Warning: blood, gore, shooting and murder :)

V I K T O R     M A K A R O V I C H — T H E      B U T C H E R

I had never understood the term 'necessary evil' until I said six hurtful words to Peach.

You mean what's left of it.

It wasn't necessary for me to be so angry at her. Every time she made me frustrated, all I had to do was look into her big brown eyes and slowly, the anger would dissipate. She had power over me, I knew that which is why when I found out about her brother... I realised it was best if we didn't get any closer than we already were.

Now we were close to being under siege.

I glanced at Peach as she was being dragged away, moving slow and shivering in her layers of clothes. I wanted to scold her on why she'd gone out in this weather with little on. Her skin was usually cool but now she was cold to the touch, something I didn't like. But I'd rather have her freezing than dead. I knew if she went with the others, she'd be safe.

I turned in the opposite direction and went to find my uncle. He was already barking orders, telling people to gear up and get ready. We only had one advantage and that was the fact that the attack had been foreseen.

"What Peach was saying is right I presume?" I asked my uncle and he nodded.

"I had them play back camera footage and they've been watching us for a while."

I let out a breath. Ok. "Get everyone from top floors and make sure they are centered in the middle then file then out slowly."

"Already done," my uncle assured me. People were running around us, the sound of guns being loaded for battle filled the office floor.

"Can we ID our attackers?" I asked and my uncle called forward a small petite blonde woman with glasses.

"Tell him what you told me."

"Well, Mr. Makarovich," the blonde begun looking nervous as a rosy blush dusted her cheeks. "It seems like the men attacking us are... our own."

"What?" I almost snapped at her.

"The van is from a branch of ours in Russia. I checked and it had been cleared for transport here months ago, along with a few other weapons."

I cursed and run a hand through my hair. What the hell was going on? Our mafia was turning in on itself.

"They are trying to destroy us from the inside out," I realised and everything was slowly making sense.

"Yes but who?!" my uncle raged.

I shook my head. I didn't know. Someone had inner access to the Bratva and enough sway to use our resources. By killing me, the mafia would have a little struggle for power since the pure Makarovich line would be cut. My uncle might have been family but his blood detached here and there. No one wanted to settle for second best. And Kira... no. Just no. I was keeping my sister as far away from this as possible.

"For now, we fight back. Shoot to kill," I ordered using my anger to fuel my need to figure this whole thing out. We'd been hitting dead ends everywhere we went.

I felt like we were hunting down a ghost. Someone who knew how to hide and had been given the best opportunity too. I didn't care who this person might be because they wanted my mafia. The one that was going to be given to me by my father. The old man might not have been the best person to look up to but seeing as he made sure I stayed alive to rule, I owed him one.

Everyone dispersed, getting orders and stations. No one was allowed near windows and we'd decided it was best not to commence the lockdown system until the main attack team was in the building. That way, it would be us and them, leaving stationed snipers to take down whoever was outside. I had some of my men leave with the group of non-fighters of which Peach was among and a couple more ready to chase down and shoot whoever tried to escape.

I would not take any prisoners. No one would talk. I did map out the area we were in, making sure there was a plan B. To fall back, there was a warehouse down the street where secret panic rooms had been installed. About ten people could hunker down there for about a week. It was not that safe because the area was due for a repair this week. Whatever was available would have to suffice.

I pulled on a bullet-proof vest over my dark long sleeved shirt and strapped guns to the waistband of my jeans. My hands though, itched for a weapon. They trembled with the need to take down our enemies as the Butcher and not a Don. I shook my head, my blonde hair flying in my face as I tried to dislodge those demons from my mind. When I followed these instincts, I lost myself in the rush of bloodlust and rage. For now, I wanted to deal with the latter.

Fully and heavily loaded, I joined my uncle who too sparted a vest and some weapons. Though his fighting days were long behind him, the Underboss knew how to shoot down the enemy.

"You stay with me Viktor," he demanded.

