"And your plan?"
"Happens after the exchange. After they're safe."
The silence stretched.
Mikhail's voice cut through it—rough, ancient, carrying the weight of a man who'd built an empire and watched it threatened before.
"Trust your brother."
We all turned to look at the old man. Katerina shifted against his chest, made a small sound, settled back into sleep.
"I've watched you three all your lives," Mikhail continued. "Maksim doesn't move without reason. If he says trust him—trust him."
Nikolai held my gaze for a long moment. Then nodded, once.
"Send word to Anton. We accept."
The tension in the room shifted. Not dissipated—nothing could dissipate it, not with our women in chains somewhere in this city—but redirected. Focused. We had a direction now, even if only I knew where it led.
"I'll send the message," I said. "Dawn. The private airfield. Tell him we'll be there."
Nikolai nodded.
Konstantin's eyes held mine for a long moment—searching, suspicious, desperately wanting to believe.
I couldn't give him certainty. Could only give him my word.
"Trust me," I said again.
He turned away.
And I went to send word to the man who'd taken everything, telling him he'd won.
The lie tasted like ash.
But somewhere across the city, Auralia was waiting. Chained and afraid, counting on me to find a way.
I would not fail her again.
Thewarehousesmelledlikesalt water and diesel fuel.
Red Hook at dawn—the particular grey light that made everything look washed out and fragile. I stood with my brothers near our vehicles, watching Anton's convoy approach, counting the SUVs and the armed men and trying not to think about what would happen if Deshnev didn't come.
He would come.
He had to come.
The alternative was unthinkable.
Anton emerged from the lead vehicle like a king surveying conquered territory. His smile was razor-sharp, his posture loose with satisfaction. He'd dressed for the occasion—expensive coat, gleaming shoes, the particular aesthetic of a man who wanted his victory documented for posterity.
"Gentlemen." His voice carried across the empty space between us. "So good of you to see reason."
Nikolai said nothing. His face was carved from ice, every emotion buried so deep even I couldn't read it.
Konstantin's hands were fists at his sides. I could feel the violence radiating off him, barely contained, waiting for any excuse to explode.
I kept my own expression neutral. Professional. The Fox, doing what foxes did—playing along, biding time, waiting for the moment to strike.
