Page 196 of Inevitable Endings
Lorenzo’s grin fades just slightly.
He reaches for his gun, not fast, but deliberate, like a man reminding the room where the crown sits. Several others follow, hands moving under coats, into holsters, fingers twitching toward triggers.
And then—
the doors explode open.
Not literally. Not violently.
Just wide.
Controlled. Quiet. Terrifying.
Four men step through in unison, I create space.
Black balaclavas. Black tactical gear. Weapons raised but nottrembling. Faces masked, but the air changes the second they enter. Something cold and ancient creeps into the room behind them, like a shadow cast by war. I recognize Sawyer’s and Dominik’s posture.
The underworld freezes.
The silence now isn’t thick, it’s paralytic.
And then—one of the four, tall, lean, rifle in hand—Malik.
He steps forward, gun raised with perfect stillness, his eyes narrowed behind the mask.
“Lower your fucking weapons.”
Someone laughs nervously.
Malik doesn’t blink.
And fires.
The bullet punches through the skull of the man to Lorenzo’s left, clean, brutal, fast. The man drops without a scream. Just a snap of bone, a spray of blood, and a chair falling back in stunned silence.
The gun’s lower.
Fast.
No one speaks.
And then the dots appear.
Dozens of them, snipers.
Crimson lasers blinking into place across every chest, every temple, every hand still hovering too close to metal.
They move like red constellations across suits and skin, warnings burned into the air.
The exits flood.
More men. Dressed in black, eyes unreadable. Quiet. Calculated. Every door. Every wall. Every secret passage these men thought would save them, occupied.
One of the Vor v Zakone slams his hands on the table and stands, face red, chest heaving.
“Who dares—” he bellows, voice laced with fury and disbelief,“Who dares threaten the Bratva?! Who dares challenge the council?! This is an act of war!”
I finally smile.
