Salvatore stood before them, immaculate in a white shirt and an elegant black vest, as composed and refined as if it were broad daylight instead of the dead of night.
Behind him, his grandson Dante trailed, alert and watchful.
"I thought the scratching I heard on the wall was just roaches," Salvatore said with a slow smile.
"Turns out it was both of you." He grinned, amusement curling at the edges of his mouth.
"Can't believe Mikhail's grown this foolish, sending his dogs into my house. Does he still look down on me that much?"
Victor frowned and hauled Vincent upright by the collar until the man staggered to his feet.
"Мудак! Look what you've done!" he spat, then shoved him hard. "Kill him! You said you would!"
Vincent snapped. With trembling hands, he drew his pistol and leveled it at Salvatore, who did not even flinch, only that same carved smirk, a look as disdainful as if a child had picked up a toy gun.
