Chapter 4
Victor arrived at the medical facility that evening, his expression carefully arranged into concerned loyalty, completely unaware his betrayal had been fully exposed.
“Damon, thank god you’re alive. When I heard what happened—”
“Sit down, Victor.”
Something in my tone made him pause, old instincts perhaps recognizing danger despite fifteen years of careful deception.
“Is everything alright?”
“Tell me about Kowalski.”
The color drained from his face immediately, confirming everything Marcus’s investigation had already revealed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Victor,” I said calmly, “I’ve known you fifteen years. I can read every lie you’re about to tell before you finish forming the sentence.”
His composure cracked entirely. “Damon, please, I can explain—”
“You sold my location for gambling debts. You arranged my death, expecting to inherit whatever position became available once Kowalski’s people finished the job.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he said desperately. “I never wanted you actually killed, just… removed from power long enough to settle my debts.”
“That’s a distinction without meaningful difference, Victor. I was buried alive in a blizzard.”
Before further conversation could continue, Marcus burst through the door, expression tight with urgency.
“Sir, Reznik’s been spotted near the safehouse perimeter.”
My blood turned cold. “How?”
“We’re not certain. Either surveillance we missed, or—” Marcus glanced meaningfully at Victor.
“I didn’t tell him anything about the boy,” Victor said quickly. “I swear it.”
“Your swearing carries considerably less weight now,” I said, rising despite the doctor’s earlier warnings about rest.
“Sir, you’re not stable enough for—”
“I don’t care. Move me to the safehouse immediately.”
The drive through icy roads felt unbearably long, adrenaline the only thing keeping exhaustion and pain at bay as we approached the safehouse perimeter.
Gunfire erupted before we’d fully stopped, security personnel exchanging fire with a figure moving with terrifying precision through the tree line.
“Get Toby and Walt to the reinforced basement,” I ordered, drawing my own weapon despite my weakened condition.
Marcus moved quickly toward the house while I positioned myself strategically, old combat instincts overriding physical limitations.
Reznik was skilled, methodical, clearly unbothered by the increased security he’d encountered.
Through the chaos, I caught sight of Toby’s terrified face pressed against a basement window, Goliath barking furiously beside him.
This ends now, I thought, moving deliberately toward the assassin’s position.
