"Heavy," Mikhail says. "They're expecting us to try something. Cameras on all approaches, armed guards at every entrance, and they've likely got Yuri in the most defensible position in the building."
"So a direct assault is out," Alexei says. "We'd lose half our men just getting through the door."
"Which is exactly why they chose that location," I say quietly, still studying the maps. "They want us to either pay or watch Yuri die. Those are the only options they think we have."
"What about negotiation?" Viktor asks carefully. "Not the full ransom, but something. A partial payment, limited territorial concessions. Something that gets Yuri back without completely capitulating."
I shake my head. "Negotiation shows weakness. The moment we start bargaining, every organization in the city will know we can be manipulated through hostages. It sets a precedent we can't afford."
"So we let him die?" Mikhail's voice is flat and carefully neutral, but I can hear the challenge underneath. "We just abandon one of our own?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying,pakhan?" Alexei leans forward, hands flat on the table. "Because from where I'm sitting, we have three options and they're all shit. We pay and look weak. We refuse and lose a good man. Aloyalman. Or we try an extraction that will likely get more of our people killed. So which shit option are you choosing?"
The question hangs in the air, and I can feel all of them watching me, waiting to see what kind of leader I am. Whether I'm the type who sacrifices men for strategy or the type who risks everything to save one of his own… or the type who gives in just to get a man back.
The truth is, I don't know yet. All options have merit and all have catastrophic downsides. And the weight of choosing wrong—of making the decision that gets more people killed or undermines everything I've built—sits on my chest suffocatingly.
"I need time to think," I say finally. "We have time. I want continuous surveillance on that warehouse. I want to know every person who goes in or out, every shift change, every moment when their security might be vulnerable. And I want contingency plans for both scenarios— extraction and abandonment. We prepare for everything and decide when we have all the information."
It's not the decisive answer they want, but I'm not going to make a choice this important without considering every angle, every consequence, every possible outcome.
The meeting continues for another hour, going over intelligence reports and the grim mathematics of how many men we might lose in various scenarios. By the time I dismiss everyone, the sun is starting to rise. I feel like I've aged a decade.
I head back upstairs, intending to review the intelligence reports alone, but I hear voices as I pass the hallway near Liesl's room. I slow my steps, listening.
"—can't believe he's actually considering letting Yuri die?—"
"He's not considering it. He's weighing his options. It’s smart."
"Is it? I think he's more worried about his reputation than about saving one of our own."
"Keep your voice down. If he hears you talking like that?—"
"What? He'll shoot me too? Add me to the list of people he's willing to sacrifice?"
I should interrupt and remind them that questioning theirpakhan's decisions is a good way to end up on the wrong side of a bullet. But I don't, because they're not wrong. I am calculating. I am weighing Yuri's life against the other choices. And the fact that I'm even having this internal debate probably means I've already made my choice, I just haven't admitted it to myself yet.
I continue past them, heading toward my room… and that's when I see her.
Liesl is standing in the hallway outside, clearly having heard the same conversation I did. Her face is pale, her eyes wide, and I can see the exact moment when she pieces together what's happening. When she realizes that someone's life is hanging in the balance and I'm the one who has to decide whether to save it.
"Andrei," she says softly, and there's something in her voice that makes me stop. It sounds almost like concern.
"Go back to your room," I say, but there's no heat in it. I'm too tired for heat.
"I heard them talking," she says, ignoring my order like she always does. "About someone being captured? And you having to make a choice."
I run my hand through my hair. "It’s not your concern."
"Maybe not. But I—" She hesitates, and I can see her working through something in her mind, coming to some kind of decision. "I might be able to help."
The words are so unexpected that I actually laugh. It's a harsh sound, bitter and exhausted. "Help? You think you can help with this?"
"My father has resources," she says quickly, moving closer. "Connections. If this is about ransom money or negotiations or?—"
"Stop." The word comes out sharper than I intend. "You don't understand what you're talking about."
