Page 69 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

"Can be manipulated, as you well know." I spread my hands in a gesture of mock humility. "Yet here I stand."

The initial shock in his expression transforms rapidly into calculation as he processes this new reality. Always the opportunist, Fedor's mind visibly races through possibilities, seeking advantage even in this moment of revelation. "You faked your death… The explosion, the collapsed building… You orchestrated everything."

"I learned from the best." I move in a slow circle, forcing him to turn to keep me in sight. "Our father always said the most effective attack is the one your enemy doesn't see coming. I replaced your explosives with my own."

Fedor's laugh holds no humor, just brittle acknowledgment. "And I walked right into it, didn't I? While I've been ruling over ashes, you've been...what? Dismantling everything from the shadows?" The truth reflects in his face as he connects the events of recent weeks. "The missing shipments, the lost cells, the federal raids, and our accounts emptied overnight—all you."

"All me." I stop circling, standing amid fallen chandeliers and charred remnants of luxury that symbolize the empire he coveted and helped destroy. "Though you've done an admirable job destroying what remained. Your leadership has been...instructive for our allies."

Rage flashes across his features, but it’s quickly suppressed. "You could've killed me at any time. Why this elaborate game?"

"Death would be too simple for what you've done."

"What I've done?" Indignation colors his tone as he gestures expansively with his free hand, the gun still trained on me with the other. "I protected the organization while you were distracted by a pregnant nurse and domestic fantasies. Everything I did was for theBratva."

"Including sending men to kill Wil in her apartment?" My voice remains deadly calm despite the fury building beneath my skin. "Orchestrating the attack that killed her friend?"

His expression shifts, abandoning pretense as he recognizes the futility of further denial. "The girl was collateral damage. Unfortunate, but necessary."

"Necessary." The word tastes bitter on my tongue.

"Yes, necessary." His posture straightens, confidence returning as he commits fully to his justification. "Your woman and those bastards were making you weak and vulnerable in ways our enemies could exploit. I did what was required to preserve our strength and our legacy."

"Our legacy." I repeat the words, letting them hang in the dust-filled air between us.

"Yes, our legacy. The empire our fathers built, that we were meant to expand together." His voice gains intensity, eyes gleaming with conviction. "I've watched you grow soft, distracted by domestic delusions when you should've been focused on business. Those children and that woman were making you forget who you are."

"No." I step closer, ignoring the gun still pointed at my chest. "They helped me remember who I was before all this. Before I became what our father wanted."

Fedor studies me with something approaching pity. "And what exactly do you think you are without theBratva? Without the power, the respect, and the empire? You're nothing."

"Perhaps." I allow a small, genuine smile. "I'm willing to find out."

Confusion replaces condescension in his expression. "What're you saying?"

"I'm saying goodbye, Fedor." I spread my hands, encompassing the ruins around us. "To all of it. TheBratva, the business, and the blood. I'm done."

For the first time, genuine fear flickers across his features as he processes the implication. "You can't just walk away. People don't leave this life."

"I already have." I meet his gaze steadily. "Makari Vorobev died in this club. The man standing before you wants nothing of his former life—except justice for Gisele's death and the attempt on Wil's life."

Desperation creeps into his expression as he realizes the full extent of what's happening. With sudden clarity, he understands that I've not just been dismantling the organization but erasing it completely, burning it to ash with no intention of rebuilding.

"Wait." He lowers his weapon slightly, eyes calculating even now. "We can salvage this and restructure together, as partners rather than rivals. You handle the legitimate operations, and I’ll maintain the traditional business. We were always stronger as a team, Mak."

The transparent plea for self-preservation might be pitiful if it weren't so predictable. Even now, facing the consequences of his betrayal, he seeks advantage rather than redemption. "Partners." I say the word like I’ve tasted something spoiled. "After you tried to kill the mother of my children?"

"Business," he insists, desperation edging his tone. "Nothing personal. I did what I thought necessary for our future, but I can see now I was...hasty. Mistaken."

A lesser man might derive satisfaction from this moment of Fedor Vorobev, proud and ambitious, reduced to bargaining for his life amid the ruins of his machinations. I feel only a hollow certainty that this final act of violence is necessary to ensure my family's safety. "Some mistakes can't be forgiven." I draw my weapon. "Some betrayals demand payment."

His expression hardens as he recognizes the futility of further negotiation. With surprising dignity, he straightens his shoulders and meets my gaze directly. "You know they'll come for you. No one walks away from this life."

"Let them come. They'll find nothing but ghosts."

The shot echoes through the ruined building, followed almost immediately by a second. Fedor's body crumples among the debris, the expression of resignation frozen on his features. Blood pools beneath him, indistinguishable from the dark stains already marking the charred floor.

I stare at my hand, still gripping the warm gun, and realize this is the last life I’ll take in service to an empire I no longer want. The Vorobev legacy of blood ends here, amid the twisted metal and broken glass that once represented everything I valued.

---