Chapter 3 - The Alley and the Armor
The rain was coming down in sharp, icy needles, bouncing off the wet asphalt of the alleyway behind Marlowe. The yellow glow of the streetlights reflected in the puddles, casting long, distorted shadows against the damp brick walls.
A sleek black armored sedan sat idling near the corner, its exhaust rising in thick white plumes into the freezing night air. Dmitry was standing near the driver’s side door, holding an umbrella, looking around nervously.
As soon as they cleared the heavy steel door of the restaurant, Lev stepped out behind them, his shoes clicking sharply against the concrete.
“Viktor,” Lev said, his voice dropping all pretense of respect. “We aren't going to Port 42, are we?”
Viktor stopped moving. He didn't turn around immediately. He kept his hand firmly on Tessa’s elbow, positioning his broad body between her and the man behind them.
“You always were terrible at hiding your intentions, Lev,” Viktor said calmly in Russian. He slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder. “When Denis Oleshko offered you five hundred thousand dollars to clear a path through Dock 14, did he tell you how he planned to handle you after I was dead?”
Lev’s breath hitched. His eyes darted to Tessa, then back to Viktor.
“She told you,” Lev hissed, his face contorting into a mask of rage. He ripped a silver-plated semi-automatic pistol from his jacket shoulder holster, aiming it directly at Tessa’s chest. “You listened to a filthy street beggar over a man who served your father for ten years?!”
“She isn't a beggar, Lev,” Viktor said softly. “She’s an intellectual. And you are a corpse.”
Before Lev could pull the trigger, Viktor moved with terrifying, explosive speed.
He didn't draw a weapon. He stepped inside Lev’s guard, his massive left hand slamming into Lev’s wrist, forcing the gun upward just as a deafening BANG shattered the quiet alleyway. The bullet ricocheted off the brick wall overhead, showering them with red dust and sparks.
Tessa let out a sharp gasp, stumbling backward into the side of the sedan, her hands flying to her mouth.
Viktor drove his right elbow directly into Lev’s jaw with a sickening CRACK. Lev stumbled back, groaning, but held onto the weapon. He swung the gun back around, wild-eyed, blood pouring from his mouth.
Dmitry pulled his own weapon from his belt, shouting, “Boss! Get down!”
But Viktor didn't need help. He grabbed Lev by the throat, driving him backward with immense force until Lev’s spine slammed into the heavy steel trash dumpster at the end of the alley. The metal groaned under the impact.
Viktor twisted Lev’s wrist until the silver gun clattered to the wet pavement. Then, using Lev’s own collar for leverage, Viktor drove his fist into Lev’s temple twice.
Lev’s eyes rolled back. His knees gave out, and he collapsed into the filthy puddle beneath the dumpster like a sack of wet flour.
Silences returned to the alley, broken only by the heavy pounding of the rain and Viktor’s measured, even breathing.
Viktor adjusted his charcoal suit jacket, smooth down his lapels, and stepped over the unconscious guard as if he were nothing more than a fallen branch. He kicked the silver pistol into the storm drain, watching it disappear into the black water below.
He walked back toward Tessa.
Tessa was pressed flat against the side of the armored sedan, her legs shaking so violently she felt like she was going to collapse. Her uniform dress was soaked with rain, her hair plastered to her face.
Viktor stopped two feet away from her. He looked down at her small, trembling frame, his icy blue eyes assessing her for injuries.
“Are you hurt, Miss Morgan?” he asked in English, his voice surprisingly gentle compared to the brutality he had just displayed.
“I... I...” Tessa stammered, her teeth chattering from the cold and the sheer adrenaline coursing through her veins. “He... he had a gun...”
“He was sloppy,” Viktor said dismissively. He reached out, his long fingers gently picking a piece of brick dust off her shoulder. “You, on the other hand, were remarkably precise. Old Church Slavonic? My grandfather had a Bible written in that cipher. I haven't seen it used since I was twelve years old.”
Tessa swallowed hard, forcing herself to look up into his face. “He... he was going to kill you at the port.”
“Yes,” Viktor agreed softly. “And because of you, he failed. Which leaves me with a somewhat complicated problem.”
Dmitry walked over, holding his gun at his side, looking at Lev’s unconscious body with disgust. “What do we do with him, Boss?”
“Put him in the trunk,” Viktor commanded without looking back. “Take him to the warehouse on 31st Street. Tell the boys to hold him until I arrive.”
“Yes, Boss.” Dmitry grabbed Lev by the arms and began dragging him toward the back of the car.
Viktor opened the rear door of the luxury sedan. He turned back to Tessa, holding the door wide.
“Get in, Miss Morgan,” Viktor said.
Tessa backed away an inch, her eyes wide with fresh fear. “No. No, I... I did my job. You gave me money. I want to go home.”
Viktor looked at her thoughtfully. The rain was drenching them both now, but he didn't seem to notice the cold.
“Miss Morgan,” Viktor said, leaning down slightly so he was at eye level with her. “Lev was working for Denis Oleshko. Oleshko has men stationed all over this city. Within an hour, Lev’s handlers will know that the hit failed. They will know that a waitress at Marlowe overheard their plans and warned me.”
Tessa’s heart dropped into her stomach.
“If I leave you here,” Viktor continued calmly, “they will find you before sunrise. They will drag you into a basement on the South Side and ask you every word you heard tonight. And when you are finished telling them, they will throw you into the Chicago River.”
Tessa felt the world tilting around her. The streetlights spun. The utility notice, her taxes, her car’s brakes—all of her small, crushing daily problems vanished, replaced by the stark, terrifying reality of a mob war.
“You’re telling me I don't have a choice,” Tessa whispered, her voice breaking.
“I am telling you that inside this car, you are under my protection,” Viktor said, holding out his hand once more. “Outside this car, you are a target. Choose quickly, Miss Morgan. The night is getting cold.”
May you like
Tessa looked back at the dark alleyway, then at the warm, leather-scented interior of the armored car.
She took a deep, shuddering breath, reached out, and placed her hand back in Viktor Karev’s grip.
