Chapter 7 - The Price of Silence
BANG!
The gunshot inside the enclosed cabin was deafening.
Roman gasped, a look of utter, childlike shock washing over his features as a dark red stain blossomed across the front of his silk shirt. He stumbled backward, slamming against the mahogany table, before collapsing heavily onto the cream carpet.
"Roman!" I roared.
Instinct overrode logic. Despite everything he had done, despite the betrayal and the lies, he was still my blood.
I dove to the right, rolling across the aisle as Sokolov’s guards opened fire. Bullets shredded the soft leather upholstery of the passenger seats, filling the air with stuffing and flying glass.
I came out of my roll beneath the row of seats, raised my Kimber, and fired three rapid shots at the guard on the left. The rounds struck him in the throat and chest, driving him backward out the open door of the aircraft.
Sokolov cursed in Russian, firing another heavy Magnum round that blew a hole through the floorboards inches from my knee.
"Flush him out!" Sokolov screamed at his remaining guard.
The guard advanced down the narrow aisle, spraying submachine-gun fire into the seats.
I waited until I saw his boots appear beside my seat row. Reaching out, I grabbed his ankle and pulled violently, slamming his head against the sharp metal edge of the chair frame. As he stumbled, I drove my knife upward through his tactical vest. He gasped, dropping his weapon, and slumped dead into the aisle.
Sokolov realized he was suddenly alone in the cabin.
He didn't panic. He was a veteran of two Chechen wars and thirty years of mob violence. He backed toward the front exit, keeping his heavy revolver pointed down the central aisle.
"You're a formidable man, Adrian!" Sokolov yelled over the hum of the jet's dying engines. "Better than your father! But you're too late! My men have already uploaded the first ten pages of your ledger to our servers in Moscow!"
I stepped out into the aisle, my clothes torn, my skin covered in soot and blood, my Kimber raised and locked onto his forehead.
"Then you'd better hope those servers can save you," I said.
Sokolov grinned, his thumb cocking the heavy hammer of his Magnum. "Spoken like a true Boss."
Before Sokolov could pull his trigger, a loud, heavy metallic thud echoed from the outside boarding stairs.
A flashbang grenade bounced through the front door of the jet, landing right between Sokolov’s boots.
Sokolov’s eyes widened in horror. "Blyat—"
BANG!
A blinding flash of white light and a thunderous concussive boom exploded in the front of the cabin.
Sokolov was thrown backward against the cockpit door, completely blinded and disoriented, dropping his gun as he clutched his ears in agony.
Marco burst through the door, wet with rain and bleeding from a cut on his forehead, holding a combat shotgun. He slammed the butt of the shotgun into Sokolov’s jaw, knocking the Russian boss unconscious onto the floor.
"Clear!" Marco shouted, sweeping the cockpit before turning back to me. "Boss! Are you alright?!"
"I'm clear," I gasped, lowering my weapon as the adrenaline began to bleed from my system. "The rest of his men?"
"Luca and Dominic managed to flank them," Marco panted, leaning against the door frame. "Four dead, two ran off into the swamp. We hold the tarmac."
I didn't answer. I turned around and sprinted down the aisle to the rear of the plane.
Roman was lying on his side on the blood-soaked carpet, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The bullet had struck him high in the chest. Blood was pooling beneath him, staining the pristine cream interior.
I dropped to my knees beside him, pulling my pocket square to press hard against the wound.
"Hold still," I commanded, my hands shaking as I applied pressure. "Hold still, Roman. Marco! Get the medical kit from the car!"
"Adrian..." Roman choked out, a thin trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. He weakly reached up, his trembling fingers clutching my wet sleeve. "Don't... don't bother..."
"Shut up," I growled, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes and running down my face. "You don't get to die now! You hear me?! You don't get off that easy, you bastard!"
Roman looked up at me. For the first time in four years, the arrogance, the hatred, and the greed were gone from his eyes.
In their place was only the scared, foolish twenty-year-old boy who used to hide in my room when our father was angry.
"I... I was jealous of you, Adrian," Roman whispered, his breathing becoming weaker, his eyes unfocusing. "You... you were everything... Father wanted... I just wanted... to be important..."
"You were my brother," I sobbed, pressing harder against his chest. "That was enough! That was always enough!"
Roman weakly shook his head, a small, sad smile touching his pale lips.
"Tell... tell the little girl..." Roman whispered, his grip on my sleeve beginning to slip. "...tell her... her mom... really didn't write it..."
His hand fell limp onto the carpet.
His chest gave one final, shuddering rise, and then went completely still.
His eyes remained open, staring blankly up at the luxury lights of the private jet he had thought would carry him to a new life.
May you like
I sat there on my knees in the quiet cabin, surrounded by the smell of copper and gunpowder, holding my dead brother in my arms for the second time in four years.
And this time, I knew he wasn't coming back.
