Chapter 19: The Reverse Uno Card
Pier 42 was draped in heavy fog. The massive, rusty hull of the Red Star groaned against the docks. At the top of the gangplank, Ivan Volkov stood smoking a thick cigar. He was a mountain of a man, scarred and weathered, surrounded by fifty heavily armed Russian mercenaries.
He was waiting for the phone call confirming Elena Rostova’s death.
Instead, the deafening roar of a helicopter engine tore through the fog. A sleek, black chopper with the Rostova Syndicate logo painted in gold hovered over the pier.
Ivan frowned, pulling a heavy revolver from his belt. "Shoot it down!" he roared at his men.
But none of the mercenaries raised their weapons.
Ivan turned around, confused. His second-in-command, a man named Yuri who had been with Ivan for ten years, was staring at his phone, his mouth hanging open.
"Yuri! I said shoot it down!" Ivan bellowed.
Yuri slowly looked up at Ivan. "Boss... my bank account. It just showed a deposit. Ten million dollars."
Murmurs rippled through the ranks. Every single mercenary on the pier was pulling out their phones. Twenty million. Fifteen million. Thirty million.
The helicopter landed gracefully on the concrete pier. The doors opened, and Elena stepped out, the wind whipping her dark hair. Julian stepped out beside her, an assault rifle resting casually against his uninjured shoulder.
Elena held a glowing tablet in her hand.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Elena called out, her voice amplified by a megaphone handed to her by her pilot. "I did some digging into the Volkov payroll. It seems Ivan here pays you roughly a hundred thousand dollars a year to die for him. I just deposited ten years' worth of salary into every single one of your offshore accounts."
Ivan’s face turned purple with rage. "You stupid bitch! Money doesn't buy loyalty from the Bratva!"
Elena smirked, tapping the screen of her tablet. "No, it doesn't. Which is why I also bought the mortgages on all your family homes in Russia. I bought the debts of your siblings. I own your lives. If you shoot me, the money disappears, and your families end up on the streets. If you drop your weapons and walk away right now, you retire as millionaires."
It was the ultimate, billion-dollar checkmate.
Silence hung heavily over the foggy pier. Then, a heavy metal clatter broke the tension. Yuri dropped his rifle onto the deck.
"I'm sorry, Ivan," Yuri muttered. "But I have a wife and kids."
One by one, the heavy thuds of dropping weapons echoed across the dock. Fifty of the deadliest mercenaries in the world turned their backs on Ivan Volkov and walked away into the fog, bought and paid for by the Iron Empress.
Ivan stood completely alone, his cigar falling from his trembling lips. He raised his revolver, pointing it directly at Elena’s head with a scream of pure, desperate fury.
But Julian was faster.
A single shot rang out from Julian’s rifle. The revolver spun out of Ivan’s shattered hand. Ivan fell to his knees, clutching his bleeding wrist, howling in agony.
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Elena walked up to the fallen Tsar of the Russian underworld. She looked down at him with the exact same pity she had shown Cassandra Sterling in that ballroom so many months ago.
"You brought a gun to a money fight, Ivan," Elena said softly. "Rookie mistake. The FBI is waiting for you in the cargo hold. Enjoy federal prison."
