No Mercy for Thieves
2116 Words
Tagline:
When Dominik strikes, there are no second chances—only bodies left behind.
The warehouse loomed like a skeleton in the snow—quiet, empty-looking, but Dominik knew better.
Inside that rusted beast was the shipment they stole from him.
Three million dollars' worth of weapons. Gone. Hijacked. The deal botched. And the bastard who dared to steal it? Hiding like a coward in his own facility, guarded by twenty men and a rusted iron gate.
Dominik stood still, black gloves clasped behind him, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind. His breath fogged the air, but his eyes burned cold.
Valentin stood to his left, cigarette burning between his fingers.
“They think you’ll talk this out,” Valentin muttered.
Dominik gave a soft, humorless smile. “They think wrong.”
He raised his hand once. One sharp gesture. In response, his men—eight in total—fanned out and moved toward the warehouse like wolves closing in on a wounded deer.
Tonight wasn’t about a message.
It was about a reminder.
That Dominik Ivanov didn’t forgive theft.
Scene: Infiltration
The side entrance gave easily. Valentin cracked the lock while two men handled the outside guards. Not with bullets—knives. Quiet. Efficient.
Inside, crates were stacked, mislabelled as medical equipment. A laughable attempt at hiding weapons that weren’t theirs to begin with.
Dominik walked through the shadows, gun in hand. Silencer on. He didn’t rush. Power didn’t need to run.
He spotted two men chatting by a forklift.
Two shots. Two bodies.
His trigger finger didn’t hesitate.
Scene: Retaliation
By the time alarms started screaming, six of Durov’s men were already down.
Dominik moved through the chaos like a ghost.
Clean headshots.
Necks snapped.
A blade across the gut.
He fought like a man who didn’t need backup—but still had it.
Valentin covered the left flank, ruthless as always. “Dominik,” he called out, over the thunder of gunfire. “East stairwell. He’s trying to run!”
Dominik didn’t answer. He just moved.
Scene: The Boss Himself
Dominik caught up to him in the upper office.
Mikhail Durov.
The thief.
Panicked. Blood on his sleeve. A pistol in his hand that trembled so hard it might as well have been made of paper.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” he spat. “This was just business.”
Dominik’s expression didn’t change. “And this is just the consequence.”
BANG.
One shot.
Right in the thigh.
Mikhail screamed and collapsed.
Dominik walked toward him, slow and deliberate.
“You steal from me,” he said, crouching beside the man, “and you lie about it. Do you know what that makes you?”
“P-please—”
Dominik grabbed his face, squeezing his jaw so hard Mikhail whimpered.
“It makes you the example.”
Then, he stood and aimed.
One bullet.
Straight through the skull.
Scene: The Message
Dominik turned to Valentin. “Burn it.”
Valentin didn’t blink. “Everything?”
“Every. Crate.”
They poured fuel.
Set the timers.
By the time Dominik stepped out into the snow, flames were reaching for the sky like hell had cracked open.
The black SUVs waited.
Dominik climbed in without a word, brushed soot from his sleeve, and stared out the window.
Valentin slid into the passenger seat, silent.
No one dared speak.
Not yet.
Not until Dominik said:
“Anyone else touches my empire again... bury them.”
The convoy rolled through the iron gates like returning beasts from a successful hunt.
It was nearly dawn. The sky still bruised, the air sharp with frost.
Dominik stepped out first.
His coat was stained in blood—not his.
His gloves black and wet from the fire-drenched warehouse.
Valentin followed close behind, scanning the estate with the same narrowed look he always wore after a mission. A predator, even in peace.
No one greeted them.
No one dared.
But from the third-floor balcony, a pair of eyes followed Dominik’s every step.
Misha.
Wrapped in a blanket, pale fingers clutching the rail.
Watching.
Waiting.
Wondering what kind of man Dominik really was.
Dominik didn’t look up. He didn’t need to.
He felt the gaze. And ignored it.
