Page 76 of Dark Seduction

Vladimir snarls. "Lies!"

I stare him down, my voice low and unyielding, knowing the weight of the history I'm about to disclose. "Listen carefully, Vladimir. Your father once conspired with other Russian families to overthrow Ivanov Holdings. This was back when my brothers and I were just infants, vulnerable to any threat against our family."

I pause, letting the gravity of the truth sink in before continuing. "Our father picked up on Evgeny's treachery. He confrontedhim, offered him a chance to repent and swear loyalty again to our family. But your father chose a darker path."

My voice hardens with the pain of the next revelation. "He attempted to poison our mother with polonium. It was his betrayal that led to her death, a slow and painful one that tore our family apart."

Vladimir's eyes widen, his stance faltering as the narrative he's always known starts to crumble. "Our father had no choice but to act. It wasn't a simple act of jealousy or power, it was retribution, a protective father's response to a direct threat to his family. He had to discreetly execute Evgeny to protect all of us."

The air between us thickens as I wait for Vladimir's response, hoping he sees the truth in my words.

Vladimir stands there, visibly shaken, grappling with the revelations. His voice barely a whisper, he stammers, "Why would Igor lie to me about what our father did?"

I lock eyes with him, my expression grim.

"Igor," I reply, "was ever the spiteful bastard. He never told you the true reason behind Evgeny’s execution because he wanted to use you as his weapon. Igor wanted revenge but never had the courage to pursue it himself. Instead, he manipulated you, hoping you’d be the tool to avenge your father’s death."

I pause again, giving him a moment to absorb the bitterness of the betrayal. "Then Igor died, leaving you without any real understanding of past events. And now, here you are," I finish, gesturing to the tense standoff around us.

The truth hits Vladimir like a sledgehammer, his posture slumping as he grasps the impact of his brother’s manipulation.

"Vlad, you've been living a lie, fashioned by a brother who cared more for revenge than for truth or family.”

Vladimir is reeling, his face etched with conflict and denial. "I know what I know," he snaps back, his tone thick with defiance. "And besides, it's too late for me to turn back now."

I study him, my gaze unflinching, the fire of resolve burning within me. Slowly, deliberately, I press him, needing to hear the confession from his own lips.

"Were you the one behind the attacks, Vladimir?"

His eyes meet mine, and after a tense moment, he nods. "Yes," he admits, his voice almost a whisper. "I wanted to make you suffer, to feel the pain your family caused mine."

With that, I realize the depth of his bitterness and the irreversible path he has chosen. There's no redemption here, not anymore. This isn't just about avenging past wrongs; it's about a cycle of hatred that won't end until one of us is destroyed.

Understanding that it has gone too far to turn back, I glance briefly in the direction where Vanya is parked, signaling subtly.

It's a small gesture but one loaded with consequence.

We're past talking now. Actions must speak for us, and I'm ready to end this, one way or another.

The moment I give the signal, it begins.

A car engine roars to life in the distance, its sound growing rapidly louder as Vanya accelerates toward us. The surprise attack catches Vladimir and the hitman off guard, their reactions a split second too slow.

Vanya, with practiced precision, pulls up and levels his gun at Vlad, ready to fire. But the hitman, a behemoth of a human, reacts with unexpected agility. He pulls his own trigger, the bullet slicing through the air and striking Vanya's arm. The impact throws off Vanya's aim, and his shot veers off wildly.

In the sudden frenzy, Vladimir seizes his chance. His face a mask of desperation and rage, he swings his gun up toward me. My heart pounds, adrenaline surging as I brace for the shot.

Before I can react, before Vladimir can squeeze the trigger, another gunshot pierces the air.

Time seems to freeze.

Vladimir's eyes widen in shock as a dark red stain blossoms on his shirt.

He touches the growing wetness, his expression one of disbelief and horror. Then, as if his strings have been cut, he collapses to the ground, lifeless.

Silence falls, heavy and suffocating. I stand there, stunned, scanning the area for the source of the shot that saved my life and ended Vladimir's.

I don't have time, however, to dwell on the confusion of who took that lifesaving shot. My instincts kick in, driving my next move. I spin around, my foot swinging and connecting hard with the hitman’s gut. The force of the kick expels the air from him in a whoosh, his gun clattering to the ground as he doubles over.