Maksim
Casimir Nowak, Polish leader and usual enemy has men undercover for Arsen.
One of his man calls twenty-three minutes before sunset and kills the plan.
A fucking flat voice over the phone and one sentence that turns everything in me to ice.
“They’re moving her before nightfall.”
Every eye in the room cuts to me.
The map is still spread across the table. The depot. The routes in and out. Sniper points. Entry teams. Fallback paths. Medical standby through the Amatos already locked in. One of Angelo’s people has a trauma team waiting at their hospital in case we get her out breathing.
In case.
I fucking hate that word.
“We go now,” I say.
No one argues.
Because there’s nothing left to argue.
Clean is dead. Quiet is dead. Nightfall is dead.
All that’s left is speed.
Gabriel is already on the phone with his men by the time I grab my weapon off the table. His voice is rough, low, controlled. Giving orders like this is business. A deal. A meet. Product moving. Nothing unusual. Nothing to make Arsen twitch too early.
Maybe it works.
Maybe it doesn’t.
I don’t care.
If I have to rip through that whole fucking depot with my bare hands, I will.
Angelo checks his magazine beside me with the kind of focus that only comes from old violence. “Hospital staff is in place.”
I nod once.
The Amatos always plan for blood.
Today, I’m grateful for it.
Vaska steps in close enough that only I hear him. “If Arsen hears the wrong thing, he moves her before we touch the gate.”
“I know.”
“You need him dead or you need her first?”
My gaze lifts to his.
The question is real. Necessary. Ugly.
A year ago, maybe even six months ago, I would’ve answered differently.
Now?
