stealing my wives and my city?”

I smile. “Just the city.”

Gunfire erupts.

It’s not a fight. It’s a culling.

They’re soft, these Serbs. My Bratva? We’re wolves raised on broken glass and winter winds. Before I can give Dragan the death he deserves, a bald giant charges me. I sidestep and elbow his spine into splinters. Twin brothers fire Uzis blindly. I drop them with headshots so perfectly synced, their corpses collapse in unison.

But Dragan is elusive.

He takes advantage of my distraction to turn and run through a steel door, barring it behind him. It takes a few of my men with blowtorches to melt it open. By the time we’re through, he’s at the far end of a long hallway. The bullets we fire after him do nothing but score the metalwork. All that remains is his voice, floating down toward me, as he barks orders into his phone.

“… the helicopter,budala! Now, now!”

Slippery fuckingmudak.I charge after him, followed by dozens of my men. We’re too late, though. The helicopter is already lifting off when we burst out on the top of the bridge.

I stand beneath the downward draft and watch as that black bird lifts up and away. Dragan’s face is pressed against the window, sneering at me.

I don’t bother firing after him. I’d rather save my bullets for when I can press the barrel of my gun between his eyes and unload.

But I do watch as he goes. Until the chopper disappears into the smog over New Jersey, I keep my eyes locked on it.

Feliks joins me a few minutes later. Dusk is settling now, and sunset over the city has never looked more beautiful. “Anyone left?” I ask him.

He laughs. “As if I’d be that nice.”

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