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I love you too.

I stared at the words for a beat then hit Send.

My reflection stared back at me in the glass—too tense, too pale, eyes too sharp. Something in the silence of the SUV felt wrong. I wasn’t used to these men. Not those in our car. Not those in the car trailing us with additional men from Stas.

The SUV turned off the main road into a deserted industrial strip. Asphalt cracked like old bone. Chain-link fences leaned in the wind. Abandoned brick buildings sagged under the weight of graffiti and frost.

Even the streetlights flickered like a scene from one of those horror movies I used to like to watch with Zasha when he was a kid. They were never my favorite, but he loved them, although he was too scared to watch on his own, so I endured it for his sake back then.

We slowed at the entrance of the property that looked like it hadn’t seen life since the ’80s. The warehouse had boarded windows, a rusted metal door, and someone had spray-painted a crude crown above a slur.

The engine idled. No one moved.

“How are we going to do this?” I rubbed my nose. “I think I should go in alone first to assess the situation, but I’ll need to come up with a cue to let you know when it’s time to come in.”

The car fell silent, and a cold understanding crawled over me.

Nico finally twisted in his seat, meeting my gaze with flat, dead eyes. “This is where we leave you, Orlov.”

My spine went rigid. “Come again?”

“Orders were to drop you off.” He shrugged.

My voice cooled until it felt like steel in my throat. “Stas sent you to back me up. Not drive me around. That’s what Arty is for.”

“Stas isn’t here, is he? And the way I see it, if you’re half as good as people claim, you’ll get your brother out and walk away. And if you’re not…” He shrugged again. “Then no loss to us. Not after the shit you’ve done to us. Boss might have forgotten, but we haven’t.”

There it was. The thing I’d felt since we left the townhouse. If Zasha hadn’t been inside this building, I would’ve put Nico in the snow.

Arty shifted uncomfortably. “Nico, Mr. Zhukovsky said⁠—”

“I know what he said,” Nico snapped. “And I’m telling you what I am going to do. Why should I risk my neck for this asshole because he’s sleeping with my boss?”

“It’s fine, Arty,” I said quietly. “I’m used to getting shit done on my own anyway.”

I opened the door.

Cold air slapped me in the face, stealing the last of the cabin’s warmth. Snowflakes drifted sideways in the wind. My boots hit the ground with a crunch that echoed too loudly. The street felt colder. Quieter. More hostile. This was a suicide mission but one I had to take anyway.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown number.

I answered. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t come alone,” the rasping voice from earlier said.

“I am now.”

A satisfied breath. “Good. Side door. Come in slowly. Hands visible. Once you’re inside, hand over your weapons. Try anything, and your brother bleeds out.”

The line clicked dead.

The warehouse side door was rusted and half-hanging. It screeched open like it didn’t want to be touched. The smell inside was horrible, stale, metallic with the faint tang of blood clinging to cold air.

I stepped in. A stout man shrouded by the dark met me and shoved me up against the wall. I allowed it, though I curled my hands into fists. He patted me down without a word, found, and removed my gun. When he felt between my legs and squeezed my dick, I shoved his hand.

“The fuck, man. I assure you that weapon isn’t a danger to anyone here.”