Scene: Inside the Mansion
Valentin tossed his jacket onto a chair, shaking snow from his boots. One of the house guards approached, his voice shaking slightly.
“S-sir, the Bratva... they’ve called twice since midnight. No message.”
Dominik peeled off his gloves, tossed them into the fireplace. The flames hissed.
“Of course they did,” he murmured. “They’re not used to losing territory.”
Valentin poured a glass of vodka, handed it to him.
Dominik took it but didn’t drink. His eyes were sharp, thoughtful.
“They’ll retaliate,” Valentin said.
“They’ll try,” Dominik replied flatly. “But tonight reminded them—they bleed.”
He turned, finally glancing toward the stairs.
“You posted someone outside Misha’s room?”
Valentin’s brows twitched slightly. “He’s under guard. As you ordered. But... he hasn’t eaten.”
“I didn’t ask for a report on his appetite,” Dominik snapped. “Just make sure he stays safe.”
Valentin said nothing. But the silence was heavy.
Scene: Alone in the Shadows
Later, when the house had quieted and the rest of the men retired to their quarters, Dominik stood outside Misha’s room.
He didn’t knock.
He didn’t enter.
He just stood there—blood on his shirt, soot on his skin, and guilt, maybe, thick on his shoulders.
From inside, he could hear quiet breathing. Shifting.
Misha was awake.
He didn’t speak.
Neither did Dominik.
Only the cold silence stretched between them like a wall of ice.
Scene: Valentin’s Warning
Downstairs, Valentin lit another cigarette by the window, staring out into the falling snow.
One of the guards approached.
“What now?”
Valentin exhaled smoke through his nose. “Now we reinforce the estate.”
“And Dominik?”
Valentin’s jaw tightened.
“He’s not thinking clearly. And the enemies are watching.”
He flicked ash to the floor.
“If he slips… this whole empire burns.”
"Back in the Estate
The estate was quiet.
Too quiet.
No word. No warning. No goodbye.
Just gone.
By the time the first rays of pale sunlight slipped through the frostbitten windows, the household already knew—Dominik had vanished in the dead of night.
Vanished with Valentin.
Vanished with six men.
Vanished with purpose.
No note. No orders. No explanation.
Lev noticed first.
Two days had passed without Dominik’s heavy footsteps outside his door, no food tray forcefully delivered, no sarcastic demands, no possessive glances. Just... silence.
And silence wasn’t Dominik’s nature.
He paced his room like a caged wolf, waiting for the inevitable knock. But it never came.
Until he overheard them.
The guards.
Whispering near the west wing kitchen—too careless, too loud.
“...He left for Serbia. Deadly job. High body count. The Ivanovs in Belgrade are shitting themselves. That bastard already torched two facilities—”
“—one in Novi Sad. Wiped the whole board. Didn’t even wait for negotiations—”
“...Word is, even Petrovich cancelled all future dealings. Just thought of crossing Dominik, and pulled out. That’s power, man.”
Lev’s jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists.
Dominik had left.
Without telling him.
Without a word.
And still, he cared enough to try before he left.
That night, Lev had refused to open his door.
From behind it, he heard Dominik’s voice—quiet, heavy, conflicted.
“Lev… open the door. Just for a minute.”
Lev had stared at the handle, fists trembling.
“Go to hell,” he’d spat. “Kick rocks.”
Silence followed. Then slow footsteps walking away.
Scene: Serbia, Days Before
The skies over Serbia were black with smoke.
Dominik stood atop a rooftop overlooking the charred remnants of a warehouse. Petrovich’s men littered the ground like broken dolls—bodies slumped in blood, necks twisted at unnatural angles.
Valentin stood beside him, ash dusting his coat.
“Three cartels folded,” Valentin said. “The rest are pulling out of our supply chain. You’ve scared them into submission.”
Dominik didn’t answer.
He was staring down at his gloves—stained again.
Not with guilt.
With routine.
“You should’ve told Misha,” Valentin muttered. “Or Lev.”
