1.2 | The Prince of Thieves

Chapter 29

She could almost see his prone body lying in the middle of the concrete floor, all alone, bright red blood pooling beneath his head. His eyes, though partially open, were unseeing. She could almost feel his skin beneath her fingers, warm and soft, as if very soon he would wake under her touch. His hands, though open, would no longer reach for hers.

No, this can't be it, she thought, rousing herself from her reverie. She wouldn't let it end like that.

Hana scrubbed the image from her mind and ran.

~

Hana had left. Val wished she had the sense to run far, far away. Far from these monstrous offices, where his father's men would not let her go again. Far from this world, even, because it would surely taint her soul. Oh, but she'd never run far from Leon, he thought. The two of them were inexplicably joined in a manner which he could only be envious of.

The weapon was weighty in his hand. The object felt almost foreign; as Leon's secretary, he had always been behind the scenes, never up front like this. Now that all eyes were fixed on him, it was almost unnerving. Val stared down at the boy before him. His head was tilted to the side, his mouth curved into a small smile, its meaning undecipherable. 

There he knelt, his younger cousin, and the man whom he'd once pledged to die for.

'Is there anything that you want to say?' he asked quietly. Val knew he was stalling. But whatever for? There was no other way out of this room.

Leon arched a brow and the smile widened. This was a smile with a meaning he understood; he was taunting him, the kind of smile he gave to people who dared him. He wondered if Leon was ever afraid. He thought he had been, when Hana was still in the room. But now that Hana had gone, it seemed like he had been more afraid for her than for himself.

'Not in the face, please. She would be upset.'

Val raised his arm so that the weapon was level with Leon's chest. 

Just one shot, he thought, and it would be all over. Just one shot, and New York's rising young pakhan would be gone from the scene, leaving the rest scrambling for position. It would be a mess indeed, for all the Federov's men would surely go to war for this. But just one shot, and his family could reclaim what had been theirs and more.

The silent faces around them were urging him on.

Then he lowered his arm.

'I'm sorry. I can't.'

'What are you doing?!' his father roared.

Val swivelled about, and swung his arm to his father. The older man's eyes widened and his mouth parted. For a moment, he thought his lips were trembling, but then he realised it to be in anger, not fear. What a funny position to be in, he thought. Pointing a gun at his own father.

'Valentino!' came his stern rebuke.

'This will end right now, otets.'

'With you shooting me?!' he growled, his lips pulled back to reveal his teeth.

For most of his life, Val had been afraid of his father. One day, he realised it was because his father was an angry man, always holding resentment close to his heart. It was during Christmas and New Year's at the Federov's that he came to cherish peace and warmth. The household was rowdy whenever the cousins came together, but they had been happy. His father had expected him to be angry as well but the only negative emotion that Val found he could muster was envy.

'I'm not going to shoot you,' he said, his voice level and calm. 'But if you don't call off everyone in this room, then I might.'

The look his father wore was incredulous, more so than when he had announced his decision to work directly under Leon.