“I will,” I promise.
26
DIMITRI
The clinic sits in a medical complex on the edge of the city. It’s three stories of beige brick and tinted windows, surrounded by office buildings and parking structures. It’s neutral territory with plenty of exits and most importantly, it’s surrounded by elevated positions where my men can set up overwatch.
Perfect for a trap.
I watch from a surveillance van across the street, banks of monitors showing feeds from sixteen different cameras from traffic cameras to building security. We installed the hidden cameras last night to ensure we had every angle covered and every approach visible.
My hands are clenched so tight my knuckles have gone white.
“Boss, you need to breathe,” Roman says from the driver’s seat. “You’re going to pass out.”
I scowl at him. “I’m fine.”
“You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”
“I said I’m fine,” I say sharply, but I force myself to take a breath. And another. It doesn’t help because Vera is in that building, and every instinct I have is screaming at me to go get her and pull her out before this stupid fucking plan gets her killed.
But we’re past that point now. The information was leaked twelve hours ago through channels we know Konstantin monitors. Vera needs a specialized ultrasound for the pregnancy and I’ve only provided minimal security (just two guards) because our resources are stretched thin after the estate attack. I’m unable to escort her because I’ll be in meetings across town, conveniently unavailable.
It’s irresistible bait.
Konstantin would be an idiot not to take it. And whatever else my uncle is, he’s not an idiot, which means this is going to get bloody.
On the monitor, I watch Vera walk through the clinic’s front entrance flanked by two guards (actually Sergei and Anton). She’s wearing dark jeans, a loose sweater that hides the slight curve of her stomach, and a wire so small you’d never know it was there.
Her voice comes through crystal clear in my earpiece.
“I’m in position,” she murmurs, barely moving her lips.
I key my radio. “Copy that. All units, we’re live. Stay sharp.”
Acknowledgments come back from twenty different positions from rooftops to office windows to vehicles. The Ashfords are in a parking structure across the street where Vincent and his men are positioned.
Forty men total, twenty Volkov and twenty Ashford. Both families united for the first time in decades.
And it’s all because of the woman on that screen.
Vera sits down in the waiting room and picks up a magazine. Her hands are steady, her breathing is calm. She looks completely at ease, like she does this every day.
But I can see the tension in her shoulders and the way her eyes keep flicking to the exits.
She’s scared shitless, but she’s doing it anyway.
“You doing okay?” I ask quietly into the comm.
“Peachy,” she says as she flips a page. “Just reading about celebrity divorces. Fascinating stuff.”
Viktor snorts. “She’s got balls, Boss.”
I choke out a laugh, but I feel my lips quirk in a small smile. “Don’t I know it.”
For twenty minutes, nothing happens.
Vera turns pages in the magazine. The clinic staff (actually undercover operatives we placed yesterday) move around doing fake medical tasks. Everything looks normal and boring and safe.
