The docks in Red Hook stink of fish and diesel, the night air cold and sharp. I'm crouched behind a shipping container, Glock in one hand, karambit knife in the other. Anya's next to me, her laptop tucked away, a pistol shaking in her grip. Elena's back at a safehouse with Misha, who's still alive but hurt bad from the tunnel raid. My ribs are bruised from Dmitri's trial fight, and my arm's scabbed from Sergei's knife. But I'm here, hunting Romanov. Anya's buyer list from the auction points to this warehouse as his base. The gold's close, maybe the digital vault key too. I'm ending this tonight.
Romanov's a ghost, ex-GRU, who's been playing me since Nikolai's death. He's got our 500 kilos of gold, planning to run the underworld. Anya says a Bratva traitor has the vault key, and Dmitri's my top suspect. He's been missing, rallying the council against me, dodging every fight. Nikolai's warning—trust no one—burns in my gut. Anya's still hiding something, her hesitations piling up. Sergei, that ghost, helped us in the tunnel but works for Romanov. I don't know his game. Elena's safe for now, but she's stubborn, and I'm worried she'll follow again.
Anya's checking her phone, hacking the warehouse cams. "Two guards outside," she whispers. "Drones inside, mercs on patrol. Romanov's in a control room, top floor."
"Get me in," I say, checking my Glock. The auction's done, buyers scattered, but the gold's here and I feel it.
She nods, but her eyes flick away. "Vitya, if this goes wrong"
"It won't," I snap. "Focus."
We move, silent, sticking to shadows. The guards are easy—I creep up, knife one in the throat, snap the other's neck. Blood pools, and Anya gags but keeps moving. We slip through a side door into the warehouse. It's huge, crates stacked high, forklifts silent. Drones hum above, red lights scanning. Anya jams their signal, and we duck behind a crate, her fingers flying on her phone.
"Control room's up those stairs," she says, pointing. "But there's a trap—lasers, maybe worse."
I nod, leading the way. My Systema training keeps me quiet, steps light. We dodge a laser grid, crawling under beams. A drone buzzes close, and I freeze, heart pounding. Anya's jam holds, and it passes. We hit the stairs, climbing fast. At the top, a steel door—locked, digital. Anya plugs in, but a clank echoes below. Mercs, four of them, rifles up.
"Down!" I hiss, firing my Glock. One drops, blood spraying. The others return fire, bullets sparking metal. I roll, tossing a flashbang. It pops, blinding them, and I charge, knife out. I slash one's throat, stab another's chest. Anya shoots the last, her hands shaking but steady enough. She's tougher than she looks.
"Door's open," she says, panting. "Go!"
I kick it in, and there he is—Alexei Romanov. He's tall, slick suit, gray hair, smirking like he owns the world. The control room's all screens and tech, our gold crates stacked in a corner. "Kuznetsov," he says, voice smooth. "You're persistent."
"You're dead," I growl, aiming my Glock. "Where's the vault key?"
He laughs, hands up but not scared. "You think this is about gold? It's power, Viktor. Join me. The Bratva's done, old, weak. I'm the future."
I spit. "You killed Nikolai. You don't get to talk."
His eyes narrow. "I didn't pull the trigger. Your own people did."
My blood runs cold. "Liar."
"Am I?" He steps closer, fearless. "Why fight me? We can rule together."
I fire, but he's fast, dodging, pulling a blade augmented, his arm moving like a machine. We clash, my karambit sparking against his tech. He's strong, trained, but I'm rage and Systema. I slash his side, blood soaking his suit. He punches my ribs, pain exploding, and I stagger. Anya shoots, grazing his shoulder, but he throws a chair, knocking her down.
"Vitya!" she screams, crawling for her gun.
I tackle Romanov, slamming him into a screen. Glass shatters, sparks flying. He cuts my arm, deep, but I drive my knife into his thigh. He roars, stumbling, and I pin him, blade at his throat. "The key," I snarl. "Now."
He laughs, coughing blood. "Ask your bear."
Before I can press, the door bursts open. Dmitri. He's here, huge, a shotgun in his hands. My heart stops. "Dmitri?" I say, keeping my knife on Romanov.
He glares, eyes dark. "You're blind, Vitya. I gave Romanov the rooftop. Nikolai was weak, like you."
The words hit like a bullet. Dmitri's the traitor. He sold Nikolai, gave Romanov the gold. Rage burns, but Romanov laughs, slipping my grip. "Told you," he says, lunging for a button. Alarms blare, drones buzzing in. I shoot, hitting Romanov's chest. He drops, blood pooling, but the drones are on us.
"Anya, run!" I yell, diving for cover. Dmitri fires, the shotgun blasting crates. I roll, shooting back, grazing his arm. He's a tank, charging me. I dodge, slashing his leg with my knife. He roars, swinging the shotgun like a club. It clips my shoulder, and I hit the floor, pain screaming.
Anya's up, firing at drones, dropping one. "Vitya, we gotta go!" she shouts, dragging me up. Dmitri's reloading, eyes locked on me. I throw my knife, hitting his hand. He curses, dropping the gun, but more mercs are coming, boots pounding.
We sprint for the stairs, drones shooting darts. I shield Anya, taking a hit in the leg. It burns, slowing me. We hit the warehouse floor, mercs closing in. I toss a grenade, blowing a hole in the wall. We dive through, hitting the docks. The van's close, and we pile in, me driving, Anya in the back, blood everywhere.
I gun it, weaving through Red Hook, drones fading. My leg's numb, arm bleeding, but I'm alive. Romanov's dead, the gold's secure—Anya sent the location to Ivan's crew to grab it. But Dmitri's words cut deeper than any knife. He betrayed Nikolai, sold us out. He's still out there, and the Bratva's council won't believe me without proof.
Anya's quiet, checking her phone. "I got Romanov's files," she says. "The vault key's with a buyer, one of the auction names. We can track it."
"Good," I say, gripping the wheel. "But Dmitri's first."
She hesitates, like always. "Vitya, there's more. Romanov had a second-in-command. Katya. She's still out there, and she's got his plans."
I curse. Romanov's gone, but his shadow's not. Katya's a new threat, and Dmitri's a traitor with Bratva blood. Elena's at the safehouse, probably planning her next move. Sergei's out there, flipping sides like a coin. My phone buzzes with Misha's text. Council's meeting. Dmitri's blaming you for the auction mess. Hurry.
I'm the Blade, but I'm bleeding bad. The gold's safe, but the key's gone, and the Bratva's cracking. Dmitri's gotta pay, and Katya's next. I'm not done, not even close. I speed into the night, Anya's eyes on me, the city's pulse matching my own. This war's mine, and I'm fighting it to the end.