TIMOFEY
Unfortunately, Sergey is unarmed. Unfortunate in the sense that it doesn't give me an excuse to slaughter him immediately.
He's standing purposefully under a streetlight, his hands limp at his sides. He's ditched his coat to show that his silhouette is weapons-free. As the one who taught me to shoot first and ask questions later, he wanted to make sure I didn't have a question to ask.
"Are you done poisoning my men against me?" I ask when we're still far enough apart for my voice to echo off the line of rusted-out cars parked along the littered curb. "Decided to take a leisurely drive now that you've divided the Bratva I saved?"
He smirks. "You've always been grandiose. The Bratva existed before you, son."
"Don't call me that. And you know as well as I do that I saved your ragtag little ring of crooks and made it into something worthwhile."
"It didn't need saving."
