I stand in the empty service road with my gun at my side and slushy rain spotting the concrete around me. My pulse is pounding, and everything in me is screaming to get in a car and follow. But a chase through the streets of St. Petersburg at five in the morning serves no one. Bogdan has a damn good head start.
He saw us pull up; that’s why he didn’t answer Daria’s call. He must have cameras in the neighborhood.
The thought burns through me as I holster the Makarov and walk back inside.
Boris meets me on the warehouse floor. Blood streaks the concrete near the south entrance, and two of Eduard’s men are hauling a zip-tied prisoner toward the loading dock. His face tells me everything I need to know.
“We got eight of his people,” Boris announces. “Six in custody, two wounded. Eduard’s team found a safe full of financial records in the south office, plus three laptops and a filing cabinet stuffed with shipping manifests. Tony says it’s enough to dismantle the laundering network.”
“But we don’t have him.”
Boris hooks his thumbs into his vest and studies my face. “It’s not a loss, Pyotr. We gutted his operation. Every lieutenant, document, and account. He’s running with two men andwhatever cash he grabbed on the way out. No infrastructure or protection. His uncle already cut him loose.”
I know Boris is right. Bogdan’s network is destroyed. The evidence we seized will bury anyone who ever worked with him, and the eight men in zip-ties downstairs will talk. They always do.
But Bogdan is still breathing, free, and capable of picking up a phone and calling Daria just to hear her gasp.
Daria.
She’s standing beside the vehicle with her phone still in one hand, staring at the warehouse. One of Boris’ men is three feet away. He probably tried to keep her inside.
The plan she argued for, and the confrontation she steeled herself to have, was gone before it started. Not because she failed, but because Bogdan is a coward surrounded by cowards.
I cross the service road in long strides and stop in front of her. Rain is freckling her jacket.
“What did you get?” she asks.
“Everything but him. His men, his records, and his network. Boris says it’s enough to destroy every operation Bogdan ever built.”
She stares past me at the warehouse where armed men are escorting prisoners into waiting vehicles. Then, her eyes come back to mine, and they’re filled with terror and tears.
Behind us, Boris barks orders at his men. Engines turn over. Radios squawk with updates from Tony’s surveillance feeds. Theoperation is pivoting from assault to pursuit, and every second counts.
But I give her this moment. Ten seconds of stillness in a parking lot that smells like rain and gunpowder.
Boris is right about one thing. A cornered predator is the most dangerous kind. Bogdan lost everything tonight. The only weapon he has left is the one he’s always been best at using.
Fear.
And he’s going to aim it straight at her.
32
Daria
We barely slept.
Pyotr drove us back from the warehouse while Boris stayed behind to handle the prisoners and evidence.
By the time we walked through the apartment door, the sky had gone from black to gray, and my body felt hollowed out.
I showered, changed clothes, and made tea I didn’t drink. Pyotr sat at the kitchen table with his gun on the placemat beside him, fielding calls from Tony and Alexei while I stared at the wall and waited for something I couldn’t name.
By midmorning, Boris has arrived with a laptop full of files from the raid. He and Pyotr have been bent over it since, cross-referencing shipping manifests with Tony on speakerphone. All three of them go quiet when my phone vibrates against the counter.
No name. No number. Just the word BLOCKED in white letters against black.
That word would have made me nauseous six months ago. Three months ago, it would have made me cry. One month ago, it would have sent me running to the bathroom to hyperventilate behind a locked door.
