Chapter 33

Lev

M y grip on the steering wheel is iron-tight as I barrel toward the outskirts of Chicago, the destination an abandoned motel complex just visible against the twilight. My phone rings, cutting through the silence of the car like a gunshot. It's Vanya.

"What?" I snap, my tone sharp as a blade.

"We're keeping tabs on your position," Vanya's voice is calm and collected. "I'll be close by. Whatever you need, just holler."

"Good. Keep your eyes peeled. I've got a damn strong feeling I'll need backup."

The motel is a relic, shadows clinging to the dark broken windows, but one room breaks the pattern with a flicker of light. That has to be where they're holding her.

My mind churns with questions and possibilities as I slam the car to a stop and get out, gravel crunching underfoot.

As I approach the lone lit room, my heart pounds a relentless beat. Why drag her all the way out here? What's their endgame? The chill night air does nothing to cool my simmering rage. My hand instinctively rests on the gun at my side, ready for whatever might come.

I'm at the door, every nerve alight with a mix of fear and fury. Tonight, I'll face whoever thought they could use Dalia to get to me. They're going to regret waking this beast.

As I reach for the doorknob, ready to burst into the room and take control of the situation, a familiar voice stops me cold.

"Lev!"

It's Vladimir.

My mind reels as I spin around to face him.

"Vlad? How the hell did you get here? How did you know where to find this place?"

But I already know the answer.

Vladimir just grins, a smug, knowing smirk that makes my skin crawl.

“You?” I ask my once trusted ally.

My gut tightens, the betrayal slicing through me like a knife. Without a second thought, my hand flies to my weapon, intent on ending this deceit here and now. But before my fingers can even brush the handle, I feel the cold, hard press of a gun barrel against the back of my head. I freeze, my heart hammering in my chest.

Turning slightly, I catch sight of a hulking hitman stepping out from the shadows of the room. He moves quickly, shutting the door behind him before I can catch a glimpse of Dalia inside.

"Be smart, Lev. Take your hand off the gun," Vladimir advises, his voice eerily calm. "After all, this won’t be any fun if I have to kill you before I even get to explain my plan."

Rage swirls within me as I slowly raise my hands, the reality of the situation sinking in. I'm utterly powerless at the moment between these two men.

Shock courses through me, freezing me in place for a split second.

"Vladimir, how could you do this?" I manage, my voice low and incredulous. "How could you betray me like this? And for what?"

Vladimir's response is a harsh bark of laughter, cold and devoid of any comradeship we once shared.

"And for what?" he mocks, his eyes alight with a bitter fire. "Are you truly such a damn fool? Because your father killed my father, Lev. That’s why."

The accusation hits like a physical blow, and I wince, the old family grievances resurfacing like a festering wound.

With my hands still raised in a forced gesture of surrender, I try to reason with him. "Vladimir, there were reasons for what happened to your father. You know this."

He laughs again, louder this time, and it’s filled with scorn. "The arrogance of the Ivanovs will be your undoing.”

I press on. It’s clear he doesn’t know the full story. "What did your brother tell you? What have you been led to believe?"

As Vladimir’s face hardens, I realize that finding common ground might be farther out of reach than I thought.

Vladimir's face contorts with rage as he clenches his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "My brother told me everything," he spits out, his voice laced with bitterness. "He said your father killed ours out of jealousy. He saw my father as a threat, a rising star in the organization about to eclipse him. So he took him out, executed him in cold blood, without any warning."

I wince at his words. "Vlad," I start, my voice steady despite the dismal situation, "your brother lied to you, or at the very least, he didn't tell you everything."

Confusion flickers in his expression, overtaking the anger for just a moment. "What the hell are you talking about?" he demands, his grip on his gun tightening as if preparing to brace for a blow.

Taking a slow, calculated breath, I choose my words carefully, knowing the next few moments are critical.

"Your father wasn't just a rising star; he was involved in dealings that would have destroyed the organization. My father acted to protect us all—not out of jealousy, but necessity. It was never about personal power, it was about survival, about safeguarding the future for all of us, including you."

Vladimir snarls. "Lies!"

I stare him down, my voice low and unyielding, knowing the weight of the history I'm about to disclose. "Listen carefully, Vladimir. Your father once conspired with other Russian families to overthrow Ivanov Holdings. This was back when my brothers and I were just infants, vulnerable to any threat against our family."

I pause, letting the gravity of the truth sink in before continuing. "Our father picked up on Evgeny's treachery. He confronted him, offered him a chance to repent and swear loyalty again to our family. But your father chose a darker path."

My voice hardens with the pain of the next revelation. "He attempted to poison our mother with polonium. It was his betrayal that led to her death, a slow and painful one that tore our family apart."

Vladimir's eyes widen, his stance faltering as the narrative he's always known starts to crumble. "Our father had no choice but to act. It wasn't a simple act of jealousy or power, it was retribution, a protective father's response to a direct threat to his family. He had to discreetly execute Evgeny to protect all of us."

