The dockside warehouse smelled like salt, rust, and diesel fuel. The lights cast long shadows across concrete floors slick with seawater. Kira Averina stood near the loading dock entrance, arms crossed, one gloved hand drumming against her bicep. She'd been waiting for twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes of her precious time, which meant Yelena was already fucking up.

She finally appeared, shuffling out from between shipping containers like a god damn nervous animal.

Good old Yelena Sokolova. Soft around the edges, the kind of woman who looked like she'd never seen hardship in her life. And the woman who'd been quietly funneling information to the Petrov family for the past six months, thinking nobody would notice. Fuck that.

"You're late," Kira said.

"I—yeah, traffic was—" Yelena's words tumbled out fast and clumsy. She was sweating. "I got held up, but I'm here now, so—"

"Show me."

Yelena produced a duffel bag with shaking hands. Kira took it, unzipped it, and immediately knew something was wrong. She picked up a small packet, examined it under the light from her phone. Her jaw tightened.

"What the fuck is this?" Kira asked quietly.

"It's—it's what you asked for, isn't it? It's good shit, I swear—"

"Oh yeah?" She let the silence stretch uncomfortably long. Her eyes flicked up to meet Yelena's. "You tested it." She held up the packet.

"Wh—yeah, yeah, of course, I tested it myself, it's—"

Kira moved fast. She grabbed the other woman's jaw, forced her mouth open, and shoved the packet between her teeth. "And you won't mind testing it again. Swallow."

"MMPH!" She tried to back away, tried to spit it out, her hands coming up to push against Kira's chest. Pathetic. Weak.

Kira grabbed her wrist, twisted it until she gasped, and when Yelena's mouth opened in pain, she drove her fist up under her ribs. She doubled over, choking. Kira grabbed the back of her head and drove her knee up toward her face. "Think this is a fucking joke, Yelena?"

The gun cleared Yelena's jacket, muzzle flashing once.

BANG.

The bullet caught Kira in the side, tearing through muscle and skin just above her hip. The pain was white-hot and immediate.

"FUCK!"

She grunted, staggering back, hand pressing to the wound. Her eyes flashed with pure, blinding fury.

In front of her, Yelena trembled as she leveled the pistol. "S-Stay the fuck back! I'll—"

Kira lunged.

She was faster. She grabbed the other woman's wrist, twisted until the gun fell, and then she had her by the throat. One smooth motion, her body weight behind it, and she slammed Yelena backward onto the concrete. Her head cracked against the floor hard enough to stun her, and then Kira was straddling her chest, hands still around her neck.

Kira twisted, felt the resistance in Yelena's spine give way, and watched her eyes go empty.

Good fucking riddance.

When it was done, Kira stood, breathing hard. Her shirt was soaked with blood. She pressed her palm harder against her bleeding side. "Bitch," she hissed.

She pulled out her phone and made a single call.

"Bring the truck. And get someone to the villa—I'm bleeding."

Two hours later, Kira was in her bathroom, peeling off her ruined clothes. The wound wasn't as bad as it could have been. The bullet had gone clean through, missing anything vital. She'd stitched it herself—not the first time she'd done it—and wrapped it tight. The pain was manageable if she didn't think about it too hard.

She was finishing up, washing the blood from her hands, when her phone buzzed. She snatched it up without looking, pressing it to her ear.

"What."

On the other side was one of her men. "Madam, we've found Sokolova's boyfriend. Brought him straight to the basement. He's—"

Kira cut him off with a delighted chuckle. "Alive?"

"Unharmed, madam."

A wolfish grin curled her lips. "I'll be down soon."

Kira hung up, tossing the phone onto the counter. She stared at her reflection for a moment. Blood still on her neck. Dark circles under her eyes. She looked like shit, as she always did.

She cleaned up, changed into fresh clothes—dark trousers, a black sweater loose enough to hide the bandaging—and headed downstairs.

A guard was standing outside the basement door, smoking a cigarette. He straightened when he saw her, flicked the cigarette away.

"He gave you any trouble?" Kira asked.

"No, but he's been quite vocal."

"Good." She pulled on her gloves, taking her time with each finger. "Leave us."

