Page 108 of Boomer

"How long?" he asked without turning.

Milena’s voice carried through the open glass. "Six minutes. Then silence."

She stepped onto the terrace, her silhouette framed in silk and smoke, eyes sharp and already calculating.

“They burned it?” he asked, still watching the horizon.

“I’d say boarded, then taken. The task force at work. Brits. US Navy SEALs, and MAOC-N dogs.”

Dragomir's jaw shifted, like a stone moved under the sea.

“Zajebali su nas.”They’ve fucked us.

“Not yet,” Milena said. “But they’re close. Our warehouse stash house is vulnerable. If the CIA is any good, and they are, the coordinates to it are within the task force’s grasp.”

He turned finally, setting the tumbler down, grinding the cigarette out on the armrest of the wooden chair. “Black Wardenwent first, a strategic move to take out our watchdog, then theSanta Merida, andSeverina’s Ghost.” He had plans for that human cargo. Now he would have to do some explaining to some very bad, very impatient people. “Tarnów Sky,Vila Nova Dawn,Laurel Blight.” That was all their production ships. “TheNeves Fortunawas boarded, and theDuarte Velozwas blown out of the water, his wolves neutralized. They took theGaspard, and you know that Portuguese bastard will talk to save his own skin.Marseille Dawnis gone. NowAnastazija.” His voice dropped, low and cold. “They’re not chasing shadows. They’re hunting.”

Melina gasped. “Draža…Málaga’s Reach.” She looked up at him. “That ship, if taken intact…it will lead directly to us.” Milena said quietly, “You know who it is.”

Of course he did.

MAOC-N. This had the mark of a particular woman.

Taylor Hoffman.

The German BKA detective. The one who had slipped throughtheirfingers more than once, had outmaneuveredLuka’s men in Berlin, had shut down the Antwerp node with nothing but a keyboard and a search warrant. Now she was embedded with the Special Operations Task Force—commanding it, if the intel was correct. She was clever. She was disciplined, and she had just cost them over thirty million euros in clean flow.

Dragomir turned to face the shadows of the villa behind him.

“I want her,” he said. “Here. We’ll make an example of her for all the world to see.”

Milena didn’t flinch. “That will escalate things.”

“They’ve already escalated. We are not a syndicate to be peeled apart like garlic skin. If we allow this, we invite collapse. Fear keeps our borders strong.”

A new voice emerged from the darkness behind them. Leather boots. Military straight posture. A man who never smiled. Luka Vukovic.

Fresh from the docks in Durrës, the scent of sea and cordite still clinging to him like perfume.

“You want her ass here?” Luka asked, cracking his knuckles. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

Dragomir shook his head. “No. Not you. You’re visible. We’re going to need your hands clean when the next shipments launch from Thessaloniki. We outsource this.”

“To who?” Milena asked.

Dragomir reached for the folder on the table. Flipped it open.

Zvezda Vektor.A Russian private military contractor, former Spetsnaz. Based in Crimea. Ghost-funded. Known for two things: extraction and annihilation. Deniable. Disavowed. Untraceable.

“They owe me three favors,” Dragomir said.

Luka’s grin was slow and mean. “You’re cashing in?”

“I am.”

Milena arched one brow. “We send them where?”

Dragomir listed it off like coordinates etched into memory. “Their Lisbon House—her base of operations, The MAOC-N headquarters—her chain of command, and the warehouse assault site. We get the cash out before they discover our Achilles Heel, and if anyone tries to stop us…they’ll regret it.” He smiled, and Melina's eyes widened.