Page 197 of Inevitable Endings
And as I take a step back—just one—
Thefifthman enters.
And the room remembers what real fear feels like.
Chapter 74
The Devil Sends His Regards
Aslanov
The door closes behind me with the soft finality of a coffin lid.
No one breathes.
The silence isn’t respectful. It’s not reverent.
It’s horrified.
Fifteen men—all blood-soaked, power-hungry, legacy-fed wolves—freeze at the sight of me like children staring into the open mouth of a beast they thought had died long ago.
I walk slow. Not because I have to, but because I want them to feel every second of what’s coming. The weight of footsteps echoing across stone is heavier than any bullet. I cross the threshold like I own the room.
Because I do.
The air is thick, choked with sweat, cigar smoke, and something deeper: fear. The kind that clings to skin. That seeps into your bloodstream like cold oil. That smells like rot and realization.
I’ve been called many things in this world.
Pakhan. Executioner. Ghost.Diable.
But in this moment, I am none of them.
I am what they never wanted to see again.
The man they tried to erase. The name they wiped fromledgers, from histories, from whispered threats.
I walk past Isabella. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Her presence is fire, mine is famine. I brush her shoulder, just barely, just enough to tether us.
Lorenzo doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. His hands are still near the table, his knuckles white around the wood, as if it might save him from me. His lips part like he wants to say my name, but even that’s been burned out of him. He looks at me like a man staring into the mouth of hell and realizing it’s not fire that waits.
It’s me.
The Vor v Zakone—the ones who betrayed me, betrayed Dominik, betrayed the code—look like they are about to shit their expensive pants. Their eyes shift like trapped animals. Their suits, tailored, expensive, stitched with old power, look too tight now, like the clothes themselves want to flee their flesh.
I step to the center of the room.
One long, slow breath fills my chest.
I can smell their fear.
It’s real.
It smells like sweat and piss and sour breath and something ancient, the kind of fear that belongs to prey who just remembered what it means to be hunted.
And then I raise my gun.
Three clean shots.
