Kyle arrived at the address and stopped.
There, on a weathered bench overlooking the Thames, sat Viktor. The massive Russian was unmistakable—bald head gleaming under the grey sky, metal teeth catching the light as he grinned at something only he found amusing. His frame seemed too large for the bench, like a bear trying to fit in a child's chair.
"Viktor."
Kyle couldn't believe his eyes. He had expected a contact. An informant. Maybe someone from Marcello's network. But Viktor himself? The Butcher? In broad daylight, surrounded by tourists and street performers?
"He's not even hiding."
Kyle studied him for a moment. The fear he used to feel—that primal, gut-level terror that Viktor inspired in everyone—was gone. Not because Viktor was less dangerous. But because Kyle had changed.
"I could make him disappear. Not alone, but I have the means."