Dominik’s jaw flexed. “They’re safer not knowing.”
“Are they?” Valentin lit a cigarette, the flame reflecting in his tired eyes. “Or are you just too much of a coward to say goodbye?”
Scene: The Return – One Week Later
The estate gates opened like jaws swallowing the night.
The convoy returned.
Black SUVs. Men in dark coats. Guns. Blood. Silence.
And at the center of it all—Dominik.
Unshaven. Exhausted. Alive.
He stepped out of the vehicle slowly, carrying only two things:
A small black velvet box.
And a glass-covered snow globe with a miniature reindeer inside.
He carried the gifts like burdens.
Scene: Misha’s Room
Misha was curled beneath his blanket when the door creaked open.
Dominik stepped inside slowly, eyes softening the moment they landed on the boy.
“Misha…”
Misha sat up slowly, curls tousled, blinking like he couldn’t believe the man in front of him was real.
“You’re back,” he whispered.
Dominik didn’t speak. He just crossed the room in three steps and sank to his knees beside the bed.
“I brought you something.” His voice was raw.
He placed the snow globe in Misha’s hands. Inside, fake snow swirled around the tiny reindeer.
“It reminded me of you. Soft. Quiet. Still... somehow strong.”
Misha’s fingers curled around it.
Dominik leaned forward, pressed his lips to Misha’s temple, then down to his cheek.
Misha turned his head—just slightly—then let Dominik kiss him.
Not with hunger.
With longing.
With apology.
“I missed you,” Dominik murmured against his skin.
“You should’ve told me,” Misha replied softly.
“I know.”
Their foreheads rested together, and for a moment—just a moment—Dominik didn’t feel like a monster.
Scene: Lev’s Room
Dominik knocked once.
No answer.
He entered anyway.
Lev was sitting cross-legged on the floor, headphones on, books scattered around him. The moment he saw Dominik, his face twisted.
“You got a lot of balls showing up here,” Lev said coldly.
Dominik stepped forward, holding a small black box.
“For you.”
“I don’t want it.”
“You haven’t even seen it.”
Lev stood, eyes hard, jaw clenched.
“I don’t give a f**k what you brought back. Jewelry? Apology? Guilt wrapped in satin? Whatever it is—shove it.”
Dominik’s face hardened.
“I left to protect us all.”
“You left because you could,” Lev snapped. “And because you think everything you do, we’ll just wait around for it. Well guess what? I don’t wait anymore.”
Dominik’s voice dipped low. Dangerous.
“Careful, Lev.”
Lev took a step closer, eyes blazing. “Why? You gonna shoot me too? Like you did Durov? Like you did Petrovich? Go on. I dare you.”
Silence. Heavy. Cold.
Dominik stared at him for a long moment… then placed the box on the table.
“Keep it. Or throw it away. I don’t care.”
He turned and walked to the door.
Lev’s voice stopped him.
“You care, Dominik. That’s the problem.”
Dominik didn’t look back.
Didn’t respond.
Didn’t breathe.
He walked out—and this time, the silence followed him.
Scene: Valentin's Watch
Outside, Valentin leaned against the balcony railing, smoking again.
He watched the snowfall and the empire below.
And said nothing when Dominik passed by, knuckles bloodless.
Because he saw it in the man’s eyes.
Dominik wasn’t just bleeding enemies.
He was bleeding inside.
And if Lev wasn’t careful...
He’d be the one to burn Dominik down completely.
Later, when the house had quieted and the rest of the men retired to their quarters, Dominik stood outside Misha’s room.
He didn’t knock.
He didn’t enter.
He just stood there—blood on his shirt, soot on his skin, and guilt, maybe, thick on his shoulders.
From inside, he could hear quiet breathing. Shifting.
Misha was awake.
He didn’t speak.
Neither did Dominik.
Only the cold silence stretched between them like a wall of ice.
He turned to leave.
As he walked down the corridor toward his private study, Valentin intercepted him—face tense, voice low.
- Writer
