Julian crosses the room. Stops close enough that I can see the exhaustion in his eyes, the fear he’s trying to hide behind anger. “So you can get yourself killed trying to play hero? So my nephews can lose both parents in one night?”
“I’m not getting killed. I’m getting her back.”
“You don’t know that. The Petrovs are expecting you. They took her to draw you out. This is a trap and you’re walking straight into it.”
“I know it’s a trap. I’m walking in anyway.”
Julian’s hands clench into fists. For a second I think he’s going to hit me again. Instead he turns and walks to the window overlooking the warehouse floor. “My people can handle this,” he says. “We have resources. Training. Experience with extractions. You stay out of it and I’ll bring my sister home.”
“No.”
He spins around. “This isn’t negotiable.”
“You’re right. It’s not. I’m going in whether you help or not.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
“Probably. But she’s down there being tortured because she won’t give them my name. Because she’s protecting me even though it’s costing her everything. I owe her more than sitting here while you handle it.”
Julian’s jaw works. He wants to argue. Wants to tell me to leave again. But he can’t, because he knows I won’t listen.
Declan interrupts us. “We have audio,” he says.
“From where?”
“Jefferson warehouse. One of our guys got a directional mic close enough to pick up sound from the basement level.”
My blood goes cold. “And?”
“You need to hear this.”
He puts it on speaker. Static at first. Then voices. Male. Russian accents. Asking questions I can’t make out clearly. Then there’s a scream from a woman, but it cuts off abruptly, and more Russian voices follow. Then silence. Declan ends the recording.
I can’t move, can’t think past the sound of Aurelia screaming.
Julian’s face has gone white. “When was that recorded?”
“Fifteen minutes ago,” Declan says quietly.
“Play it again.”
“Julian—”
“Play it again!”
Declan plays it. The screaming fills the office. Julian listens with his eyes closed, hands gripping the edge of my desk so hard his knuckles go white.
When it ends, he’s shaking. “That’s my sister,” he says. Voice hoarse. “That’s Aurelia and they’re torturing her and I’m standing here arguing with you instead of getting her out.” He pulls out his phone. Makes a call. “It’s me. I need everything we have on Petrov operations. Jefferson Street specifically.” He listens. “I don’t care about protocol. Send it now. All of it.”
He hangs up and looks at me. “My people have detailed intelligence on that warehouse. Building schematics, guard rotations, security weaknesses. You’ll have it in five minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because my anger won’t save her. Because every second we waste, they’re hurting her more. Because you’re right and I hate that you’re right but you are.” He moves closer. “We work together. Your resources and mine. Coordinated assault. We get her out and then we end the Petrovs permanently.”
“Agreed.”
“But if she dies because you do something stupid?—”
