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“Konstantin. I wasn’t expecting you.”

"I need a team," I say without preamble. "Five men, combat-experienced, ready to move in three hours. And that." I point to a crate of assault rifles.

Damian raises an eyebrow. “Does your father?—”

“This is my problem. And I’ll take care of it.” I emphasizeI’ll. “Don’t say a word.” I pause, seeing the skepticism on Damian’s face. He’s served my father for a long time, and he’s loyal. “It has to do with my wife. I don’t want interference. My father won’t be alive for much longer, Damian. I know you’ve served him well. I could use a man like you as my right hand.”

Damian hesitates a moment longer. “Your wife.”

“I can’t wait to assess the situation. To get his permission for how I want to handle it. You understand?” My jaw tightens. I’ll go through Damian if I have to, and I can see that he knows it.

“Fine.” He steps back. “But if you’re gone too long, I’ll have to tell him. Send backup?—”

“I won’t be.” I look at the crate, glance around the room for anything else that I might want to utilize. “Get me the men.”

The ring of authority in my voice is one I rarely use. Damian recognizes it and nods. “On it,” he says, stepping aside as he pulls out his phone to make the necessary calls.

I leave him to it, heading to a small office at the back of the warehouse. Inside, I find what I need—satellite maps of the Caribbean, focused on the cluster of small private islands where Kane's fortress is rumored to be located. My phone pings with a message from Yuri: coordinates, security details, patrol schedules. Attached is a rough layout of the main compound, cobbled together from satellite imagery and rumors.

It's not much, but it's a start.

I spend the next two hours planning the assault while I wait for the men to arrive, focused on every detail that I can think of with a cold clarity. Every contingency, every possible outcome, every angle of approach—I try to consider them all.

Except failure. I don't allow myself to consider failure.

By the time Damian appears in the doorway, I have a plan. Not a good one—the odds are still heavily against us—but the best I can manage with limited time and resources.

"The team is ready," he says. "And the helicopter, and boat."

The helicopter will take us as far out as we can without alerting the island—a faster way to get there than any boat could. Then, each of us will drop down to a waiting speedboat, which will circle around the back of the island where it’s less heavily patrolled. We have to time it exactly right, or else the sound will alert a guard.

"Good," I say, strapping on my weapons and shoving additional ammo into my pockets. "Let's move."

Damian nods, and together we head out to meet the team he's assembled.

Five men, as requested, all men that I recognize. All ex-military, all experienced, all willing to kill without a second thought, all loyal. None of them will talk about what happened tonight. All of them are heavily armed, in black tactical gear that will keep us shrouded as we move through the darkness.

"This isn't a sanctioned operation," I tell them bluntly, stopping in front of them. "My father hasn't approved it. If any of you want to walk away, now's the time." I let my gaze move from face to face. "No repercussions. No questions asked. But Nicholas Kane has my wife, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste even another minute getting permission and discussinghowto approach this. I make the calls, I make the decisions. We go now, or not at all."

No one moves. No one speaks. They simply wait for my orders.

I nod, acknowledging their loyalty. I make a point of noting each of them—in the future, when this Bratva belongs to me, I’ll remember this… if we survive the night.

"We're going to get her back,” I continue. “The island is heavily guarded. It won't be easy."

"Nothing worth doing ever is, boss," one of the men—Alexei—says with a grim smile.

“Good.” I give them the details then—the plan of attack and the extraction route. They listen intently, a few of the men—including Alexei—offering a few suggestions based on their experience. By the time we finish, the plan is better than what I started with, though still dangerous as hell.

We move out, heading for the helicopter. My throat is tight with dread, my heart beating hard in my chest. This isn’t like any other mission that I’ve gone on. This is life or death for Valentina. My own life I can risk, but hers…

She means more to me than I ever thought she could. And if I can’t get her back, the life ahead of me suddenly seems bleak—colorless, and meaningless.

I should have told her how I felt. I should have saidsomethingto her, while we were locked away in that safe house. Now, I’m worried I might never get the chance.

I check my watch compulsively, calculating and recalculating our estimated arrival. We should reach the drop-off point shortly, then switch to the boat, where we’ll have to evade the other patrol boats and get to the back of the island during a guard change.

When the helicopter reaches the drop point, we each slide down the rope to the boat, dropping almost soundlessly into it. The engine seems painfully loud, but I trust that our plans will hold—that we’ve timed it all correctly, that we won’t run into trouble. That my calculations were right.