38: The Moscow Protocol

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

POV: Dante Moretti

The private cabin of the Gulfstream G650 was a sanctuary of white leather and silence, cruising at forty thousand feet above the frozen expanse of Siberian tundra. Outside, the world spread out like a jagged, ghostly canvas, a frozen wasteland of blue shadows and bone-white snow, stretching endlessly beneath the dim sky. Inside, the air was heavy with the scents of Julian’s expensive tea, a hint of jasmine swirling with the faint ozone from high-end electronics humming discreetly in the corner.

Julian hadn't slept since we left Hong Kong. He was huddled in an oversized cashmere sweater, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, betraying the anxiety that gnawed at him. He stared intently at the screen of his laptop; the red blinking icon that once taunted him in the ICC bunker had now blossomed into a complex geometric map, filled with Russian server nodes that pulsated like a living organism.

"They aren't just the Bratva, Dante," Julian said, his voice raspy and hollow, as if each word required immense effort. He hadn't looked up in three hours, lost in the web of digital information that enveloped him. "The people reaching out from Moscow... they’re Vory v Zakone. The Old Guard. They believe that the fall of the Triads has tipped the global scales too far in our favor. They see us as a monopoly that needs to be broken."

I sat across from him, methodically cleaning the carbon from the slide of my sidearm, the task rhythmic and almost meditative. Each precise movement grounded me in the chaos swirling around us. "They’ve been trying to break us since we took the docks, Julian. What makes this different?"

"Because they have the one thing I couldn't audit," Julian said, finally looking up. His features were drawn tight with a mix of fear and determination. He turned the screen toward me, revealing the document that had sent chills through the very marrow of my bones.

"They have the original Moretti-Vane marriage contract," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, thick with foreboding. "The one with the 'Extinction Clause' your father added in secret. The one that states if the union doesn't produce a biological heir within seven years, the Vane assets revert not to the Morettis, but to a 'neutral third-party' trustee."

The blood in my veins turned to ice, sending a shudder through my body. I set the gun slide down on the velvet table, the soft thud echoing ominously in the otherwise silent cabin. "My father was many things, but he wasn't a fool. He wouldn't have signed away our leverage to a third party."

"He didn't think he was signing it away," Julian said, tapping the screen to reveal a faded signature. "He thought the third party was a shell company he controlled. But I’ve traced the ownership of that shell through sixteen layers of Russian holding firms. The trustee isn't a Moretti lawyer. It’s Viktor Volkov."

"Mikhail’s brother," I hissed, the name tasting bitter on my tongue.

"The smarter brother," Julian corrected, his eyes narrowing. "The one who stayed in Moscow and built a shadow government. He’s been waiting for this clock to run out. We have eighteen months left on that clause, Dante. If we don’t nullify that contract or produce an heir that doesn’t exist, Viktor can legally seize every pier, every warehouse, and every ship we own in the North Atlantic. He won't have to fire a single shot. He’ll just use the law we spent so much money to legitimize."

I stood up, the cramped space of the cabin suddenly feeling like a cage closing in on me. It was ironic, how the very sunlight we had worked so hard to chase now cast long shadows over our heads. We had spent years trying to emerge from the shadows of the "Butcher," pressing into the daylight of the corporate world, and now that same light was being used to blind us.

"We aren’t going home," I said, my voice drowning out the hum of the engines as I turned to stare out the window at the endless expanse of white below. The landscape was both beautiful and terrifying, much like the situation we found ourselves in. "Change the flight plan, Julian. Tell the pilot we’re heading for Vnukovo International."

Julian’s eyes widened, a flicker of panic crossing his features. "Moscow? Dante, we’re a two-man team in a city where every street corner is owned by the Volkovs. It’s suicide."

"It’s not suicide; it’s an audit," I declared, reaching across the table to grasp his icy hand. The shock of his cold fingers momentarily jolted me, underscoring the magnitude of our predicament. "We don’t play by their rules, Julian. We play by yours. You found the discrepancy. Now, we’re going to go to the source and delete the entry."

He hesitated, the weight of our choices heavy in the air. I could see the calculating part of his mind wrestling with the emotions lurking beneath. "If we go to Moscow, we’re stepping into a lion’s den. We’ll need allies a reason for them to let us walk away."

"We’ll find those allies," I countered, the conviction in my voice bolstering my resolve. "We didn’t claw our way out of the filth of criminality just to surrender our legacy to a man hiding behind a desk in Moscow. You’re the only one who can navigate this terrain, Julian. You can outsmart them, and I’ll provide the muscle when it counts."

He blinked, absorbing my words, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Alright, but if we do this, we have to be in and out quickly. We can’t make any mistakes."

"No mistakes," I affirmed, squeezing his hand tightly before releasing it, igniting a surge of determination that washed over us. "We need to expose Viktor and this extinction clause. Whatever it takes."

