I check the tactical display, mapping the shortest route from our position to the panic room.
“Two options,” I say. “Direct approach through the main corridor—fastest but most exposed. Or maintenance tunnels—slower but lower risk of detection.”
“Split up,” Arseny suggests. “Three-point assault. Maximum confusion.”
I nod, decision made. “Arseny, take Petrov and Kuznetsov. Approach from the east corridor. Timur, you’re with me and Sokolov. We’ll take the maintenance tunnels. The rest of you secure our exit path.”
As we gear up—tactical vests, extra magazines, comms units—Timur pulls up a final camera feed. The image freezes me in place.
Mikhail Volkov, walking through the main entrance of Eagle Point, flanked by his personal security. His presence here changes everything.
“He wasn’t supposed to be involved directly,” Arseny says, voicing my thoughts. “Tatiana’s playing a bigger game.”
“Or a more desperate one,” I reply. “Either way, Mikhail just moved to the top of the target list.”
Timur glances at me. “Orders?”
“Take him alive if possible,” I say, checking the action on my weapon one final time. “I want answers before he dies.”
We move out, splitting into our assigned teams. The maintenance tunnels are narrow, barely lit, designed for utility rather than comfort. We advance in silence, our footsteps muffled by decades of dust.
“Status?” I murmur into my comms unit.
“East corridor secured,” Arseny replies, his voice crackling softly in my earpiece. “Four hostiles neutralized. No casualties on our side.”
“Hold position,” I instruct. “Wait for my signal.”
We emerge from the maintenance tunnel into a service corridor just twenty meters from the panic room. The sounds of voices drift toward us—agitated, angry.
I signal for silence, pressing against the wall as we inch closer. The voices become clearer, more distinct.
“You promised me five million! You said I’d get my money if I helped you get to the children!”
Irina. The venom in her voice makes my blood boil. She didn’t come back for our children—she came back for a payday.
“Have you lost your mind?”
Tatiana, her voice sharp with annoyance.
“I didn’t come back for them. I came back for what’s mine! You think I care about these brats? I want my payment!”
Every word is a knife, twisting deeper. The realization that the mother of my children never loved them—never wanted them—burns like acid. But there’s no time for that pain now. I focus on what matters: getting them out alive.
We reach the junction that opens onto the panic room corridor. From our position, I can see the two guards posted at the door, their attention focused inward, listening to the drama unfolding inside.
I signal to Sokolov—take them.
He moves with the silent efficiency that made him one of my father’s most trusted assassins. Two knives, two throws, two bodies hitting the floor before they can make a sound. We drag them back into the corridor, out of sight.
A gunshot echoes from inside the panic room, followed by screams—children’s screams.Mychildren’s screams.
“Move now,” I command into the comms unit. “All teams execute.”
We burst into the corridor, weapons raised, just as chaos erupts inside the panic room. Through the open door, I catch glimpses of movement—Julian tackling a guard, Elena somehow with a weapon, Bella diving toward the children.
“Bella!” I shout, the name tearing from my throat as I charge forward.
Another gunshot. Then another. Bodies falling.
