“Loulou. We’re safe. We’re safe. We’re on our way to the airfield. I’m so sorry,ma princess. Je t’aime. A tout de suite.”
I close my eyes, trying to get my shit together. The airfield we’ll land at is an enclave of neutral territory half an hour away from Split, by the coast. Until they reach its limits, they could still be in danger.
“How’s Diane?” I ask, throat clogged with emotions.
“I’m okay, Loulou,” she answers but her voice is hoarse and with everything she had to go through on this mission, I don’t think sheisokay. Her bravery hits me in the chest.
“And Toma?” Silence descends in the cabin and the air grows cold. “Tell me.”
“He’s…”
“Just tell her, Bruno,” Diane says and I’m grateful she understands what I need. He may have hurt me but his death would be worse.
“His brother took him. We left, but he said he’ll stall The Butcher. You need to hurry if you want to save the boy’s life.”
“We’ll get him,” Irina whispers in my ear a few times while I nod absentmindedly.
By the time we reach Split, Christmas morning greets us, the low light barely illuminating the airfield. A heavy fog covers Mosor Mountain in the distance, promising a light dusting of snow in the next few days. The strong wind slaps all of us with cold wet air. Somehow, it’s what I need to settle my nerves. My entire demeanour changes. I’m not a woman looking for the man she loves. I’m a soldier again.
My eyes clash with Irina. She nods once and I do the same. Just like we did before, I’m hers to command, a soldier obeying her general. I might not be the best, but I’m as well trained asanyone else in our team. And more importantly, I’m determined to get to Toma.
In reinforced vans, we drive towards the city. We’re going to cross paths with my father’s car, but with how I long to embrace Diane and him, and even Michel, I can’t afford to stop. We don’t have time. They’ll fly to London, and wait for us there.
Our biggest advantage is Petar’s eyes on Toma and the escaping prisoner. We might not be able to clean up the city of Petar’s complex organisation in one day, but we can extract Toma and kill the king. I trust Dante to continue the assault on the Bratva with the forces gathered by the Moretti family. Their alliance in our war against human trafficking and the Moscow Bratva and their allies will be key.
This will be our first battle, taking our enemies by surprise but retaliation will be brutal. Yet, the future has no place in my mind right now. Only what we’re set out to do.
When we arrive at the foot of the hill on which Petar Kovac’s house sits, we descend our vehicles and continue on foot. Everyone’s shoulders is up to their ears. Our feet are silent as we march to our destination, but the blood rushing to my ears is loud.
Aleksei, Dante and two more of their men spread across the expanse of the estate, hidden behind a fence. Cameras point towards where the rest of us are hidden but Andrea Capaldi, the cyber genius allied to my cousin, has already disabled them from a distance. It won’t be long until they manage to bypass him again, the ongoing dance of cyberattacks and counter-attacks fast as we will move through the house.
Waiting is the worst part of this.
My fingers flex around the trigger of my automatic rifle. The muzzle vibrates slightly with how unsettled I feel.
“Take a breath,” Irina commands, and I obey. Once. Twice. Another for good measure. “Steady your aim. Otherwise you’re a liability.”
I glance at her, her sniper rifle resting where she propped it on the ground. She’s ready to shoot the guards manning the doors at Dante or Aleksei’s notice. And she won’t hesitate. She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t falter.
When her husband’s voice echoes through her earpiece, her fingers flex and the two men at the doors fall like puppets with cut strings.
My heart rate speeds up. I swallow around glass, my throat raw with fear.
We storm the entrance of the Kovac’s headquarters. I follow at the end of the line. I only ever killed one man, and injured another. Death isn’t in my blood. But righteousness is. Retribution is.
Petar Kovac thought he could hurt and take what’s mine and I’ve let him. I’ve been silent. I did nothing for weeks. But no more.
Toma will come home with me and I won’t take any other outcome. I steel my spine and advance, knees bent and feet gliding silently across the property, crab-like, checking my rear.
A groan stops me in my tracks. I freeze, and glance down to a man clutching his side. Blood pours out of him from multiple bullets wounds. He moans in pain, his eyes barely seeing me. I crouch and press the muzzle of my rifle on one of his injuries. He howls, but I don’t care.
“Where is Toma?” I scream into his face, contorted in agony.
He shakes his head and I head-butt him, blood gushing out of his broken brow bone. “Toma. Toma Kovac. Where. Is. He?”
The man on the floor repeats a word over and over again in Croatian. I take my phone out of my back pocket and phonetically write the word down.
Basement.
