"You'll do exactly that." I move closer, cupping her face in my hands. "I can't focus on the mission if I'm worried about protecting you. I need you here, safe, where I know the Kozlovs can't use you against me."
She opens her mouth to argue, and I do the only thing I can think of to stop her. I kiss her, hard and desperate, pouring everything I can't say into the press of my lips against hers. She makes a small sound of surprise, then melts into me, her hands fisting in my shirt.
When I pull back, we're both breathing hard.
“Thank you.” She smiles. “But my mind is made up. I’m going with you.”
I know when I’ve been beaten, and this is one of those times. Reluctantly, I nod.
“But,” I stress, holding a finger in front of her face, “you’ll stay in the car.”
She thinks about that a second, then nods.
The convoy is ready when we reach the courtyard. Alexei is in the lead vehicle despite his injury, because I need his tactical mind. Boris is positioned in the second vehicle with his sniper rifle, ready to provide cover, his leg wrapped tightly against the bullet wound he’d received earlier. The rest are soldiers I've fought beside for years, men I trust with my life.
I slide into the driver's seat of the lead SUV, my hands gripping the wheel. Alina scoots into the passenger’s seat. The engine roars to life, and we pull out of the estate in tight formation.
Riverside Airfield is on the eastern edge of the city, a small private facility used mostly by wealthy businessmen and the occasional celebrity. The drive takes thirty minutes that feel like thirty hours. My mind races through scenarios, contingencies, backup plans. If Katya is there, if we can extract her before the plane takes off, this could be over tonight. But if it's a trap, if the Kozlovs have positioned their forces to ambush us, we could be walking into a massacre.
I glance at Alina. Even though her head is to the side, staring out the window, I can still see her reflection in the glass. Her features are pinched with worry, but there’s a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
"Pakhan." Alexei's voice cuts through my thoughts. "We're five minutes out. What's the play?"
I force myself to focus, to become the cold, calculating Pakhan my men need. "We go in quiet. Recon first, then extraction. If they spot us, if shooting starts, priority one is getting the girl out alive. Everything else is secondary."
"And if it's a trap?"
"Then we spring it and deal with the consequences." I check my weapon, the familiar weight of the Glock reassuring in my hand. "But we're not leaving without Katya."
The airfield comes into view, a collection of hangars and a single runway surrounded by chain-link fence. Security lights illuminate the perimeter, but I can see dark patches where the coverage is weak. Entry points.
I kill the headlights and pull off the main road, the other vehicles following suit. We park in the shadow of a warehouse about two hundred yards from the airfield entrance and I remind Alina once again to stay in the car.
“I will,” she promises.
"Boris, find a position with a clear view of the runway." I'm already moving, checking my tactical vest, making sure everything is in place. "Everyone else, standard extraction formation. Alexei, you're with me."
My men disperse like shadows, moving with the practiced efficiency of soldiers who've done this a hundred times before. I watch them go, feeling the familiar pre-combat adrenaline start to pump through my veins.
This is what I'm good at. Violence. Strategy. Survival.
But as we approach the fence, as I scan the airfield for threats, I realize something has changed. I'm not just fighting for territory or power or revenge. I'm fighting for something more important.
I'm fighting for the woman waiting at home. For the sister she loves. For the family we're trying to build from the ashes of everything that's been destroyed.
The thought should make me weak, should cloud my judgment. Instead, it makes me sharper, more focused. More dangerous.
We cut through the fence and slip onto the airfield grounds. The main hangar is lit up, and I can see figures moving inside. At least six men, maybe more. And there, on the tarmac, a small private jet with its engines already running.
They're preparing to leave. We're running out of time.
I signal my men to hold position while Alexei and I move closer, using the shadows for cover. Through the hangar's open door, I can see more clearly now. Kozlov soldiers, armed and alert.
I'm about to signal the assault when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Unknown number. Every instinct screams at me not to answer, that it's a distraction, a trap. But something makes me pull it out, makes me accept the call.
Static crackles through the line. Then a voice, young and terrified and so much like Alina's it makes my chest ache.
"Please." Katya's voice is barely a whisper, choked with tears. "Please, someone help me. Alina, if you can hear this, I'm so scared. They're going to take me somewhere and I don't know what they're going to do and I just want to go home. Please, Alina, please help me."
