The room felt different the moment I stepped inside. Dmitri had moved the desk and crowded the walls with more shelves—a cheap attempt at rewriting territory that was never his to claim.
I crossed to the desk and combed through the papers. The table was stacked with business records, shipping manifests, and accounts full of names and numbers. My fingers moved through them fast, the ink and signatures flashing by as I searched. Drawers slid open and shut under my hand. I wanted more than numbers. I was searching for proof of whispers, signs of who Luigi had fed and how much of our blood he had sold. But one drawer was locked.
The door burst open, the sound cracking through the office walls. I lifted my head and found Dmitri in the doorway, his shoulders squared and his eyes locked on me with disgust.
I pointed to the locked drawer. “Open every damn safe in this office.”
He stepped inside with a scoff. “You know what? Fuck this. Face me.”
My jaw clenched as I watched him. I had mapped a thousand ways to kill Luigi, each one colder than the last. But this wasn’t Luigi. This was my brother. I could end him right now and erase every year we’d lived under the same roof, burn the secrets we’d carried against Father, tear up the bond we once called blood. I stayed still. Violence would be easy. Deciding what came after was the part that cost the most.
He stopped in front of me. “What is this? This is my territory,and you don’t get to—”
The rest of his words dissolved when I drew my gun and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed in the room, tearing through the drawer’s lock. Wood and metal splintered apart. I yanked it open, and inside lay flash drives, tapes, and physical proofs stacked like evidence waiting to be judged. Exactly what I came for.
“I should have done it,” Dmitri spat. “I should have killed you like Father wanted.”
A knock interrupted, and the door eased open. Akim entered quickly, a laptop clutched in his hands. He crossed the room with his head lowered, setting it on the desk before turning to Dmitri.
“Sir—”
“Get out,” Dmitri snapped, his eyes never leaving mine.
Akim bowed and slipped out.
I plugged one flash drive into the laptop and tapped through the keys until a list of files filled the screen. One video caught my eye, and I opened it. The frame shook as if the camera had been handled in a rush. Father lay on a hospital bed, his skin pale, his body hollowed out by his last days. His lips parted to speak, but Dmitri slammed the laptop shut.
Heat surged through my blood. My fingers curled into a fist, and before thought caught up, I drove one into his face. The blow snapped his head back and sent him stumbling. He recovered fast and came at me, his punch cracking against my jaw.
“Admit you are sick!” he shouted.
I hammered another strike into him, faster this time, and followed with a kick that bent his leg. His knee buckled, and he went down hard. I stepped in and put my boot into his ribs.
He reached for my leg, but I forced him flat on the floor. I dropped onto him and drove my fists into his face. Each hit landed heavily. Blood splattered across my knuckles.
His hand shot up and clamped around my wrist, halting the next blow. His mouth twisted into a grin even as blood ran down his chin. “Kill me. Maybe Roman can take over when we both die, asshole.”
I tore against his grip and drew back my fist, aiming for his eye. My vision blurred for a second, and my breath came ragged as my fist hovered, shaking above him.
The room tilted at the edges of my sight. I shoved him back and stood. My legs felt heavier with every step. I reached the table and leaned my hands against it, shutting my eyes for a moment. The sickness gnawed at me from the inside.
I pulled the pill bottle from my pocket. The plastic clicked against my grip as I twisted the cap open. Pills scattered across the desk. I caught two, tossed them into my mouth, and swallowed them. The taste of blood still coated my tongue.
“Fuck.” Dmitri grunted. “You want the truth? Fine. I’ll give it to you.” He got up.
He circled the table, dropped into the chair, and opened a drawer. He pulled the papers, files, and drives and hurled them across to me.
“My mission is to kill you, and I will.” He leaned back, lips splitting into that bloody smirk of his. “You’re sick. Someone weak can’t rule Konstantinov.”
My glare fixed on him.
“But I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I cleaned up, cleared the path, gave you space to find a fucking kidney.” He scoffed. “You had one job. One fucking job!”
“Who killed them?”
Dmitri chuckled. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Who. Did. It?” My teeth ground the words.