Dead.
The word sticks in my throat like a stone.
Alexander sets his mug down with a soft clink, drawing our eyes. He's been silent since delivering the news, making calls in low Russian that I couldn't understand. Now he looks like he has something on his mind—jaw working, eyes narrowed as if debating with himself.
"Alexander?" I ask, hope flickering. "You have an idea, don't you?"
He hesitates, rubbing a hand over his stubbled chin. The cut on his forehead has stopped bleeding, but it's ugly, purple bruising spreading around it. "I... might. But no. Viktor would forbid it. Involving you two? Not happening."
Robbie leans forward. "Come on, dude! We're already involved.Spill."
He shakes his head. "It's not my call. Boss's orders were clear… keep you safe, locked down."
I stand up, Goldie tumbling gently to the rug.
My legs feel shaky, but my voice is steady. "As Viktor's Little, I'm giving you a direct order. Tell us. You have no choice but to obey."
Alexander stares at me for a long second, then barks a short, surprised laugh. "It doesn't work like that, miss. You're his boy, not the Pakhan. Chain of command doesn't run through Littles."
Robbie crosses his arms. "But you're thinking about it. We can see it…"
Alexander sighs, leaning back against the counter. The penthouse is so quiet I can hear the hum of the fridge, the distant honk of traffic far below. After a pause that stretches forever, Alexander mutters something in Russian—probably a curse—then straightens. "To hell with it. Viktor' will kill me if he survives, but...fine."
We lean in, Robbie scooting closer on the rug. I perch on the edge of the couch, heart pounding.
"The ambush," Alexander says, voice low and rough. "Professional. Not street thugs. Mercenaries… ex-military types. Coordinated, equipped. Not our family's rivals. They don't operate like that. Too clean. This is more political level violence. I’ve seen it before. I think they're working for Harry Caulfield."
Robbie frowns. "The politician guy? Why?"
Alexander shrugs. "Caulfield's got motives. Viktor crossed him on a deal. Ambitious bastard... governor run, property empire. Hitting Viktor clears paths. And if I'm right about Caulfield..."
"Where would they take them?" I interrupt, my voice urgent. "Viktor and Ivan."
Alexander hesitates again, but he's in now. "Caulfield has got a place upstate. Secluded estate. Woods, security, off grid. Perfect for... holding people. Interrogating. Partying. Or worse."
The words hang heavy. Robbie and I exchange looks—fear, determination mirroring back. "Then we go," Robbie says, standing up. "What are we waiting for?"
Alexander holds up a hand. "Whoa. You two? No. That's not?—"
"Yes," I say, cutting him off. My mind is racing, pieces clicking. "We can help. We can scout, distract, something. You can't do it alone. You're hurt."
He rubs his injured arm, wincing. "I'm fine. But... Caulfield's place is fortified. Guards, cameras. Getting in quiet..."
Robbie paces. "We need a plan. Disguises? Delivery? Something innocent."
I nod, adrenaline surging. "Alexander, you know the layout?"
He sighs, seemingly ready to rock and roll with this idea, as crazy as it might be. "Yeah. Been there once for recon. Main house, guest cottage, perimeter fence. Woods for cover."
We huddle around the kitchen island, Alexander sketching a rough map on a napkin. Robbie brews more coffee, and I grab my sketchpad for notes.
The penthouse feels less like a cage now—more like a war room.
Doubts linger… am I crazy? Risking everything for a man whose world could destroy me? But the thought of Viktor hurt, alone, captured... no. I can't sit by.
Alexander outlines entry points, weak spots. "Nightfall. Dark helps."
“No,” I say. “We move now. There’s no time to waste.”
