Page 137 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

Arya deserves better than whatever Ilyasov has planned for her, too. So does my son. And Gennady. And the million and one other people in this city who rely on me to rule with a conscience, with morals, with fairness and justice.

Ilyasov wants bloody, burning chaos.

But it’s a thin line that separates us from the beasts.

So I’m going to wrap that line around his throat and choke the life from him.

Ilyasov starts to raise the gun. To point it at my face and deliver the final injustice. But as his hand arcs through the air, I move.

I’ve always been faster than him. When we were training as boys, I’d beat him again and again. And each time he lost, he’d demand that we fight again. “I won’t lose to my little brother!” he would cry out.

He said I didn’t learn the lessons of our childhood. But he’s wrong. I learned them well. And I’m about to show him just what that entails.

My own hand lashes out through the space between us. His eyes widen, but it’s too late to stop me. My fist collides with the butt of the gun and knocks it out of his grip. It hits the floor and goes skittering away across the ballroom.

We both freeze, eyes locked on the other for what feels like an eternity.

Ilyasov makes the first move. He lunges for the weapon. His fingertips stretch through the air.

But before he can reach it, I find his ankle and yank him backwards. The motion throws me off balance and sends me tumbling on top of him.

It becomes a blur of limbs. He punches me in the side of the head and stars explode in my vision. I elbow him in the gut and he gasps as the air is driven from his lungs.

I manage to roll on top. I deliver one, two, three quick punches to his face. His nose breaks under my knuckle. I feel the hot, wet spurt of blood.

Then, as I cock back to swing again, he lashes out. This one manages to clip me in the jaw. My head snaps to the side and I fall in that direction. It gives him the window he needs to shove me aside, straddle me, and start raining his own punches down.

My cheekbone cracks. I feel it give way in one nauseatingCRUNCHthat sends agony searing through the side of my face. The punch I was in the middle of throwing falls limply to the side.

Ilyasov has the opportunity he needs now. He turns his back on me and dives for the gun. I try to go after him. Try to stop him.

But this time, I’m not fast enough.

I hurl myself from my knees just as he grabs the weapon and rolls over to direct it at me. I can barely see, barely think. All I know is that only one of us can walk out of this room alive.

It doesn’t look like it’s going to be me.

The gun goes off for the second time in as many minutes. One deafening bang that echoes endlessly in this mirrored room.

This place is drenched in horrible memories. In pain. In bloodshed.

I’m about to add my story to that collection.

The bullet from Ilyasov’s gun enters me just beneath my chest. It’s like a hot poker being driven into me. I have just enough presence of mind to feel it rip all the way through, exiting out to the left of my spine and leaving agonizing fire in its wake.

I fall to the ground. My life’s blood begins to pour out of me.

Ilyasov rises slowly to his full height. Just like me, he’s always been huge. And right now, he seems taller than ever. Like a mountain standing over me. The blood from his broken nose drips all the way down to land on my face. His eyes are two black and burning coals set deep in their sockets.

“Until I see you again, brother,” he says.

Then he turns away and leaves me to die.

50

Dima

As I lay there dying, I dream.

---