Chapter 1: Bloody Introduction
A Gruesome Murder Shakes Moscow
The body lay in the snow like a broken doll. Its limbs twisted at angles that made no sense. The blood had seeped into the white ground, turning it black in the dim streetlight. Detective Sofia Ivanova stood over it, her breath curling in the cold air. She did not flinch. She had seen worse. But this one was different.
The victim was a man, young, maybe thirty. His face was still intact, frozen in an expression of pure terror. His throat had been slit so deep the blade must have scraped bone. Sofia crouched down, gloved hands hovering over the wound. The cut was clean, professional. This was not a crime of passion. This was a message.
Her partner, a nervous man named Yuri, shifted behind her. "Kuznetsov," he muttered.
Sofia did not look up. She already knew. The name hung in the air like poison. The Kuznetsovs owned Moscow, or at least the parts of it that thrived in shadows. Their name was whispered in backrooms, in alleys, in the ears of those who knew too much. And now it was written in blood on the snow.
She stood, wiping her hands on her coat. "Who was he?"
Yuri swallowed. "Anatoly Petrov. Small-time smuggler. Worked for the Kuznetsovs until last week."
Sofia's eyes narrowed. "What happened last week?"
"He tried to leave."
Of course. The Kuznetsovs did not let people walk away. Not alive. She had seen this before, bodies dumped like trash, warnings carved into flesh. But this was bold, even for them. The murder had happened in the open, in a part of the city where people pretended the mafia did not exist.
A gust of wind blew, sending snowflakes swirling. Sofia pulled her coat tighter. The cold never bothered her. It was the silence that did. The way the street felt too empty, like the world was holding its breath.
Then, a sound.
A laugh.
She turned. A few feet away, leaning against a lamppost, was a man in a long black coat. His face was half-hidden in shadow, but she could see his smile. It was the kind of smile that made her want to punch him.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," he said.
Sofia did not move. "Who are you?"
The man pushed off the lamppost and stepped into the light. He was tall, handsome in a way that felt dangerous. His eyes were ice blue, the kind of eyes that saw too much. "Leo Markov," he said, grinning. "But you can call me your new best friend."
Yuri tensed. "We don't need friends."
Leo ignored him. He nodded at the body. "Nasty business, huh? I heard the guy begged before they cut him. Said he had a wife. A kid." He shook his head. "Guess loyalty doesn't buy much these days."
Sofia's jaw tightened. "If you know something, say it."
Leo held up his hands. "Whoa, detective. No need for the scary voice. I'm just a guy who hears things." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Like how Dmitry Kuznetsov was seen near here an hour ago."
The name hit her like a bullet. Dmitry. The heir. The ghost. The man whose face she had memorized from files but never met.
Yuri grabbed Leo's arm. "You're lying."
Leo sighed. "And here I was, trying to be helpful." He reached into his coat and pulled out a flash drive. "Here. Everything you need. Names, dates, bank accounts. Even Dmitry's favorite brand of vodka." He winked. "Which, by the way, is way too expensive for a guy who doesn't even smile."
Sofia took the flash drive. "Why help us?"
Leo's grin faded, just for a second. "Let's just say I don't like seeing kids grow up without fathers." Then, just as fast, the smile was back. "Also, I really hate Dmitry's haircut."
Yuri groaned. Sofia almost laughed. Almost.
Leo stepped back, tipping an imaginary hat. "Good luck, detective. You'll need it." Then he turned and walked away, whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like a funeral march.
Sofia watched him go. The flash drive felt heavy in her hand. She knew what this was. A trap. A game. But games could be won.
She looked back at the body. The snow was starting to cover it, like the city was trying to erase what happened. But Sofia would not let it.
She turned to Yuri. "Get the coroner. Then pull every file we have on Dmitry Kuznetsov."
Yuri hesitated. "Sofia, if the Kuznetsovs are involved—"
"Then we're already dead," she said. "Might as well do something useful first."
The wind howled. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang.
Midnight in Moscow.
The Kuznetsov Gathering
The ballroom smelled like money and fear. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls, throwing broken light across marble floors polished to a mirror shine. Three hundred of Moscow's most dangerous men stood in small groups, their laughter too loud, their smiles too wide. The air tasted like expensive cigars and the metallic hint of blood not yet spilled.
Dmitry Kuznetsov stood near the grand piano, a glass of vodka sweating in his hand. He had not taken a single sip. Alcohol made men weak, and weakness got them killed. His father had taught him that lesson when he was eight years old. The scar on his left palm itched at the memory.
Across the room, Aleksandr Kuznetsov held court like a tsar holding audience. His voice carried over the string quartet, telling some story about the old days when men settled disputes with knives instead of lawyers. The men around him laughed exactly when they were supposed to. Dmitry knew every face in this room. Every lie. Every secret.
Then the double doors swung open.
Two of his father's enforcers dragged in a third man between them. His face was swollen beyond recognition. His tailored suit was torn at the collar. The quartet stopped playing mid-measure.
Aleksandr spread his arms wide. "My friends. Our entertainment has arrived."
The man's name was Viktor Zaitsev. Dmitry knew him in the way one knows most of his father's men. A reliable lieutenant. Married. Two daughters at Moscow State University.
Viktor tried to stand straight but his legs betrayed him. "Aleksandr Vladimirovich," he gasped through broken teeth. "This is a misunderstanding."
Aleksandr tilted his head like a curious bird. "Is it? Then explain why two million dollars of my money disappeared under your watch."