"I expect you to do the same uncle. There is no dying. That's an official order form your Don," I grumbled out the last bit, not wanting to lose anyone else in my life. My father, brother and Uncle Seymon had been men who I was proud to look up to. Markov fell into the category and his death would not sit well with me.

"You're giving orders to me?" Markov laughed. "Boy, I'm old enough to be your grandfather."

"And I'm old enough to realise that I have too little family left," I stated somberly. "Follow my orders."

My uncle still had a smile on his face. He didn't look worried. "Boy, men go into battle everyday. You must learn that a human life is as easy to give and take away as a toy," he explained. "Whether I die today or tomorrow, it makes no difference. Not much grief would follow in my wake."

"My grief would follow. And Kira's," I tried to reason with him and he waved my hand away.

"Grief can be overcome by some. It takes time, patience and, dare I say it, love. I have lost many things in this life. My wife, my children..." my uncle smiled sadly and I hated the fact that I only had a small recollection of my Aunt Molly and two cousins Dean and Erik. "I have learnt that holding onto someone is deadly. It messes with your mind. When you overcome this challenge you are born anew. The time you learn to appreciate memories, good or bad."

"I don't want to talk about overcoming grief," I said low, turning my head away from my uncle, using my hair to shield my expression.

"That is not my problem. I'm telling you now since no one had the time to. You believe you were close to Slavik and your father but you have not shed tears for them as someone who wholeheartedly loves a person should. All I am saying is that death is something that happens everyday, everywhere. We cannot change or alter it. We just have to accept the darkness that overcomes man as a punishment for our sins against God."

With those heavy words, my uncle guided me to the area our team was stationed. We all crouched down behind a small retaining wall inside the building. I prepared my rifle, running my hands down the cold weapon. My only solace was the fact that Peach would not be in the building to be caught in the crossfire. Her life it seemed, mattered more to me than my own.

"Group C1, what is your status? Over," one of my men voiced into the walkie-talkie in his hand. I didn't turn as the only sound that came back was static. "Group C1, I repeat; What is your status? Over."

At that moment the loud bag of franctic gunshots come from the floors below us. The walkie-talkie suddenly comes back to life.

"Thay've taken the bottom floors! Estimating almost twenty trained—"

It went silent, static hanging in the air between my men, uncle and I. We tried to get into contact again as the floors below became deathly silent. It was the calm before the storm, the moment when the heavens held their breath before beginning to release a downpour of blood and bullets.

Men came in from the stairs across the room, wearing full black S.W.A.T team attire but instead of the government initial, the bold R.B of my mafia stood out like a pink rose in a thousand white daisies. Those intials were meant to bring fear, a sign of death and war but only under my command.

So in a blinding rage, I poised my gun over the wall and shot. I took down three of the five imposters before they registered what was going on. Ducking for cover behind a wall similar to this one across the room, the other two shooters got an advantage. Bullets wheezed past over our head, imbedding themselves into the wall in front of us.

"Cover," I called and my uncle nodded before rising and letting his own deadly weapon do what it had to. I got out of the safety of the wall, dashing across the room before ducking beside a desk. The next time the two men came out, I was ready, letting my bullets catch both right through the neck, one of the only open spots.

The thud of their bodies hitting the ground was like a drum whose vibrations echoed in the dark confines of my mind. My breathing was rugged and my hands started to shake and not because of something stupid like fear, but because a pleasant rush went through my veins at the familiarity of a kill.

"Move!" I ordered my men and they left their post. Together in a simple military formation we made our way to the stairs and slowly down to where our help was most needed. We passed three bodies of some of our own and one of the not-so foreign enemy. I filed back in the line as we entered the floor below us, the man at the front shooting as it opened. I turned and did the same noticing the large number of enemy forces.

Tragically, our front man was hit but my uncle caught his body and used it as a human shield against the bullets that came our way. I followed behind him, the rest of the people with us ducking for cover over flipped tables. The loud bang of bullets as they left their machines echoed in my ears causing them to ring in the slightest. My hand had the familiar ache of the force of every shot I make from the weapon in my fingertips.

