The Bratva safehouse in Brooklyn is a fortress of concrete and steel, but it feels like a cage tonight. I'm standing before the council, my Glock holstered, karambit knife tucked in my sleeve. My ribs throb from Dmitri's trial, my leg stings from Romanov's dart, and my arm's scabbed from Sergei's cut. But I'm here, blood still on my boots, to tell them Dmitri's the traitor who sold out Nikolai. Anya's beside me, her laptop ready with Romanov's files. Elena's in the corner, ignoring my orders to stay away, her gray eyes fierce. The council—Ivan, Yuri, and old man Pavel—stare me down, their faces hard. Dmitri's not here, and that says everything.
Romanov's dead, killed by my hand at the docks. The gold's safe, locked in a Bratva vault, but the digital key's still missing, held by a traitor Anya's tracking. Dmitri admitted he gave Romanov the rooftop hit, and now he's running, maybe with Katya, Romanov's second-in-command. Nikolai's warning—trust no one—cuts deeper every day. Anya's hiding something, her hesitations stacking up. Elena's reckless, Sergei's a wildcard, and the *Bratva*'s splitting. I need to hold it together, but the council's loyalty is shaky.
Ivan leans forward, his voice rough. "You say Dmitri betrayed us, Vitya. Where's proof?"
I nod to Anya. She opens her laptop, showing Romanov's files—orders, payments, the rooftop plan. "Dmitri's name's here," I say, pointing. "He leaked Nikolai's deal. Romanov confirmed it before I killed him."
Yuri snorts, crossing his arms. "Dmitri's one of us. You're young, Vitya. Maybe you're wrong."
"I fought him at the docks," I snap. "He admitted it. He's gone, isn't he? Hiding."
Pavel, the oldest, rubs his chin. "Dmitri's been with us twenty years. You've got blood, kid, but not trust."
My fists clench. "I won the trial. I killed Romanov. I brought the gold back. What more you want?"
Ivan's eyes narrow. "Dmitri's calling his own meeting, says you're reckless. Some listen."
I curse under my breath. Dmitri's playing the council like a fiddle, and I'm losing ground. Elena steps forward, her voice sharp. "My dad trusted Viktor," she says. "Why don't you?"
The room goes quiet. Ivan looks at her, surprised. "You don't know this world, girl."
"I know enough," she says, chin up. "Viktor's fighting for my dad. Dmitri's not."
I want to tell her to shut up, but she's helping, maybe. Anya's typing, pulling up more files, but her hands shake. "There's a lead on the vault key," she says, voice low. "One of Romanov's buyers, a Russian, high up. I'm close to a name."
"Find it," I say, keeping my eyes on Ivan. "Dmitri's with Katya now, Romanov's number two. They're coming for us. We need to hit them first."
Before Ivan answers, the lights flicker. A boom shakes the walls, dust falling. Gunfire erupts outside, and screams echo. "Ambush!" Yuri yells, pulling a pistol. I draw my Glock, shoving Anya behind a crate. Elena dives next to her, eyes wide but steady.
The doors burst open, and Katya's crew storms in—ten guys, black gear, rifles blazing. They're not Bratva, not Romanov's mercs—new, sharp, like ex-soldiers. I fire, dropping two, blood spraying. Ivan takes a hit, falling with a grunt. Yuri's shooting, but a bullet grazes his arm. I roll behind a table, tossing a flashbang. It pops, blinding the attackers, and I charge, knife out.
I slash one's throat, stab another's chest. Blood's everywhere, hot and slick. A third guy swings a rifle butt at me, but I dodge, breaking his arm with a Systema twist. He screams, and I shoot him point-blank. Anya's firing her pistol, shaky but hitting a guy. Elena's crouched, clutching a knife I didn't know she had. "Stay down!" I yell, but she's watching, learning.
Pavel's dead, a bullet through his head. The council's crumbling, just like the Bratva. I spot a woman in the chaos—tall, blonde, cold eyes. Katya. She's directing her crew, a tablet in hand, drones buzzing above. I aim, but a merc tackles me, and my shot goes wide. We grapple, his knife grazing my side. I slam my forehead into his nose, blood gushing, and drive my karambit into his heart.
Katya's gone, slipped out. Her crew's thinning, but more are coming. Then Sergei appears, like a damn ghost, his knife flashing. He cuts down two mercs, quick and clean, and nods at me. "You owe me, Kuznetsov," he says, then vanishes into the smoke. I don't get him—Romanov's man, Katya's maybe, but helping me again.
"Vitya!" Anya shouts, pointing at a drone dropping a grenade. I dive, tackling Elena as it explodes, shrapnel tearing crates. My ears ring, but I'm up, firing at the drone. It crashes, sparking. The last mercs retreat, Katya's orders crackling through their comms. I chase, but they're gone, tires screeching outside.
The safehouse is a wreck—blood, bodies, broken glass. Ivan's alive, bleeding but cursing. Yuri's bandaging his arm. Elena's shaking, her knife bloody, she must've fought. I grab her shoulders. "You okay?"
She nods, but her eyes are hard. "I want to learn," she says. "To fight, like you."
I curse. "This ain't a game, Elena. You're Nikolai's kid, not a killer."
"I'm in," she says, voice like steel. "Teach me."
I don't have time to argue. Anya's at her laptop, pulling data from a dead merc's comm. "Katya's running Romanov's network," she says. "She's got safehouses—Chicago, Miami, Boston. The vault key's with one of her buyers, and I've got a lead. A *Bratva* name, high up."
"Dmitri?" I ask, heart pounding.
She hesitates again. "Maybe. I need more time."
I grab her arm, fed up. "No more secrets, Anya. If you know something, say it."
"I don't!" she snaps, pulling free. "I'm trying, Vitya. Trust me."
Trust. That word's poison now. Nikolai's gone, Dmitri's a traitor, Katya's hunting us, and Sergei's a shadow. I look at Ivan, who's staring at the dead council. "You believe me now?" I ask.
He nods, grim. "Dmitri's out. You lead, Vitya. But find him, or we're done."
I nod, checking my Glock. My side's bleeding, my ribs scream, but I'm alive. The *Bratva*'s hanging by a thread, and Katya's picking up Romanov's war. Elena's ready to fight, and I can't stop her. Anya's digging, but her secrets are a knife in my back. My phone buzzes with Misha's text. Dmitri's in Queens. Got a crew. Moving now.
I'm the Blade, and I'm sharpening. Dmitri's next, then Katya. The vault key's out there, and the gold's my only way to hold the Bratva. I lead Anya and Elena out, the city's lights cold and cruel. This war's personal now, and I'm not losing.