“Mike?”
“Did you confirm the feds were actually feds?” I ask.
There’s a pause. “Why?”
I stare at the screen in front of me, the fake plate numbers glowing back at me like a warning.
“Their plates are false,” I say slowly. Silence drops on the line. “And they already have Ellie.”
For half a second, there’s nothing but breathing on the other end.
Then Timofey swears. “Fuck.” I hear him moving suddenly, papers shifting, keyboards clacking. “I’ll call you back.”
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone slowly, my chest tightening with a rising fury.
We didn’t hand Ellie to the government.
We handed her directly to Katerina.
Fuck. I’m so stupid.
Within ten minutes, Timofey and Dimitri confirm my worst fears—the so-called feds aren’t federal at all. They’re Katerina’s operatives, moving with surgical precision.
I don’t hesitate. Every instinct honed over years of running an empire kicks in. I activate every remaining loyalist cell within the Rusnak network. Every safe house, everyoperative, every hidden asset I’ve built over decades is now dedicated to one purpose: getting Ellie back. Pride, empire, protocol—none of it matters anymore.
Through intercepted communications, we trace her path. She’s being moved to a transit hub near a private airstrip, fast. The syndicate isn’t giving her a moment to breathe. They’re trying to move her out of the country.
I slam my fist against the console. “She’s not leaving this country,” I growl. “Not on my watch.”
Timofey’s voice is calm but urgent through the comm. “We’ve got eyes on the hub, Mike. We can intercept, but it’s heavily guarded.”
“I don’t care how heavily guarded,” I snap. “Nothing is stopping me from getting her back.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go in.”
We roll out, tires crunching over gravel, engines growling. The convoy is on the edge of the airstrip, armored SUVs flanking a black transport van. I feel the old adrenaline ignite, that cold, sharp clarity that only comes with stakes like this.
I hit the brakes, sliding our SUV sideways, smashing a guard vehicle into the ditch. Bullets tear through the air, pinging off metal, cracking windshields. Timofey moves like a shadow, taking out two armed men on the flank with precision shots that drop them instantly. Konstantin rams another SUV head-on, sending it rolling into a stack of crates.
I swing the door open, boots hitting gravel, gun raised. The world narrows to targets: three men with assault rifles, aiming for the lead van. I fire, bullets tearing through tires and metal. One operative dives for cover, but I’m already moving—low, fast, adrenaline burning every nerve.
I kick open the van’s rear door, smoke and dust filling the air. A man steps out with his rifle, firing wildly. I roll to the side, sliding under the hood of our SUV as rounds explode around me.Timofey shouts instructions, coordinating positions, but all I can see is the van—I need Ellie.
I spring to my feet, kicking a man into the hood of our vehicle, spinning him into a pile of crates. He groans, unmoving. Another tries to flank me. I grab his arm mid-swing, twisting it, forcing him to drop his weapon. His eyes widen in terror.
Konstantin yells over the chaos, “Mike, they’ve probably got her in the van!”
I spin, rifle raised, and open fire, shattering the rear windows. Glass sprays like rain, bullets ricocheting off metal. The driver swerves violently, trying to escape, but I leap onto the roof, gun steady, landing with an impact that sends sparks flying as my boots skid over the metal.
When I look in the van, it’s empty. Not a single sign of Ellie.
My heart hammers. I spin on the nearest operative, gun pressed into his temple. “Where is she?” I growl, my voice low and lethal.
The man swallows hard, sweat dripping from his brow. “Y-you…you’ve got it wrong. She’s not here. This van—it’s just a distraction. She’s…she’s already airborne.”
I tighten my grip, the cold fury in me coiling like a spring. “Airborne?” I echo, the word tasting like fire.