The air between us thickens as I wait for Vladimir's response, hoping he sees the truth in my words.

Vladimir stands there, visibly shaken, grappling with the revelations. His voice barely a whisper, he stammers, "Why would Igor lie to me about what our father did?"

I lock eyes with him, my expression grim.

"Igor," I reply, "was ever the spiteful bastard. He never told you the true reason behind Evgeny’s execution because he wanted to use you as his weapon. Igor wanted revenge but never had the courage to pursue it himself. Instead, he manipulated you, hoping you’d be the tool to avenge your father’s death."

I pause again, giving him a moment to absorb the bitterness of the betrayal. "Then Igor died, leaving you without any real understanding of past events. And now, here you are," I finish, gesturing to the tense standoff around us.

The truth hits Vladimir like a sledgehammer, his posture slumping as he grasps the impact of his brother’s manipulation.

"Vlad, you've been living a lie, fashioned by a brother who cared more for revenge than for truth or family.”

Vladimir is reeling, his face etched with conflict and denial. "I know what I know," he snaps back, his tone thick with defiance. "And besides, it's too late for me to turn back now."

I study him, my gaze unflinching, the fire of resolve burning within me. Slowly, deliberately, I press him, needing to hear the confession from his own lips.

"Were you the one behind the attacks, Vladimir?"

His eyes meet mine, and after a tense moment, he nods. "Yes," he admits, his voice almost a whisper. "I wanted to make you suffer, to feel the pain your family caused mine."

With that, I realize the depth of his bitterness and the irreversible path he has chosen. There's no redemption here, not anymore. This isn't just about avenging past wrongs; it's about a cycle of hatred that won't end until one of us is destroyed.

Understanding that it has gone too far to turn back, I glance briefly in the direction where Vanya is parked, signaling subtly.

It's a small gesture but one loaded with consequence.

We're past talking now. Actions must speak for us, and I'm ready to end this, one way or another.

The moment I give the signal, it begins.

A car engine roars to life in the distance, its sound growing rapidly louder as Vanya accelerates toward us. The surprise attack catches Vladimir and the hitman off guard, their reactions a split second too slow.

Vanya, with practiced precision, pulls up and levels his gun at Vlad, ready to fire. But the hitman, a behemoth of a human, reacts with unexpected agility. He pulls his own trigger, the bullet slicing through the air and striking Vanya's arm. The impact throws off Vanya's aim, and his shot veers off wildly.

In the sudden frenzy, Vladimir seizes his chance. His face a mask of desperation and rage, he swings his gun up toward me. My heart pounds, adrenaline surging as I brace for the shot.

Before I can react, before Vladimir can squeeze the trigger, another gunshot pierces the air.

Time seems to freeze.

Vladimir's eyes widen in shock as a dark red stain blossoms on his shirt.

He touches the growing wetness, his expression one of disbelief and horror. Then, as if his strings have been cut, he collapses to the ground, lifeless.

Silence falls, heavy and suffocating. I stand there, stunned, scanning the area for the source of the shot that saved my life and ended Vladimir's.

I don't have time, however, to dwell on the confusion of who took that lifesaving shot. My instincts kick in, driving my next move. I spin around, my foot swinging and connecting hard with the hitman’s gut. The force of the kick expels the air from him in a whoosh, his gun clattering to the ground as he doubles over.

In one fluid motion, I scoop up the fallen weapon, take aim, and fire two quick shots. Both hit their mark, dropping the hitman dead before he can recover or retaliate. Just like that, the immediate threat is neutralized.

I turn to Vanya, who's still in the car, clutching his arm but alive.

"I'm fine, just a flesh wound," he calls out. "Go check on Dalia."

I don't hesitate.

I rush to the door of the motel room. Heart pounding, I push it open and find her exactly as I feared: tied to a chair, eyes wide with terror then relief as they meet mine.

Wasting no time I stride over to her. My hands work quickly, untying the ropes that bind her and pulling the gag from her mouth. All that matters now is that she's safe, that she's alive.

As I free her, the weight of the night's events begins to settle in, but there's no time to process it—not yet.

I scan her quickly, my eyes probing for any sign of injury, "Are you okay?"

She nods, managing a shaky smile. "Yes, I'm okay, just shaken up." Her voice trembles as she adds, "They didn't hurt me, but they wanted to."

Seeing the tears welling up in her eyes, I pull her into a tight embrace, my arms a protective shield around her. "You're safe now.”

But even as I say the words, a nagging doubt creeps in. The danger hasn’t yet fully passed. There's another gunman out there, and I have no way of knowing where he is or what his intentions are.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the air. "Lev! Dalia!"

Gun at the ready, I move cautiously toward the door, my senses heightened. As I peer out, I see a figure standing near Vladimir's body. It's Alexei, his shoulder still bandaged, a gun in the uninjured hand.

"It's good to see you alive," he calls out, a small smile on his lips. "Brother."