Crossing the border. Hours ago.
My eyes lock onto the screen.
Destination confirmed.
Moscow.
For a moment, everything goes still.
Then I nod once.
“Good,” I say. “I’m going to Moscow.”
Lukyan exhales sharply, like he expected this but still hoped it wouldn’t happen this fast. “Relax,” he says. “We need a plan first.”
That’s when I snap.
“No time,” I cut in, voice rising. “There’s no time to plan. We move now.”
I step closer, my control thinning but still intact enough to make every word land.
“They have Valeria,” I say, lower now—but sharper. “She’s pregnant. Every second we waste puts her at risk.”
Lukyan holds my gaze for a moment longer, then nods once.
“I’ll come with you,” he says.
That steadies something in me just enough to keep me from breaking forward blindly.
I nod stiffly.
Then I turn.
There’s no hesitation after that. No lingering. No second-guessing. The decision has already been made, and everything else becomes execution.
I don’t speak much after that. I don’t need to.
Within the hour, the best of my men are assembled fast. Weapons secured. Intel packed. Communications hardened.
Lukyan is already coordinating routes. Misha is managing transport. No one asks unnecessary questions anymore. Not now. Not with the way my voice sounds when I give orders.
The private jet is waiting.
Engines running low. Lights dimmed against the night.
We move through security like a single unit, boarding quickly. No ceremony. No pause. Just purpose.
Inside, the cabin is quiet. Tense in a way that doesn’t need words to define it. Men take their seats, checking gear, loading final intel streams onto encrypted devices. Lukyan sits across from me, already reviewing Moscow grid overlays on a tablet.
The engines grow louder as the jet prepares for takeoff. The city outside the windows feels distant already, like something being left behind too slowly for what’s coming next.
I sit back in my seat, eyes forward, jaw tight. The calm I’ve forced into myself doesn’t feel like peace. It feels like pressure. Contained force waiting for release.
Anton wanted control.
He wanted fear.
He wanted leverage.
