“Security system?” I asked, scanning for cameras.
“Blind spot by design,” Mikhail replied. “My father doesn’t want his private collection monitored too closely. Even by his own people.”
We moved through the cellar to a spiral staircase at the far end. I checked my watch—eight minutessince Declan and the others had set off the explosions. We needed to move faster.
“Status report,” I whispered into my mic.
“Holding their attention at the main gate,” Declan responded, his voice punctuated by what sounded like gunfire. “But they’ve called in reinforcements. You’ve got maybe ten minutes before they realize it’s a diversion.”
“Copy that,” I replied. “We’re entering the main house now.”
At the top of the stairs, Mikhail paused again, listening at the door before easing it open. We emerged into a service hallway, thankfully deserted.
“This way,” Mikhail directed, leading us toward what appeared to be a main corridor. “We’ll need to access the west staircase.”
We moved quickly but cautiously, flattening ourselves against the wall at the sound of running footsteps. Two guards rushed past the end of our hallway, heading toward the commotion at the front of the house.
“Clear,” I whispered, and we continued.
The mansion was a maze of corridors and rooms, each more opulent than the last. Even in the midst of our mission, I couldn’t help noticing the obscene wealth on display. All built on blood money, much like the MacGallan home.
We reached the west staircase without seeinganymore guards, but my instincts were screaming that it was too easy. Alexei was too smart, too paranoid to leave his defenses this thin, diversion or no diversion.
“I don’t like this,” I murmured to Mikhail as we climbed the stairs. “Where is everyone?”
His expression darkened. “The panic room. He must have taken her there already.”
Ella’s sharp intake of breath made both of us turn. “The tracker,” she said, holding up her phone. “It’s moving.”
I checked my own screen. She was right—Nora’s signal was now descending, moving deeper into the house.
“Basement level,” Mikhail confirmed, his face grim. “The panic room is essentially a bunker. Once they’re inside, we can’t get to them without explosives.”
“Let’s go,” I said, already turning back down the stairs. “Before that door closes.”
We raced back the way we had come, this time with less caution. Speed was more important than staying hidden. Mikhail led us down another set of stairs, deeper into the house, following the tracker’s signal.
“Left here,” he directed, turning down a corridor lined with what looked like storage rooms. “The entrance is behind a bookcase in my father’s study atthe end of this hall.”
As we approached, I heard voices—a man speaking sharply in Russian, and then, unmistakably, Nora’s voice:
“I want to go home! Let me go!”
Ella surged forward at the sound, and I barely caught her arm before she could break into a run. “Wait,” I whispered. “We do this right, because we won’t get a second chance.”
She nodded, though I could feel her trembling with the effort of restraining herself.
We crept closer to the partially open door of the study. Through the gap, I could see an older man with silver hair—Alexei, I assumed—gripping Nora’s arm as he tried to pull her toward a bookcase that had been swung away from the wall, revealing a heavy steel door beyond.
“You will obey me,” he was saying in heavily accented English. “We don’t have time for this nonsense.”
“No!” Nora twisted in his grip, her small face fierce with defiance. “My mom is coming for me. And Jake, too. They’ll find me!”
Pride surged through me at her courage, even as fear for her safety tightened around my heart like a vise.
Mikhail motioned for us to hold position while he circled around to approach from another entrance.I nodded, drawing my weapon and positioning myself to cover the doorway.
“Ella,” I whispered, “when I give the signal, you stay behind me until I say it’s clear. Then get to Nora as fast as you can.”
