Chapter 28
Makari
By the second morning, everything is finally where it needs to be.
The estate is locked down with the precision of a military outpost, every gate monitored, every entry point reinforced, every rotation doubled. My men move like a single organism, each one aware of what’s coming. Even the air feels taut; like the wilderness itself is holding its breath.
I stand on the overlook above the main compound, reviewing the last of the maps Jesse compiled overnight. The pattern has solidified: the rival syndicate isn’t simply probing my defenses; they’re building the outline of an incursion, carving a path that snakes between ridges and switchbacks where visibility is nearly nonexistent. They’re clever, patient, and brutal enough to have killed two of my men without hesitation.
But they made a mistake.
They touched what’s mine.
Jesse approaches quietly, the gravel crunching under his boots. He doesn’t speak until he’s beside me. “Dima’s at the helipad.”
I glance up. “He’s leaving now?”
“He insisted. Said he wants to reach Boston before it gets dark.”
A faint, humorless smile tugs at my mouth. That man treats long-distance travel like a personal insult, but for Andrea, he’ll do anything without argument.
We walk down toward the helipad together.
Dima is loading the last of his gear into the helicopter. Rifles, ammunition, a spare communication pack, and an absurdly long-handled shovel strapped to the outside of his go-bag. He sees us approaching and gives a solemn nod, the kind he reserves for matters he considers sacred.
“You’re sure about this property?” I ask him.
“Yes. Clean. Secure.” He tugs at the strap of his bag. “The boy likes trains, yes? There is a model set in the rec room. Will keep him busy.”
“I’m pretty sure Roxanne’s nephew is too old for trains.” I state without inflection.
“The family talks too much. I will cope.” Dima stoically says.
Jesse coughs to hide a laugh.
I fold my arms. “Your job is Andrea.”
“Da,” Dima says. “If anyone comes near her, I’ll use this.” He taps the shovel proudly.
“A shovel? I told you to take an extra gun.” Aside from the six he already has on him.
“I am taking a few,” he says, offended. “But shovel is quieter. Cleaner. Less paperwork.”
“Take the gun.”
“Shovel,” he answers, as if that ends the discussion.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Take both.”
He considers this with all the seriousness of a man evaluating a treaty. Then he nods. “Both,” he agrees, satisfied.
The rotors begin to spin as he climbs aboard. Before he shuts the door, he leans out. “Boss.”
“Yes?”
His expression softens, rare and unguarded. “She will be safe.” He doesn’t need to say who.
The helicopter lifts, kicking up dust and pine needles before rising above the trees, shrinking into the sky. I trust Dima with my life, but trusting him with Andrea feels like something far more perilous. Something I don’t have the right word for yet. It feels strange not having him here with me; uneasy.
