In a quiet hotel room, a man stood by the window, watching the city lights. This part of town was rough, but even here there were small pockets of comfort if you knew where to look.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Enter," he said without turning.
The door opened and the man who stepped in was the same one who'd stayed behind with the Mercedes earlier.
Moreno spoke calmly, still looking outside. "Have you prepared the place?"
"Yes, sir. Everything's ready. Just waiting for your word."
"Before we move…" Moreno finally turned from the window, his sharp gaze on the man. "What's your opinion on what I'm about to do?"
The man hesitated for a moment — not unusual. Moreno had power, but he liked to hear what those under him thought. It didn't mean he'd listen, but he asked anyway.
"Well, sir… like you said, we sent the car for inspection, and there was clear tampering. Could mean the old mechanic works for Jeffrey."
"But?" Moreno's voice was even.
"But the other guy — the younger one — said he isn't trusted with repairs. Looked like he just cleans and fetches. I'm not sure he was involved."
Moreno nodded once but didn't answer right away. His silence stretched, heavy enough to make the man shift. Finally, he spoke.
"People lie. And that kid seemed sharper than he looked. Better safe than sorry."
He turned fully toward him, eyes cold now. "Do what we planned. Take them. I'll meet you there… and bring the kid too."
"Yes, sir."
The man slipped out quietly, leaving Moreno alone with the night view and his own thoughts.
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A few hours had passed. The bar was quieter now, just low chatter and music humming in the background. Nikolai leaned on the counter mid-story, grinning.
"…so this guy, drunk as hell, leans over and tells me he can't pay for his oil change, but he's got a 'rare coin' worth more than cash." Nikolai paused, raising a brow for effect. "It's a bottle cap. Just a regular beer cap. He swears it's from a 'limited edition batch' and collectors pay thousands."
Brenda burst out laughing, almost dropping the glass she was drying. "No way."
"I'm dead serious. He tried to convince me to call an auction house right there in the shop."
She shook her head, still laughing. "And what did you do?"
"Sold him a new air filter. Paid cash, too."
Brenda laughed, still catching her breath from his story.
Before she could say anything, a man stepped out from the back and glanced their way. "Hey, Brenda. Your shift's done no need to stick around."
She nodded. "Thanks."
Nikolai looked at her. "Seems we have to end it here."
"Yeah. My brother's very protective, so he'll be waiting for me," she said with a small smile.
"It's fine. I was heading out anyway. Can I get a bottle of water first?"
"Sure thing."
She passed him the bottle, and he paid before heading for the door. Outside, the night air felt cool against his face. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head.
He was more tipsy than he'd thought, maybe even a little drunk. This body clearly didn't handle alcohol the way he used to.
He shook it off and glanced around the quiet street. At least no one was after him tonight. Being caught off guard right now would be bad.
Nikolai walked with his hands in his pockets, the cool air helping clear the leftover haze from the drinks.
He wasn't drunk enough to stumble, but he could feel the edges of it in his head, light, warm, a little careless. For a second he thought about the bar, the noise, the easy smiles.
It had been a long time since he sat and talked to someone without calculating every word. He didn't even realize how much he'd missed that until tonight.
Brenda came to mind. She was quick with words, sharp enough to keep men at bay without seeming hostile, and she had an easy laugh that made the place feel lighter.
He had to admit she was beautiful too, not just in the way she looked but the way she carried herself.
But beauty didn't mean much to him anymore. Not after everything.
He'd lived through a life where trusting someone could get you killed. Where loving the wrong person could cost more than just pain, it could cost freedom, family, power.
He'd seen it happen to others, and he'd learned the hard way that attachments had weight.
They slowed you down, made you predictable. Even if he didn't plan to go as far as he had before, he still had no space for that kind of risk.
Besides, what would he even offer someone right now? He was broke, owed money to people who'd cut off fingers for late payments, and barely had a plan beyond survival.
Love was a luxury. Relationships were for men who had a future they could share. Right now, Nikolai didn't even know if he'd make it past next month.
Maybe, later, when things were different, when he wasn't scraping for power, when he could actually control his life, maybe then.
But even that thought felt distant and unrealistic. He knew himself well enough; when he locked onto a mission, everything else disappeared.
He didn't half-commit to anything. And now his mission was clear: rise up enough to stop living like prey. Build something that couldn't be taken from him.
He sighed and kept walking, boots scraping against the uneven pavement. It was strange how just a few hours of conversation could stir parts of him he'd buried deep.
But this wasn't the time to dig them up. Not now. Not here. Not when he was barely standing on his own.
Nikolai's boots slowed just enough for him to glance down the side street he was about to take.
Years of instinct told him shortcuts were rarely safe, and tonight, something deep inside whispered louder than usual.
Move. Don't.
Before he could pick a direction, tires shrieked behind him. A black van swung in fast and hard, brakes screaming against the pavement.
His body reacted first, turning to bolt, but he stopped cold when he saw the muzzle of a pistol staring back at him through the lowered passenger window.
The side door of the van slid open. Two more men inside, faces hidden behind balaclavas, rifles up and ready.
"Get in."
He scanned the street once, brick walls, shut doors, no cover, no time. Even at his peak, no one outran bullets. In this body? He'd be dead before his second step.
Slowly, hands raised, he stepped toward the van. His mind raced, how many? where to run if he jumped?, but there was nothing.
He climbed inside. One man yanked him onto the bench seat, another shut the door with a slam.
A rough sack slid over his head, cutting off light.
"Who—" he started, but pain exploded at the back of his skull before he could finish.
Everything went black.