“How’d you find him?”
“He used a credit card once. Bought groceries. Small mistake but enough.”
“Get a team together. We go tonight.”
The drive to Connecticut takes two hours. We bring eight men who are heavily armed and ready for resistance.
The motel is a run-down building on a state highway. There are cars with expired registrations in the parking lot. No one asks questions in these parts if you pay cash. Alexei’s room is on the second floor. Number fourteen. Lights off. No movement visible through the window.
We stack up outside the door. Marcus has the battering ram. On my signal, he hits it hard. The door splinters and we’re through it before the wood stops falling.
The room is empty.
No Alexei. No belongings. Just cheap furniture and the smell of mold.
“He ran,” Declan says. “Probably saw us coming.”
“How long ago?”
“Can’t be more than an hour. His car was in the lot when we arrived.”
We search anyway. Check under the bed, in the closet, the bathroom. Find nothing except a receipt from a gas station dated this morning.
He’s gone.
We’re loading back into vehicles when my phone rings. Unknown number.
I answer. “Talk.”
“Cassian Rourke.” The voice is male, Russian accent, calm. “You’re looking for me.”
Alexei.
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere safe. Somewhere your people won’t find me.”
“You’re calling to negotiate.”
“I’m calling to tell you that you won. The Petrov Bratva is finished. Viktor is dead. His operation is dismantled. You’ve eliminated everyone who stood with us.”
“Except you.”
“Except me. And I intend to keep it that way.”
“Then why call?”
“Because I want you to know I’m leaving. Leaving the city, leaving the country, disappearing completely. You’ll never see me again. Your family will never be in danger from me.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“You don’t have to. I’m telling you as a courtesy. Professional to professional. The war is over. You won. Let it end here.”
I consider this. He could be lying. Could be planning another attack. Could be buying time to regroup. But he sounds defeated. Tired. Like a man who knows when he’s beaten.
“If I ever see you again,” I say, “or if anything happens to my family, I’ll hunt you down and finish this.”
“Understood. Goodbye, Cassian Rourke.” He hangs up.
