Tonight was different.
The explosion was beautiful. Green, red, and blue lights danced in the rain.
Lev exhaled smoke. “Same as always. Nobody owns the mobtop. You just rent it from me.” mobtop
The rain over Verensk had a name: Lev “The Sponge” Tarasov. He wasn’t a killer or a thief. Lev ran the mobtop —the clandestine airspace above the city’s five crime families.
Lev Tarasov didn’t need a gun. He had gravity. Tonight was different
With three keystrokes, he told the ghost drone that the gold depository was actually the basement of Viktor’s own mansion. Then he told every other drone in the sky that Viktor’s mansion was dropping 50 kilos of uncut heroin.
Within six minutes, seventeen drones from five families swarmed Viktor’s rooftop. The ghost drone, confused, dropped its payload through Viktor’s skylight—a brick of C4 wrapped in a flag. Lev exhaled smoke
Lev zoomed in. The ghost drone was military-grade. Silent Eagle model. Only one man in Verensk could afford that: Viktor the Accountant, the soft-handed broker who’d recently decided he wanted to be king.