With confidence and urgency, Julian turned back to his laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard as he began rearranging our plans. I watched him work, admiring his brilliance. This was his domain where he thrived amidst chaos and information. Yet, beneath his calm exterior, I could sense the anxiety simmering, just waiting to boil over.

As Julian updated our flight plan, my thoughts turned to our newfound objectives. We were not merely visiting Moscow; we were plunging deep into a den of vipers. The intricate web of the Russian underworld was a labyrinth of deceit, betrayal, and power struggles. We would need to move with precision, every decision calculated, every alliance forged with care.

"You think Viktor will be alone?" I asked, a sheen of sweat forming on my brow. "No way he’s not got a heavy guard."

"He will have every scarred muscle of the Bratva protecting him, no doubt," Julian admitted, glancing up from his screen. "But we’re not coming in looking for a fight. We want information first, leverage second clean, surgical, no blood."

"I’d prefer it if blood stayed off the table," I replied, leaning back in my seat, allowing the tension in my body to slowly dissipate. "But you and I both know that rarely happens."

Julian nodded, a rueful smile tracing his lips. "You’re right, as always. But let’s have a plan that minimizes that risk."

While he spoke, I glanced out at the endless expanse of white, my heart pounding in sync with the throttling engines. Each thud echoed in my chest, a reminder of the stakes, a reminder of the empire we were fighting for. As we cruised over the arctic wasteland, I felt the remnants of our previous encounters rising like ghosts from the past, each one whispering warnings as they slithered through my mind.

My thoughts turned to our family, those we had lost, those we had betrayed, and those we had yet to reign in. The morality of our world was blurry, but it was a blur steeped in blood, my blood, Julian’s blood, and the blood of more than we could fathom. The complication of love intertwined with violence, power, ensnared by treachery. It all blended into a chaotic vision of destiny.

"Dante," Julian’s voice broke my stupor, pulling me back from the depths of my thoughts. I turned, meeting his gaze, and saw determination wedged between those tired eyes. "I need your eyes on this. If we’re going to play this game, we need to be smart about how we move. Getting to Viktor will require finesse, not just force."

"I’m all finesse," I teased, though the gravity of the situation stung. Finesse or not, it was a game that often ended with blood on the table.

As the Gulfstream reached its cruising altitude, I settled in for what came next. The hum from the engines provided a steady backdrop as my mind began to strategize. "Do you think the Vory v Zakone will see us as a threat? A nuisance? Or an opportunity?"

"I hope they see us as an opportunity," he replied, a newfound spark illuminating his features. "If we can make them understand that understanding our dealings can benefit their bottom line "

"They’re criminal organizations; they work best in chaos, not order," I interrupted. "The appeal of opportunity isn’t enough if it compromises their power."

Julian sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if the weight of the world rested there. "Then we’ll have to strike a deal that serves their interests too. But, Dante, we will also need a backup plan, just in case our appointment with Viktor goes awry."

With that in mind, I began to mentally tally the resources we could rely on and the contacts we could leverage while the screens in front of us flashed with potential threats and allies. There were many players in this high-stakes game, each with their own desires, ambitions, and deeper plots woven into the tapestry.

As we neared Vnukovo International, anticipation crackled in the air like static electricity. The cold abyss of the tundra began to shift into something tangible, something inviting, as the city rolled into view. The shadow of Moscow loomed large upon the horizon.

The Gulfstream began its descent, cutting through the clouds like a knife as I stared out the window at the sprawling city, its various cultures intermingling, a testament to the resilience of its people. Every corner had a story, a history that whispered secrets too deep for even the most seasoned of us to understand fully.

As the plane touched down smoothly, I could feel the gravity of our situation weighing heavily on my shoulders. This was the defining moment that would either secure our place at the head of an empire reborn or plunge us into a chasm deeper than we could imagine.

Julian turned to me, a hint of resolve hardening his gaze. "Whatever happens next, we’re in this together. We’ll break the contract and expose Viktor, no matter the cost."

"No matter the cost,” I echoed, cementing our bond, both as partners and as a family, steeped in legacy and blood.

And with that pledge, we stepped off the plane, ready to face the storm that awaited us in Moscow. As we made our way toward the terminal, a thrill ran through met his was not merely survival; this was war. The rules had changed, and we were the ones writing them anew.

But just as I took my first step into the unknown, a fleeting sensation swept over me, a memory of all the lives we’d changed or extinguished, echoing around us. We would reclaim our world, one way or another, but I knew this would not come without sacrifice.

And somewhere, deep in the recesses of my mind, I could feel the shadows creeping in, whispering caution while beckoning us toward danger. The Ghost of Moscow awaited us, and we were about to enter its lair.