Blood of the Komarov
In a building somewhere in New York, the headquarters of the Hispanic mafia organization RP-30 was hidden. From the outside, it looked like any other ordinary building. Inside, however, grim-faced gang members stood guard, each armed with assault rifles or submachine guns.
On the upper floor, in an office, a black-haired Mexican man in his mid-forties wearing a brown suit puffed on a cigar while conversing with his subordinates in Spanish.
[Santiago Reyes. Boss of the Hispanic Mafia RP-30]
"Well… not yet, boss."
Santiago let out a heavy sigh and took another drag from his cigar. He blew the smoke toward the ceiling, irritation flaring in his voice.
One of his subordinates asked cautiously, "Boss, do you really think the Komarovs will actually give us the cut?"
"They'd better. Otherwise it's war. This isn't Russia—this is New York. Our home turf."
Another subordinate grinned at him. "Exactly. What can a crew that's only been in New York for less than three years even do to us?"
"Right. If they don't pay up, it's war. And if they don't want to take losses in a war, they'll find a way to cough it up."
Just as Santiago took another pull on his cigar, screams and gunfire erupted from the floor below.
"What the hell?"
Startled by the sudden screams and shots, the Hispanic mafia members grabbed the assault rifles and shotguns lying nearby. Soon after, someone pounded on the door and shouted in Spanish.
Continuous gunfire drew closer. Santiago grabbed a Remington M1100 semi-automatic shotgun and stormed out of the room. The moment he stepped out, he opened fire on a Komarov Bratva member who was aiming a SIG MPX submachine gun at him. The slug round blew the man's head clean off, scattering chunks of flesh, blood, and brain matter in every direction as the headless body collapsed.
Other gang members unleashed automatic fire at him. Santiago dove into a nearby open room for cover. His remaining subordinates burst out of their rooms, weapons raised, and engaged the Komarov Bratva forces in a fierce shootout.
Under the relentless barrage from Santiago's men, Denis—who was holding a CMMG MK47 assault rifle—pulled out a fragmentation grenade, removed the safety clip and pin, and hurled it. The grenade rolled right up to the feet of one of Santiago's men who was spraying bullets from an AKMS with a drum magazine.
About two seconds later, the grenade detonated. The RP-30 members had no time to react before they were caught in the blast.
Having shattered the RP-30 formation with the grenade, Denis advanced with his men, guns trained on their surroundings. One of Santiago's subordinates, who had barely survived by using his dead comrades' bodies as shields, raised a Glock 17 pistol with blood streaming down his face and aimed it at Denis. Denis put a bullet through the man's head before he could fire.
The remaining RP-30 members who were still alive charged at the Komarov Bratva soldiers with guns, hatchets, and machetes, screaming like men with nothing left to lose. Denis shot a couple of them with his rifle before stepping back to dodge a machete swing from one of Santiago's men. He drew the Walther PDP pistol from his holster and fired twice into the man's chest and once into his head, dropping him instantly.
The brutal battle between the Komarov Bratva and RP-30 continued without mercy. Denis slaughtered the RP-30 members using his pistol and knife with ruthless efficiency.
At that moment, Santiago, who had been lying on the ground, grabbed a fallen Glock 17 and staggered to his feet. He aimed at Denis and tried to pull the trigger—but Denis was faster. The first bullet slammed into Santiago's chest. As he stumbled, a second bullet from Denis punched through his forehead.
Santiago collapsed, dead, his face a ruined mess of blood and brain matter splattered across the floor.
After killing Santiago, Denis gave orders to his nearby subordinates in Russian.
After leaving the cleanup to his men, Denis climbed into the driver's seat of a pitch-black Mercedes-Benz S580 parked nearby. He glanced down at his blood-splattered clothes, then pulled out his phone to check the time.
'About twenty minutes left. Good. I have time to change.'
He started the engine and sped off down the streets of New York, heading somewhere unknown.
Meanwhile, Jaehyuk had left his hotel to get some fresh air and was walking slowly through the surrounding streets.
The breeze feels nice. Maybe American air just hits different?
