The Punisher - Part 2 Apr 2026

Volkov’s head snapped toward the door. “Who else is here?”

Frank walked toward him slowly, the EBR now slung across his back. He drew a .45 from his thigh holster.

He fired once. Vaccaro’s body jerked backward, over the parapet, and fell without a sound into the rain. The Punisher - Part 2

Frank chambered a round. The sound was a soft chk , but in the wet silence of the roof, it carried.

Frank stood there for a moment, breathing the cold air. Then he knelt, picked up the flash drive, and tucked it into his vest. The names on it would take him six months to work through. Six months of blood and gunpowder and sleepless nights. Volkov’s head snapped toward the door

One.

The lead Russian—a scarred ox named Volkov—laughed. “And what do you take, portnoy ? Fifty percent? For paper and promises?” He fired once

He raised the .45.

The rain had turned to a cold mist. On the far side of the roof, beneath a makeshift awning, stood Orlando Vaccaro. He was smaller than his photos—soft, round, with the pale hands of a man who had never done his own killing. Flanking him were two hulking men with Russian tattoos peeking from their collars. Across from them, three Bratvois in tracksuits, holding a steel briefcase.

Here is Part 2 of the story.