Chapter 22 - The Final Stand|
From the shadows of the trees emerged Viktor Volkov. He was battered, his expensive coat torn and stained with mud and blood, holding a heavy revolver at his side. He wasn't aiming it at us, but his eyes were wild with the adrenaline of combat. Behind him, three of his surviving men fanned out, weapons lowered but ready.
"Viktor," I said, keeping my pistol raised but not aiming directly at him. "You survived the warehouse."
"Barely," the Russian growled, spitting blood onto the pine needles. "It was a slaughterhouse. Lucien had rigged the building with explosives. I lost ten good men tonight. But we realized the main force had moved up the mountain. We came to assist."
"Lucien is dead. I killed him at the docks," I told him. "And his men who raided my home are either dead or running."
Viktor nodded slowly, lowering his revolver completely. "Then it is over. The Corsican threat is neutralized."
"It's over," I agreed, finally lowering my own weapon. The adrenaline began to fade, leaving me entirely exhausted. The pain in my shoulder flared aggressively.
Clara stepped out from behind the oak tree, holding Emma tightly. Viktor looked at the little girl, his hard expression softening just a fraction. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tarnished silver coin—the same one that had started this entire nightmare.
He tossed it onto the forest floor between us.
"My father's coin," Viktor said quietly. "Keep it as a reminder, Sebastian. The old wars are buried. Tonight, we bled together. The Volkovs and the Vales have no more debts."
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"Thank you, Viktor," I said, genuinely meaning it.
The Russian gave a curt nod, turning back into the shadows of the woods with his men. "Watch your back, Wolf. The city is quiet now, but it never sleeps for long."