It feels like hours pass as men fall and I believe this floor might be clear. The room is destroyed by the path of the bullets and more than ten dead and bleeding bodies rest on the ground. Somewhere else in the building, shots ring out as people follow orders given to them by their respective leaders. My uncle and I rose, moving through the wreckage, guns to our faces. My men filtered behind me as we looked around and then I made a mistake.

Well, a mistake couldn't begin to describe the error I had just made.

I fucked up.

I noticed my uncle and I were near the windows too late. I called to him, wanting him and my men to pull back when the glass in front of me shattered and my Uncle's body jerked and fell to the ground. Everything moved slow, yet the event passed by so fast. He was dead before he hit the ground, his head turning to me with the force of the bullet as it tore through his skull, sending blood and brains everywhere.

"Markov!"

I barely had time to duck and find cover before the sniper reloaded and one of my men went down as well. It was now down to two people. My other employee found cover and terror was so clear against his features. He'd gone as pale as a ghost and his hand slipped, letting the gun fall. His vision was clouded, his mouth in a small 'o' as he tried to process what was happening. He'd gone into shock from everything and I knew without a doubt he was as useless as my uncle's dead body.

I crawled then towards the exit once more, not daring to glance at my Markov's body but knowing he was gone. My hands slipped in blood and my pants got soaked in the red liquid. I thought I was going to make it, get to another level and help whoever was there but the door to my only exit opened as I was still on my knees, trying to get myself up. I found my eyes at the same point with the barrel of a gun and ducked as a shot sounded above me.

I rested on my side and used my momentum to swing my long leg out and knock the weapon out of my opposer's grasp. I pulled out a handgun and my bullet landed home in his chest. But, he wasn't the only one. Seeing as I was faced with three other enemies.

I was quick to get up and disable them, using the guns to my benefit, twisting the weapons in the fists such that they didn't have a chance to shoot. They decided that I was going down the old fashion way and two pulled out knives from their vests. There was a deafening silence as the air around me rung and all I could think was that these motherfucking assholes had walked into my territory, carrying my name, having the confidence of a goddamn peacock and had my Uncle, their Underboss, shot down in cold blood.

I couldn't stop my bloodlust from taking over. My rage mixed with my need for vengeance and then I was moving, faster than I could track. My body had a mind of its own, dancing with the three assassins like they were action figures. I held the arm of one and bent it in an unnatural angle, taking the knife from its grip. His scream at the pain in his arm was like music to my crazed mind. I dropped him and put my focus on the other two.

One jumped on me, trying to distract me as his friend came closer, wanting to make his knife land home in my skin but I turned, his buddy arching off me as he got stabbed in the back. I took that opportunity to pull out my gun and shoot both right through their brains. Blood splattered across the wall and I felt some of the warm droplets land on my face. Breathing heavy, staining in the middle of a destroyed office surrounded by death and carnage, I drowned in a high of getting blood on my hands.

Then, I had the largest shock of my life. Standing ahead of me in a grey blood stained jumper and jeans was none other than Peach McCoy. Her hair looked hazardous like it had been grabbed, her deep brown eyes filled with worry and a guarded coldness that made my heart drop.

It took a second for me to remember that she wasn't supposed to be here. She couldn't be. The danger she was facing by being here with me was too great. My mind flashed to my uncle, laying in a pool of his own blood and brains not far from me. She could succumb to the same fate and if she did, I would never forgive myself, never recover. Why wasn't she out of the building? I saw her leave. It was normal for me to have hallucinations as an aftermath of my blood frenzy but they did not come this early.

"Peach?"

I couldn't tell whether the sound of her name had passed my lips. My thoughts were too thick for me to tread through, my muscles to taut to move and my ears too distracted by the sound of my heart pumping at an unhealthy rate.

I did register Peach lifting her gun, pointing it right at me with a determined look on her face as her hand wrapped around the trigger and a shot cut through the air between us.