Mikhail arrived at the outskirts of the city in an old factory area that had been closed down. Now it was running with the homeless, drug dealers and a place for secrets.
He got out of the car, the cold wind signaling the approaching winter hit him in the face. He adjusted his the collar of his black coat and walked towards his leather shoes stepping on broken glass causing them to scranch. Only his second in command, Lucas, followed behind him. The rest were left to stand guard for any ambush or fight.
An old textil factory loomed Infront of him, his destination. Its windows were shattered and it's walls had been drawn with graffiti that only the insane would find their time to draw. It was a fitting place to do business that was not supposed to move from the shadows.
Two men waited by a rusted door, " they are inside," one of them said in a low voice his hand on his gun.
" Good," Mikhail said as he looked at the hand holding the gun," we are not here to start a war. "
Inside, the air was thick with dust and the smell of oil. A single hanging bulb flickered above an old table, where three men from the Volkova family sat smoking cigarettes with beer cans thrown all around them.
" Mikhail sokolov," one of the men, probably the oldest said. Antonio Volkova.
" Didn't expect that you would come your self."
" Drugs worth half a million, I can't send my dogs to come. You are here as well aren't you?" He said while taking a seat." You said you wanted to move your shipments through my territory, I'm listening. "
A long silence. Then Antonio smirked," your territory? I heard the streets aren't yours anymore. "
Mikhail's jaw ticked but he didn't move. Rumors of the fight in the docks must have spread. He had restricted most of his men from moving around and causing trouble but the gangs outside had taken it as him being defeated. He was planning on converting the business legitimate little by little.
He knew the government was going to have a crack down on huge groups since they were getting out of control more. He wouldn't be affect but with the change in the storyline he was not sure.
"We can skip the games," Mikhail, " you pay you tolls, you move your shipments simple."
Viktor leaned back on his chair spreading his arms. "Simple? You think I came here to kneel? You're bleeding men, Sokolov. The Italians, the cops, your own people whispering that you've lost your edge. Maybe it's time someone else took your slice."
Just because he wanted to stay out of meaningless trouble it just won't stop finding him. The underworld was really a game . If you are quite people assume you have lost . Annoying.
Mikhail's eyes went cold at this,
"You trying to take it now?"
The sound of metal scraping was the only answer as both Mikhail and Antonio pushed their back, hands sliding under coats. Mikhail's pulse spiked, but his voice stayed even. "Careful Antonio. Once this starts, it doesn't stop. It's war."
Antonio grinned at him his too white teeth flashing under the lights,"then let's go to war. I want your territory any way."
Gunfire exploded simultaneously each shorting at each other in the enclosed space. Mikhail dove behind a beam still shorting his gun towards the place Antonio was hiding.
He heard Lukas shout before it went silent. He did try to think what had happened. He looked around but non of the people he came with appeared. This must have been a preplanned ambush . He could hear guns from a far .
He moved fast and low as he avoided flying bullets from the three brothers .He stopped next to another pillar near the door and shot a bullet at the space behind him.
A bullet came from the side and grazing his shoulder through his arm . He ripped open his sleeves to look. Blood flowed out of the would dark and warm but it was not fatal.
Another voice shouted from the doorway, reinforcement, he didn't know if they were his or not.
" Shit," He cursed to himself as he moved away from the door and moved towards a smaller side door he had seen when he came in.
Luka was down near the table, unmoving.
He was outnumbered. Again.
He checked his ammo he only three bullets left. He breathed out slow. "You wanted a war, Volkovas? You got it."
He moved fast like a shadow, emerging from behind the beam, gun steady. He took down one man,one of the brothers,with a clean headshot. Another lunged at him with a knife but Mikhail caught his wrist, slammed his elbow into the man's throat, twisted the knife free, and drove it back into his chest.
Blood spluttered onto his face and clothes but he was too focused to care.
But the next blow came from behind. A pipe cracked across his ribs, hard enough to knock the air out of him. He hit the floor, vision flashing white.
Pain spread like wildfire. He rolled, barely in time to avoid a boot aimed for his skull. His gun skidded across the floor and disappeared under abandoned floor boards.He breathed through his mouth hard with adrenaline surged through his body.
His gun was gone but he still had a knife in his hands.
He looked up to find Antonio towering over him with a bloodied pipe in hand , blood spluttered across his shirt.
"You should've stayed out of this, Mikhail," Viktor growled. "Old dogs die hard, but they still die."
Mikhail spat blood, laughing quietly. "You talk too much."
He surged forward slashing the knife aiming for the throat but Antonio placed his arm Infront . Mikhail sliced through his forearm. Antonio pared and swang the pipe, it slammed into Mikhail's wounded shoulder , sending a slitting pain through his body.
His vision blurred, but he kept moving, stabbing forward, once, twice, until the knife sank deep into Antonio's side.
Antonio staggered back his eyes wide as he held onto the knife that was left inside. He tripped on his legs and hit the wall behind him and went down the knife still inside.
Mikhail swayed on his feet, breathing hard. The room spun. His shirt clung wet to his chest. He pressed a hand to the wound on his shoulder,it came away red. The world had gone quiet, save for the faint hum of wind through broken glass.
He limped toward the exit, each step a fight against gravity. Outside, the cold air hit him like a slap.
The area was quite except for the hum of the wind. He laughed dryly and humorless as he started to feel exhaustion.
He looked down at his bloodied hands. They trembled.
"Still breathing," he whispered to no one. "Still mine."
Then his phone the only intact thing rang. His hands tried to answer to stop it from ringing.
A voice came from the phone,familiar," Mikhail?"
He tried to answer but nothing came as he started to loose his vision. His eyes closed.