Queens is a maze of warehouses and empty lots, the kind of place secrets go to die. I'm crouched behind a rusted car, Glock in one hand, karambit knife ready. Anya's next to me, her phone glowing as she tracks signals. Elena's with us, against my better judgment, gripping a small knife I gave her for training. My side's bleeding from Katya's safehouse ambush, my ribs ache from Dmitri's trial, but I'm here for him. Misha's text said Dmitri's hiding in a Queens dive, building a rogue Bratva crew. He's the traitor who sold Nikolai to Romanov, and I'm done waiting.
The gold's safe, locked in our vault, but the digital key's still out there, tied to a Bratva buyer from Romanov's auction. Anya's close to a name, but her secrets keeps me sharp. Katya, Romanov's second-in-command, is picking up his war, hitting us with drones and ex-soldiers. Sergei, that ghost, helped at the safehouse but works for her, maybe. Elena's pushing to fight, and I'm starting to teach her, but she's Nikolai's daughter, too close to this mess. Nikolai's warning—trust no one—is my only truth now.
Anya's phone beeps. "Dmitri's inside that bar," she whispers, pointing to a brick building with boarded windows. "Five guys with him, armed. No drones yet, but Katya's signal's nearby."
"Get us in quiet," I say, checking my Glock. "Elena, stay behind me. No hero stuff."
She nods, but her eyes burn, like Nikolai's when he planned a hit. I'm teaching her basics, how to hold a knife, how to move, but she's too eager. We creep toward the bar, sticking to alleys. The street's empty, but I feel eyes. Anya hacks the bar's backdoor lock, and it clicks open. Inside, it's dark, smelling of beer and smoke. Voices murmur—Dmitri's, loud and rough.
We slip behind a stack of crates, peering out. Dmitri's at a table, huge, scarred, a shotgun beside him. Five Bratva guys—traitors—stand around, rifles ready. "Viktor's weak," Dmitri's saying, voice booming. "The council's mine. Katya's got the key, and we'll run this city."
My blood boils. He's not just a traitor, he's selling the Bratva to Katya. I signal Anya to jam their comms, Elena to stay put. I step out, Glock raised. "Game's over, Dmitri."
His guys spin, rifles up, but Dmitri laughs, standing slow. "Vitya. You're like a cockroach, always crawling back."
"You sold Nikolai," I say, voice cold. "You're done."
He smirks, grabbing his shotgun. "You got no proof. Council won't listen."
"I heard you," I say, nodding at his crew. "They did too. Drop the gun, or I drop you."
His eyes narrow, but he doesn't move. His guys hesitate, loyalty shaky. Then a hum—drones, Katya's, buzzing through the windows. Glass shatters, and darts fly. I dive, pulling Anya down. Elena ducks, smarter than I thought. Dmitri's crew scatters, two hit by darts, collapsing. I fire at a drone, dropping it, sparks raining.
"Katya's here!" Anya yells, jamming the drone signals. "She's tracking us!"
Dmitri uses the chaos, firing his shotgun. The blast tears crates apart, wood flying. I roll, shooting back, grazing his shoulder. He roars, charging like a bear. I dodge, slashing his arm with my karambit. Blood sprays, but he's a tank, swinging a fist. It clips my jaw, and I stumble, pain flashing.
Elena moves too fast. "Viktor!" she shouts, throwing her knife. It hits Dmitri's leg, not deep, but enough to slow him. I nod, impressed, but yell, "Stay back!"
Anya's firing her pistol, dropping another drone. Dmitri's crew rallies, three left, shooting wild. I tackle one, snapping his neck. The second aims at Anya, but I shoot him first, blood pooling. The third runs, and I let him—Dmitri's the prize. He's limping, shotgun raised, but his eyes dart to the door. He's planning to bolt.
"Not today," I growl, lunging. I knock the shotgun away, tackling him into a table. It collapses, bottles smashing. He grabs my throat, squeezing hard. I slash his wrist, blood gushing, and break free, driving my knife into his shoulder. He roars, shoving me off, but I'm up, Glock aimed at his chest.
"Yield," I say, panting. "Or die."
He laughs, blood dripping. "Katya's got the key, Vitya. You're chasing ghosts."
Before I can answer, a drone crashes through the roof, dropping a grenade. "Run!" I yell, grabbing Elena and Anya. We dive behind the bar as it explodes, flames licking the walls. Dmitri's gone, slipped out in the smoke. I curse, firing at the drone, but it's too late. Katya's crew hits the street outside, tires screeching.
We sprint to our van, Elena coughing, Anya clutching her phone. I drive, weaving through Queens, losing any tail. My jaw's throbbing, my side's bleeding again, but I'm alive. Dmitri's words burn, Katya's got the key. He's working with her, and the Bratva's council is still split.
"Talk," I say to Anya, gripping the wheel. "What's the lead?"
She's shaken but typing. "The buyer's in Chicago," she says. "A Bratva guy, high up, tied to Katya's network. I've got a name—Boris Volodin."
"Boris?" I frown. He's a council member, loyal to Nikolai, or so I thought. "You sure?"
"Data doesn't lie," she says, but her voice wavers. I don't trust that tone. She's still hiding something, and I'm done with it.
"Elena, you did good," I say, glancing back. "But no more risks."
"I'm training," she says, voice firm. "I'm not stopping."
I sigh. She's Nikolai's kid, stubborn as hell. I'll teach her more—knife work, how to shoot—but I hate it. She's in too deep. "Fine," I say. "But you listen."
My phone buzzes with Ivan's text. Council's meeting tomorrow. Dmitri's crew attacked a safehouse. Prove he's the traitor, or you're out. I slam the wheel. Dmitri's moving fast, Katya's drones are everywhere, and Boris might be playing us all. Sergei's out there, helping or hunting, I don't know. Anya's data points to Chicago, but it feels like a trap.
"Anya, dig into Boris," I say. "And Katya's network. No more surprises."
She nods, but her eyes avoid mine. Elena's watching, her knife still bloody. I'm teaching her to fight, but I'm losing the Bratva. The vault key's in Chicago, maybe with Boris, maybe with Katya. Dmitri's running, but I'll find him. I'm the Blade, and I'm sharpening. The city's a warzone, and I'm not backing down.