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Lev nods. “Two teams?”
“Yeah.” I don’t look away from the screen. “Anton takes the rear. Locks down the courtyard. Nobody escapes. Not staff. Not guards. Not even the goddamn cook. If anyone raises a weapon, they go down.”
Anton doesn’t flinch. Just gives a grim nod, his eyes sharp.
I look to Lev. “The second we find the boy, we pull him out. I’ll want him out of there.”
Lev meets my gaze. “I’ve got the kid.”
I turn to Viktor. “Would you hold rear? Cover the exit?”
He pulls back the slide on his pistol and chambers a round. “You bring your wife and kid home. I’ll clean up behind you.”
The shift in the room is instant, like the air knows what’s coming. I rise, rolling my shoulders, every inch of me wound tight. The air tastes like copper and storm. I haven’t slept in days. But it doesn’t matter, because it ends tonight.
12:30 AM.
“This is it,” I tell them. “No more waiting. We go in. We bring them back.”
I screw the suppressor onto my Glock. The final twist clicks like a tomb sealing shut. “Cristóbal dies tonight,” I say, voice barely above a growl. “And I’m taking his fucking head.”
No one argues. So, I walk to the door, Glock tight in my hand.
“Let’s go.”
The night air bites hard against my skin. I crouch beside the fence, ivy brushing my sleeve, my eyes fixed on the overhead cam as it pans slowly.
I raise two fingers to signal go, and Dmitri breaks off, disappears into the hedge. I hear the soft tik-tik as he strips the wires. Seconds later, there is a soft whine, and the power dies. Leaving the compound in the darkness.
Beautiful.
Then the backup kicks in. A low grumble. Just enough power to bring the lights back to a dim glow. The cameras stutter, rebooting with a delay.
Perfect.
I signal again, and we move. We slide along the outer wall. Damp stone underfoot. Shadows overhead. We've done this a hundred times, but tonight isn’t just a mission. It’s war. War to bring my family home.
A guard steps out to figure out what happened to the power, and Roman is on him before he can blink. He lowers the body like he’s putting a child to bed.
My chest feels tight. Not from nerves, but because I’m coiled. I scan ahead and spot two more guards on the patio, trying to call out to the guy whom Roman just took care of.
I raise my weapon and aim. One of them drops without a sound, thanks to my silencer. His eyes remain wide open as he hits the ground.
The second turns, but it’s too late. Viktor’s already on him. Knife up the throat. We drag them behind a column, ensuring silence and leaving no traces.
As we move deeper into the house, the hallway stretches long and quiet, with closed doors on either side. I count the doors. Three on the left. Two on the right.
We move down, quietly testing the doors to ensure that no surprises jump out from behind them. When we reach the last door, we find it locked, but it’s not the lock that petrifies me. It’s the sound. A faint, soft muffled whimper, like a wounded animal trying not to be discovered.
I freeze, every instinct snapping taut. I raise my hand in a silent signal, and Lev immediately lifts his weapon, stepping into position to cover me. I press my ear to the wood.
Another faint cry.
My chest squeezes, hard. I’m moving before I can even think. Tools are in my hand, the lock already turning under practiced fingers. I’ve broken into more fortified doors than this in my sleep. The mechanism gives way with a soft click, and I ease it open on silent hinges.
The room is dim—moonlight slicing through sheer curtains like a blade. And there, in the middle of the space, curled in a bed too big for him, is a little boy.
My breath catches in my throat.