And I didn't know how to stop.
***
On the fifth day, we got our first break.
One of the false intelligence trails had been acted upon. A shipment schedule I'd fed specifically to Lucas Federov—and only to him—had somehow reached Pankratov's people. They'd sent men to intercept a truck that didn't exist, walking into a trap we'd prepared.
Two Armenians captured. Both talking after sufficient motivation.
They confirmed what the false trail had suggested: Lucas was the mole.
Lucas Federov. Head of club security. A man who'd been with the organization for eight years, who'd earned my trust through consistent performance and apparent loyalty. A man I'd promoted just six months ago, giving him access to exactly the kind of information Pankratov needed.
"Why?" I asked Semyon, staring at the evidence laid out before us. "He's well-paid. No financial problems that we know of. No family connections to the Armenians."
"According to our new Armenian friends, Pankratov approached him a year ago. Offered him territory—his own crew, his own operations, once the Chernov Bratva was dismantled." Semyon's voice was flat with disgust. "Lucas was patient. Waited until he had access to sensitive information before he started feeding."
"A year." I stood abruptly, pacing to the window. "A year he's been planning this. Watching. Waiting."
"He was good. I'll give him that." Semyon paused. "He's being held at the warehouse on Atlantic Avenue. Waiting for you."
I thought of Gabrielle. Of the island, its location potentially compromised if Lucas had access to thatinformation. Of the danger she might be in because I'd trusted the wrong man.
"Does he know about the Greek property?"
"Unknown. He wasn't part of the team that prepared it for her arrival, but he might have learned through other channels." Semyon met my eyes. "We should assume he knows. Assume Pankratov knows."
My blood ran cold.
"Get the plane ready," I said. "I'm going to deal with Lucas. Then I'm going back to her."
"Vasily, Pankratov—"
"Can wait." I was already moving toward the door. "If he knows where she is, every second I waste here is a second she's in danger. I'll finish this with Lucas, then I'm on the first flight out."
Semyon didn't argue. He knew better.
Some things were more important than strategy.
***
Lucas Federov died slowly.
I won't detail what I did to him in that warehouse. Some things are better left unspoken, even in my own mind. But before he died, he told me everything.
Pankratov's plans. The scope of the betrayal. The information that had been passed, including—as I'd feared—the location of my Greek property.
The island wasn't safe anymore.
I called Kirill from the warehouse, Lucas's blood still drying on my hands. "Triple the guards on the island. No one approaches without clearance. And tell Gabrielle to stay inside. Don't tell her why—I don't want to frighten her. But keep her safe until I arrive."
"Yes, boss."
I ended the call and stared at my phone, at the last message Gabrielle had sent me that morning:Working on the Athens report. Miss you.
Two words. Simple. Devastating.
I was coming back to her. Coming back to protect her from the danger my own failures had created.