The guard nodded and disappeared upstairs. Kira took a breath, smoothed her hair back, and opened the door to the basement.

The dockside warehouse smelled like salt, rust, and diesel fuel. The lights cast long shadows across concrete floors slick with seawater. Kira Averina stood near the loading dock entrance, arms crossed, one gloved hand drumming against her bicep. She'd been waiting for twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes of her precious time, which meant Alexei was already fucking up.

He finally appeared, shuffling out from between shipping containers like a god damn nervous animal.

Good old Alexei Sokolov. Soft around the edges, the kind of man who looked like he'd never thrown a punch in his life. And the man who'd been quietly funneling information to the Petrov family for the past six months, thinking nobody would notice. Fuck that.

"You're late," Kira said.

"I—yeah, traffic was—" Alexei's words tumbled out fast and clumsy. He was sweating. "I got held up, but I'm here now, so—"

"Show me."

Alexei produced a duffel bag with shaking hands. Kira took it, unzipped it, and immediately knew something was wrong. She picked up a small packet, examined it under the light from her phone. Her jaw tightened.

"What the fuck is this?" she asked quietly.

"It's—it's what you asked for, isn't it? It's good shit, I swear—"

"Oh yeah?" She let the silence stretch uncomfortably long. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. "You tested it." She held up the packet.

"Wh—yeah, yeah, of course, I tested it myself, it's—"

Kira moved fast. She grabbed his jaw, forced his mouth open, and shoved the packet between his teeth. "And you won't mind testing it again. Swallow."

"MMPH!" He tried to back away, tried to spit it out, his hands coming up to push against her chest. Pathetic. Weak.

She grabbed his wrist, twisted it until he gasped, and when his mouth opened in pain, she drove her fist up under his ribs. He doubled over, choking. She grabbed the back of his head and drove her knee up toward his face. "Think this is a fucking joke, Alexei?"

The gun cleared his jacket, muzzle flashing once.

BANG.

The bullet caught her in the side, tearing through muscle and skin just above her hip. The pain was white-hot and immediate.

"FUCK!"

She grunted, staggering back, hand pressing to the wound. Her eyes flashed with pure, blinding fury.

In front of her, Alexei trembled as he leveled the pistol. "S-Stay the fuck back! I'll—"

Kira lunged.

She was faster. She grabbed his wrist, twisted until the gun fell, and then she had him by the throat. One smooth motion, her body weight behind it, and she slammed him backward onto the concrete. His head cracked against the floor hard enough to stun him, and then she was straddling his chest, her hands still around his neck.

She twisted, felt the resistance in his spine give way, and watched his eyes go empty.

Good fucking riddance.

When it was done, she stood, breathing hard. Her shirt was soaked with blood. She pressed her palm harder against her bleeding side. "Bastard," she hissed.

She pulled out her phone and made a single call.

"Bring the truck. And get someone to the villa—I'm bleeding."

Two hours later, Kira was in her bathroom, peeling off her ruined clothes. The wound wasn't as bad as it could have been. The bullet had gone clean through, missing anything vital. She'd stitched it herself—not the first time she'd done it—and wrapped it tight. The pain was manageable if she didn't think about it too hard.

She was finishing up, washing the blood from her hands, when her phone buzzed. She snatched it up without looking, pressing it to her ear.

"What."

On the other side was one of her men. "Madam, we've found Sokolov's girlfriend. Brought her straight to the basement. She's—"

Kira cut him off with a delighted chuckle. "Alive?"

"Unharmed, madam."

A wolfish grin curled her lips. “I'll be down soon."

Kira hung up, tossing the phone onto the counter. She stared at her reflection for a moment. Blood still on her neck. Dark circles under her eyes. She looked like shit, as she always did.

She cleaned up, changed into fresh clothes—dark trousers, a black sweater loose enough to hide the bandaging—and headed downstairs.

A guard was standing outside the basement door, smoking a cigarette. He straightened when he saw her, flicked the cigarette away.

"She gave you any trouble?" Kira asked.

"No, but she's been quite vocal."

"Good." She pulled on her gloves, taking her time with each finger. "Leave us."

The guard nodded and disappeared upstairs. Kira took a breath, smoothed her hair back, and opened the door to the basement.

.