Under Control: Chapter 42

We go straight in the front door.

I have Karine’s voice in the back of my head as I storm the main dining room. The employees and the patrons stare with horror as I hold my gun in the air and shout for them to get out. Nobody moves for a beat, before the couples closest to the door make a run for it, and when it’s clear that we don’t plan on stopping anyone or killing them, the rest of the diners follow until the front of the house is empty.

Several soldiers have my back as we move forward toward the private room across from the kitchen. We scouted this location out a few days back when Arsen told us about this meeting and I’m glad we did. Otherwise, we’d waste precious moments trying to figure out where the meeting’s taking place.

The door’s closed. I hesitate outside and listen, but there’s no sound beyond. I glance back at my men and nod before stepping back to kick it down.

Suddenly, it slams open, knocking me backward. Something small and round trickles out, and I have about two seconds to form a coherent thought before the world turns into light and pain.

The explosion is deafening. I’m thrown back into the dining area and hit the floor hard. Glass and shards of wood pepper my face and chest, and I feel little cuts all over myself. I groan and push myself up, my ears ringing like crazy.

Those psychotic motherfuckers just threw a grenade.

Fire’s burning in the hallway where the explosion went off. There are shouts from nearby, probably the kitchen staff freaking out. I get to my hands and knees and have to lean against a table to stay upright. I’m dizzy and weak, but when I check myself, I’m basically intact.

I got lucky.

Fortunately, my men are all alive too. We regroup, but before we can storm the room, four Armenian thugs come storming out, guns blazing.

They pin us down. I’m forced behind a table as bullets spray all through the room. I’m glad Karine convinced me to evacuate the civilians—otherwise, some of them would be dead right about now. One of my soldiers takes a bullet to the head and his skull snaps back, killing him instantly, while the rest of us return fire.

The Armenians get mown down, but winning this fight wasn’t their goal. Behind them, other men are running into the hall and making for the back door.

It was a distraction.

Aram used his guards to buy time.

I roar with anger and pain as I come charging out from behind my table. The last of the Armenian guards goes down in a heap, and I put a bullet in his head to make sure he’s not getting back up. Black smoke rolls in heavy waves and the heat is almost unbearable, but I leap through it and feel the flames licking at my ankles as I land on the other side and roll up against the wall.

I cough and shove myself to my feet. Two of my men follow, both of them landing awkwardly. I drag them up and we’re out together, rushing the back door after the Armenian leadership.

The cold night air hits me as I slam my way out into an alley. I’m breathing hard and I go low, dropping to a knee and raising my gun in case anyone’s waiting to ambush us. Instead, I find a huddle of older men holding guns, some glaring straight ahead, others looking back where me and my men trap them.

Anton’s on the far end of the alley with five more soldiers.

“You’re finished, Aram,” I call toward the group. There are six of them in all, and Aram’s at their head. He shoves back toward me, glaring death and rage. Arsen’s to his left, expression stoic as he slowly and carefully moves over toward the wall.

Getting out of the way of a bloodbath. Smart kid.

“You fucking Russian dog,” Aram spits at me. “We will slaughter you where you stand for this. How dare you come to my home? How dare you threaten me?”

I step forward, gun raised and aimed at Aram’s chest. The men around him bristle.

“Lower your weapons,” I tell them calmly. “This is about him.”

“Nobody fucking move,” Aram snaps at them.

The tension ratchets up. I notice several of his top lieutenants looking at each other for guidance, but nobody moves. If this turns into a shootout, there really will be a bloodbath, and chances are good that I’ll end up dead.

But I’m tired of this war. I’m tired of this fight. This is my moment and I’m not going to let Aram get away.

“You murdered my father,” I say quietly and Aram flinches back from me as I approach.

“Kill him,” Aram says wildly.

Nobody moves.

I keep advancing until my gun is pressed to his head.

“My father deserved what you did to him. I won’t deny it. But he was still my father, and you will pay for what you did.”

