“You’ve been planning this for a long time,” I observe.
Ivan nods once. “Yes.”
“And Arkady was only a step along the way.”
“Exactly.”
The warehouse lights pulse once overhead before settling back into their dull glow. The space between us grows quiet, the hum of the fixtures and the distant noise from the train yard filling the pause. Then Ivan glances toward the crate line behind me. The movement is small and deliberate, but it changes the atmosphere in the room immediately, tightening the tension across the warehouse floor.
“Of course,” he adds lightly, “you weren’t the only one planning for tonight.”
The faint scrape of boots travels through the warehouse like a quiet warning. I don’t turn immediately.
Ivan watches me with open amusement now, as though the realization spreading through the room belongs entirely to him. His shoulders loosen slightly, the tension he had been carrying during our conversation easing now that he believes the advantage is his.
“You really did come alone.” His tone reflects the satisfaction of a man who has just confirmed something he already suspected.
I glance past him letting my eyes move along the shadowed crate rows behind his men. There’s motion there now, slow and careful, silhouettes separating from the darkness as they step forward into the thin warehouse light—six of them, maybe eight. The lighting makes it difficult to be certain, but the number is enough.
Ivan notices the calculation happening behind my eyes.
“You see,” he continues, spreading one hand slightly as if presenting the situation to me, “a meeting like this requires preparation.”
I take a slow step forward. “So does a war.”
He chuckles softly. “Yes,” he agrees. “And that’s exactly what tonight becomes.”
Behind me, one of his men changes position, and Ivan’s attention slips past my shoulder for just a moment. That’s the moment that matters. Not the movement itself, but the confidence behind it. Ivan believes the trap has already closed.
He lifts his hand in a small, almost casual gesture. From the shadows along the crate rows, his men step forward together, weapons rising as they move—rifles, pistols, a couple of shotguns. Eight of them now, spread across the warehouse floor. Two behind me, three along the right wall, and three more near the loading bay.
He smiles.
Then I lift my hand slightly. The gesture is almost identical to his. And a breath later, the warehouse doors explode open.
The blast of cold night air slams into the building as the steel doors crash against the walls with a thunderous metallic bang. Headlights from outside flood the interior in harsh white beams, cutting through the dim industrial lighting.
Ivan’s head snaps toward the entrance, but it’s too late.
Gunfire erupts from the doorway. The first burst shatters the silence, the sound echoing through the warehouse like a series of detonations. Muzzle flashes strobe across the interior asMikel and six of my men storm through the entrance in a tight formation.
Two of Ivan’s men go down before they even turn around. The third dives behind a stack of crates, firing wildly toward the doors as splinters of wood explode from the pallet beside him.
Chaos erupts across the warehouse. Ivan’s confident smile vanishes as men start shouting and gunfire ricochets off the metal walls.
I move.
The first man behind me raises his pistol just as I turn. My hand closes around his wrist before he finishes lifting the weapon, twisting hard enough to break the angle of his aim. The gun fires once into the ceiling with a deafening crack before I wrench the weapon free and drive my elbow into his throat. He collapses backward.
The second man fires twice. The shots tear through the air inches from my shoulder as I step sideways behind a crate stack. The bullets slam into the wood behind me, sending splinters across the concrete.
Across the warehouse, Mikel advances steadily through the center lane, his rifle rising and firing in short bursts that keep Ivan’s men pinned behind cover.
Another of Ivan’s soldiers attempts to flank along the loading bay. Karp intercepts him before he gets halfway there. The exchange lasts less than two seconds before the man drops.
The warehouse fills with the smell of gunpowder and hot metal. Ivan backs away two steps, scanning the room rapidly now that the situation has moved in a direction he didn’t anticipate.
His hand moves inside his coat. I step forward into the open aisle. Our eyes lock across the warehouse.
