Page 115 of Vendetta Crown

I spin around, moving to the nearest fallen guard in the hallway. He's an Asian man. But the bratvas have always had plenty of Asians who hail from the poor far-flung eastern edges of Russia.

Kalmyks. Yakuts. Tuvans. Buryats.

The only way to be sure is through the tattoos.

Kneeling beside him, I rip open his shirt collar.

There, inked into his neck. Not the traditional bratva imagery, but the distinctive swirling pattern of Triad markings.

Fuck!

"Check the others!" I bark.

My men rush to examine the bodies scattered throughout the apartment.

"Pakhan! This one is Triad too!"

"Same here!"

I meet Artyom's eyes across the room as he descends the stairs. The same realization dawns on both our faces.

"The only bratva man was the guard at the elevator," Artyom says quietly.

"So what is this?" I demand, my mind racing. "Did Semyon sacrifice one man to lead us into?—"

"A trap," Artyom finishes. "Or..."

"Or he knew we were coming," I say, the pieces falling into place, "and left a bunch of Triad soldiers for us to kill instead."

I look around at the carnage we've created. The blood-soaked luxury of Semyon's penthouse, filled with dead Triad soldiers.

I turn back to the empty dining room, and something catches my eye.

A phone.

Not just any phone. Tamara's phone.

Just then, a text comes on and I see that the lock-screen has changed.

Five simple words that punch through my chest like ice water:

"Look what you made me do."

"Ruslan, we need to leave now." Artyom's voice seems distant despite him standing right beside me.

I can't tear my eyes from those five damning words.

"Ruslan!" He grabs my shoulder, finally breaking my trance. "Police scanners are lighting up. LAPD units already responding. And it won't be long before the Triads show up either."

I should leave the phone. It's a trap. A message. Bait. Something designed to pull me deeper into whatever game is being played.

Every instinct screams to walk away.

But I reach for it anyway.

The screen is still unlocked. My jaw clenches as I pocket the device.

I nod, finally finding my voice. "Let's go. Standard dispersion. Ditch the cars at the chop shops and switch into individual rides."

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