The sound punches through my chest.
Every calculated strategy, every careful plan, every ounce of control I've maintained threatens to explode into pure violence.
I force myself to breathe.
We reach the corridor.
The bathroom door hangs broken from its hinges, wood splintered around the lock. Emergency lighting casts everything in harsh shadows.
And there, in the middle of the hallway, Ramiz Krasniqi holds Victoria in front of him like a shield.
Gun to her head.
Arm locked around her throat.
Smile on his face.
Victoria's dress is torn, hair wild around her shoulders. Her eyes find mine immediately. Wide. Terrified.
Alive.
Relief cuts through me so sharply it hurts.
I step forward, Zakhar and Alexei moving with me. We form a wall across the corridor, three bodies blocking any escape. Synchronized. Absolute.
Behind us, our men fan out. Creating a perimeter. Cutting off every angle, every possibility, every chance Ramiz has of walking out of this building alive.
This is what we are.
The Severyn Bratva at full strength.
"Drop the weapon," I say. My voice is calm. Measured. "Let her go."
Ramiz laughs. The sound echoes off tile and concrete, wrong and hollow.
"Maksim Severyn. I was hoping you'd come." His accent thickens with excitement, with madness.
"Last chance," Zakhar says. His voice is quieter than mine. Deadlier. "Drop it."
"I don't think so." Ramiz presses the gun harder against Victoria's temple. She flinches, a tiny movement that makes my vision go white at the edges. "You see, we're going to negotiate. You're going to give me what I want, and I'm going to let your pretty wife live."
"You're in no position to negotiate," I tell him.
"Aren't I?" He shifts, pulling Victoria tighter against him. "I have the one thing you can't replace. The one weakness in your perfect empire."
He's right.
He's absolutely right.
And he's still going to die.
"What do you want?" I ask, buying time. Calculating angles. Watching for the moment when his focus slips, when his grip loosens, when I can take the shot without risking her.
"Respect," Ramiz says. "Recognition. This is my city. My territory. And I'm going to take it back, starting with your wife's blood on this floor."
Victoria's sob is soft but I hear it. Feel it between my ribs.
"You have three seconds to lower your weapons," Ramiz shouts. "Or I paint these walls with her brain."
