Hi readers.
Creation is hard and your support motivates me to update more.
Damian got down from his jet, his men were already there waiting for him, sleek cars were lined up.
Andrei walked to him handing a phone to Damian with his hands trying to hide their tremble.
It was a facetime from Andrew.
The screen lit up. Andrew's face filled it, smug and calm. Damian snatched the phone, voice hard enough to cut.
"Long time we spoke, Volkov."
Andrew smiled like a man who had eaten and enjoyed the world.
"You coward," Damian snapped without waiting.
"Let her go now, or I will kill you with my bare hands."
Andrew only chuckled and blew a slow ring of smoke into the camera.
"Oh, calm down, old friend.
You must really love her to care this much." He turned the camera slowly.
The room on the other end was dark and rough a place built for fear.
The phone showed Elena on a chair, ropes at her wrists, her hair in a mess. She looked angry.
"You're a mafia lord," Andrew said, leaning close to the lens.
"And you have a pretty thing." He let the word hang there, sour and deliberate.
Damian's chest moved fast. Blood hammered behind his eyes.
He only saw her.
The roar inside him grew hotter and more dangerous than any storm he had riding in a deal.
"Don't you dare lay a finger on her," he said through teeth clenched so tight his jaw hurt. "I will break you."
Andrew smiled wider. He reached out on his end and let his fingers fall across Elena's cheek, slow and arrogant.
Damian's fingers went white around the phone. His hands squeezed the phone tight.
Andrew pushed his hand forward and let his fingers brush her cheek on camera a slow, ugly, proud motion meant to wound.
Elena spat on him.
The spit hit Andrew's face.
For a second Andrew's smile faded. He hit the call button ending the facetime and the screen went black.
Damian smashed the phone down angrily. It shattered into pieces, the glass from it pierced his skin and he was bleeding.
He did not feel it. He only felt the hot rope of rage winding tight in his chest.
Viktor's car got there, he jumped out of the car and walked up to Damian.
"Damian! You're bleeding."
Damian didn't look at him. He turned to his men that were standing with fear in their eyes.
They waited for instructions. They had seen this look before.
"What's the plan boss?" Andrei asked. Voice low. Ready.
Damian's voice was a quiet blade.
"I want Andrew ended with my own hands," he said. The words landed like a verdict.
Viktor crouched by Damian and pressed a cloth to his hand.
"You understand what this will do?" he asked. "This will start a war."
"I know," Damian said. He pulled the cloth away and stared at the blood on his palm.
"I don't care." His voice held a raw edge.
"He dared to take what belongs to me. He will die by my hands."
Damian breathed, slow to steady himself. Rage still burned under his skin, but a plan cooled the edges.
"We trace his lines and get to him."
Viktor asked, voice steady. "And Elena?"
"She is the center," Damian said.
"Keep her safe when she is out of there."
"And then I kill Andrew with my bare hands".
Damian walked down to the armory.
The room smelled of oil and cold metal. Cases were open. Guns were lined up.
He checked each weapon slowly.
The men watched in silence. They knew to stay out of the way when he was focused.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it and kept working. The phone buzzed again.
And again.
Finally, he wiped his hands and answered without looking up.
"What do you want?"
"Damian?" His mother's voice came through, soft but sharp.
"Mother" he called gently.
"Where are you? I have been trying to contact Elena but it doesn't go through and she didn't say goodbye that morning.
"Is she with you?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. He did not want this now.
"We went on a short trip," he said, voice flat.
"She's fine, Mother."
There was a pause. Okay then, Tell her I want to see her when you two are back.
Tatiana's voice floated in the background, loud enough for him to hear.
"Tell her I'm mad she didn't tell me about going on a trip with you!
I wanted to tell her about the shoes." She laughed, then turned serious. "You better be nice to my friend Damian."
Damian kept his tone cool. He didn't tell them anything.
"She'll be fine," he repeated. "End of conversation."
He cut the call. The armory was quiet again. He breathed out and slid his knife back into its place.
Viktor came in then, grinning like a man who'd smelled trouble and liked the scent.
"So, dude," he said, leaning on a crate, "how do you want to kill Andrew? Quiet? Loud? I'm ready for either."
Damian did not smile. "I want his men to flee before they pick up a gun."
Before Viktor could answer, Andrei — their man on the ground — stepped forward. His face was pale but calm.
"Boss, we found them."
Damian's head snapped up. "Where?" He kept his voice low, sharp.
"The spy inside his fold contacted us last night," Andrei said.
"They're staying in a warehouse of the city. Small guard detail. Cameras on the front. Two escape routes.
Andrew has a room with no callers — he keeps it tidy. He's loose with his men on the east side.
"Madam's there"
For a second, the world narrowed to those words.
He felt the cold settle under his skin. Relief hit him like a hard thing and then the anger returned—hot and bright.
"Good," Damian said. "We move tonight."
Viktor's grin returned.
"Finally. I thought we'd die waiting."
Damian gave orders like a man cutting fabric.
"Take out the brokers tied to his west route. We dry his reach. Then we pull his men on the east side with a fake run.
While they chase ghosts we take the warehouse. We go in quiet.
"Viktor takes Elena." while "I say hi to Andrew".