As he walked, he suddenly remembered that Central Park was near the hotel. He took out his phone, checked the map for its location, and headed that way.
I'm in New York. I should at least visit Central Park while I'm here.
When Jaehyuk arrived at Central Park, he slowly took in the night view illuminated by the warm glow of streetlamps. While strolling through the park and admiring the scenery, he spotted a familiar face.
Huh? Alina? Why is she here at this hour…?
Alina Kim was sitting on a park bench, as if waiting for someone. She kept checking her phone to see the time, then putting it back in her pocket, repeating the motion several times. Because of the distance between them, she hadn't noticed Jaehyuk yet.
Who is she waiting for? Should I go ask?
Just as Jaehyuk was about to call out to her, Alina stood up. Her face lit up with a bright smile as she waved toward someone approaching. The white man walking toward her had a face that was all too familiar to Jaehyuk.
Wait… that guy is…?
Jaehyuk realized with a jolt that the man smiling and chatting with Alina was the foreign killer who had tried to murder Min Taeseok—someone he considered like an older brother—four years ago. Tension gripped him as he watched what the man would do next.
He tried to listen in on their conversation from nearby, but Jaehyuk, who was weak with any foreign language except English, Japanese, or Chinese, couldn't understand a word of the Russian they were speaking.
What on earth are they talking about? From their expressions, it doesn't seem like anything bad…
Completely unaware that Jaehyuk was watching them, Alina and Denis continued their conversation in Russian.
Denis let out a small chuckle at Alina's words. She looked at him and asked, "Is Grandfather doing well?"
She was asking about her maternal grandfather, Vigo Komarov, the former boss of the Komarov Bratva. Denis's expression stiffened for a brief moment, but he quickly relaxed and smiled gently at her.
Denis took out a box from the bag he'd brought. When Alina opened it, a necklace adorned with dazzling gemstones was revealed.
Alina's eyes widened as she examined the necklace from every angle. She spoke with a hint of reluctance.
Denis smiled softly as he watched Alina put on the necklace. In that moment, he didn't look like the ruthless Red Mafia killer who had just mercilessly massacred Hispanic gangsters in a bloodbath. He was simply a caring uncle who cherished his niece.
Denis stood up from the bench. With a smile that seemed to carry a deep, hidden sorrow, he said, "Give my regards to your mother. Tell her… tell her that we're doing well. If she ever wonders."
With that, Denis walked off into the distance. A short while after he left, Jaehyuk approached Alina.
"Alina?"
"Oh? Jaehyuk. What brings you here?"
"Just taking a walk."
As he spoke, Jaehyuk recalled the conversation Alina and Denis had just shared. But all he could remember was the Russian he couldn't even begin to pronounce.
Why did they suddenly start speaking in some strange language… It would've been a lot easier to understand if they'd spoken in English…
He asked her, "By the way, who was that person you just met?"
"He's my uncle."
Jaehyuk's eyes widened. "Your… uncle…?"
"Yes, my maternal uncle. Why?"
"Ah… you two seemed to be having such a pleasant conversation that I was curious who he was."
The revelation that the foreign killer who had tried to murder someone as close to him as a brother was Alina's uncle left Jaehyuk completely stunned.
Wow… the world really is ridiculously small… That killer is Alina's uncle??
"He came to New York to give me a birthday present since it's my birthday soon."
Alina showed Jaehyuk the necklace she was wearing.
"It must be the gift from your uncle. It's truly beautiful. It suits you perfectly, Alina."
"Thank you."
Alina gave him a bright smile, then asked, "Oh, Jaehyuk. Are you free tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes. Tomorrow is our birthday… I thought it might be nice for two people who share the same birthday to spend it together."
As she spoke, Alina gently tucked her hair behind her ear. For some reason, her ear had turned noticeably red.
"Don't tell your friends… Just come to the place I'll tell you about."
"Uh… um… sure."
Seeing Jaehyuk nod stiffly, tense with nervousness, Alina looked at him with an affectionate smile, as if she found his flustered state adorable.