Aram’s jaw ticks, and for the first time, there’s fear in his eyes.

He should be afraid. I’m done with the Armenians, done with Aram, done with all the baggage and history of my family dragging me down.

I want to be like Karine. Free from all that shit.

“Wait.” It’s the one voice that might make me pause. I look over as Arsen pushes through the crowd toward me. The men murmur, but none of them get in his way. “Don’t.”

“Get the fuck back, boy,” Aram snaps at his son. “You foolish idiot.”

“This isn’t how it should go,” Arsen says, ignoring his father. “For once, we should end things the right way.”

“How’s that?” I ask him, genuinely curious.

He stands at my side. There’s a moment of stunned silence among the gathered men. I press the barrel of my gun tighter to Aram’s head, a vicious smile breaking across my face.

Half the lieutenants lower their guns immediately.

Like they never planned on using them from the start.

Aram’s face turns red with rage as he stares at his son standing at my side. “That’s how they fucking found us,” he snarls. “You sold me out. You, my own fucking son. You traitor. You worthless prick.”

“All my life, you treated me like I was nothing more than flesh. I was flesh for you to beat, flesh for you to carve, flesh for you to mold in your own likeness. Remember the burnings? Remember the beatings? I remember them all, Father.”

The last few remaining Armenian lieutenants holding out their guns finally let them drop once it’s clear what is going to happen.

Aram doesn’t see it though. He’s focused on his son, and he’s livid with rage, a bright fury, his face turning pink then purple. “I should never have let you live, you worthless little shit,” he roars. “I should have killed you a long time ago. You were never good enough. You were never strong enough. I always knew⁠—”

“Do it,” Arsen says.

“Gladly.”

I pull the trigger. The gun barks and Aram’s skull explodes in a shower of bone fragments and brain matter. His blood stains the men unlucky enough to be standing near him.

Aram Sarkissian falls to the ground, no longer a threat, no longer a problem, just a corpse now.

I shoot Aram one more time in the chest before looking at the assembled Armenians.

“The war’s done,” I tell them, daring any of them to disagree. “Your leader’s dead. The rest of this shit is up to you people. I don’t give a damn what you decide, but if I see any of you near Philadelphia again, I will come back, and I will burn this place to the fucking ground.”

“You think we’re going to let this go?” one of the men speaks up. He’s older, graying hair, face grizzled and scarred. “You think⁠—”

I put a bullet in his head. Blood sprays onto the wall behind him, and he falls down to my feet. I look at the remaining Armenians.

“Anyone else?” I ask.

None of them move.

“I’ll handle it from here,” Arsen tells me. There’s already a visible shift in the group as several of the men move to his side, leaving a few others alone on the other half of the alleyway.

Battle lines drawing up.

But not my fucking problem.

“Good luck,” I tell him and walk through the crowd. I’m practically humming with joy and the rush of victory. I killed my enemy with one surgical strike, and now dozens of lives will be spared.

And I’m aware that this is in part thanks to Karine.

My beautiful, clever wife.

We join Anton at the other end of the alley and leave the Armenians in our wake.

Let them kill each other. I don’t give a fuck anymore.

Sirens blare in the distance. The restaurant’s truly on fire now. Smoke pukes into the sky and flames lick up from the roof. I walk on, away from the death and the fighting, across the parking lot toward my car.

Karine gets out and runs to me.

“I told you to stay inside,” I say, wrapping my arms around her.

“I guess I don’t always listen,” she says.

I bruise her mouth with a possessive kiss, claiming her for mine, daring anyone to complain.

Nobody does.

“Time to go,” Anton says as the sirens come closer.

“Is Arsen okay?” Karine asks once we’re driving away from that mess.

“He’s alive and his father is dead. But is he okay?” I shake my head, and I honestly don’t know how to answer.

But none of that matters to me anymore. Arsen’s in the past.

Karine’s my future.

“Whatever happens now, it’s up to him to figure out.” I take her hand and squeeze it tight as I drive away from Baltimore.