Kons never thought for one second that he would fight alongside this once-feared man who was supposed to be dead years ago. The sound of grenades exploding was enough to scare the s**t out of any human being, but Gordan Markovic was as cool as that rapper from the streets of Brooklyn.
“Have a drink.” He handed Kons a glass filled with liquor.
“I don’t think we should be drinking. It’s getting crazy outside and—”
“Drink and sit your ass down, Morozov.”
He moved around the table and opened the drawer on the right. From there, he took out a Desert Eagle. He checked it and then put it down on the table. Was he going to kill him with that? He answered his own question when another gun like this one was revealed.
“Where is my wife?”
“She’s safe. Now, give me the information I need. We do n
