Her eyes search mine. "I believe you."
I load up with more essentials—another handgun, extra ammunition, a tactical knife, and a garrote wire.
Nothing that makes noise.
Nothing flashy.
This isn't about sending a message or making a statement.
It's extraction, pure and simple.
I’m not new to this type of operation, and yet, this feels completely different. Because this time, it isn’t about business.
It’s about my son. And if I fuck this up, it could cost us everything.
“I’m going out now, but it could be late if I have to wait for him to show at the warehouse.”
“Okay.”
"Stay here," I tell her. "If I'm not back with Enzo by dawn, call Alessandro."
She catches my arm. "Luca, there's something else you should know about my brother."
"What?"
"Don’t underestimate Pyotr. He seems weak, but it’s a façade. He’s as ruthless as any of you.”
I nod, tucking away this information.
It’s close to four thirty when I get to the warehouse, but I don’t see any sign of Pyotr or Enzo.
Next I check other Bratva haunts, keeping to the shadows so as not to tip off that I’m looking for them.
But all the locations, from restaurants to bars to the antique shop with fake antiques are empty.
I’m out all fucking evening with no sight of them.
As the clock approaches eleven, I’m back at the Morozova warehouse.
I park away and move like a ghost toward the property.
Why my father insisted on this tenuous partnership with the Bratva I’ll never know.
Perhaps it’s that adage of keeping your enemies closer.
But the Dantes and Morozovas have been circling each other like wolves for generations, neither willing to back down, both waiting for the other to show weakness.
Tonight, I don't care about any of it.
The blood feud, the business, the politics, it's all meaningless.
There's only Enzo now.
I scale the perimeter fence, dropping silently onto Morozova ground.
Three guards patrol the loading bay, their Russian murmurs carrying across the night air.
I watch them for a bit, getting a sense of their timing, waiting for the perfect moment to slip between their routes.
