Chapter 27

Snow fell in a muted hush over Moscow, coating the broken warehouses by the river in a pale shroud. The night smelled of gunpowder and oil, and somewhere in the dark, wolves howled. Luca adjusted the collar of his black coat, his gloved fingers tightening around the trigger of his rifle. His men spread out like shadows, silent killers against the endless white.

The warehouse smelled of rust, salt, and stale air — the kind of place where things were hidden, not stored. Sunlight leaked through the broken slats above, casting narrow golden stripes across the dusty concrete floor. It was almost beautiful, in a cruel way.

Dimitri stood still, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, eyes fixed on the entrance. He had arrived first, as promised. Five days since that last phone call with Luca — five days of silence, delay, and games. Now, it was time to end it.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Then came the low creak of the warehouse door.

Luca entered, flanked by two of his men. His wa