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I’m done waiting. My chair scrapes across the floor as I stand, clutching the battered scrap of paper Dmitri just handed me. It’s a clue, the first one we’ve had in weeks. Dmitri’s men intercepted it from a Rossi courier they cornered near the docks—a lucky break in our otherwise stagnant search. A single thread that might lead us to the coward who arranged Pavel’s murder.

My blood boils at the memory of Pavel’s body sprawled in that alley. My men and I have spent every waking hour searching for answers, but the Rossis know how to hide their tracks. Now, though, we’ve got something—an address and a time.

Nikolai stands off to the side with his arms folded tight across his chest. “You sure this isn’t a dead end? We’ve burned through leads before that turned out to be nothing.”

“I’m not letting this slip by,” I snap, resisting the urge to slam a fist on the table. “We can’t keep treading water while that bastard Davide roams free. If this clue has even the faintest chance of giving us answers, I’m taking it.”

“I get that. But if it’s a setup—”

“Then I’ll handle it,” I interrupt, pinning him with a hard stare. “We’re not amateurs here.”

Aleksei, who’s been silent in the corner, lifts his gaze. The overhead light glints on his watch, a reminder of how much time we’ve wasted on worthless leads. “No, we’re not amateurs,” he agrees. “But we can’t ignore the possibility that Davide’s using this address to lure us out. The Rossis would love to pick off a few of our men.”

Maksim snorts from his seat as he takes a swig from his flask. “Better they try and fail, right? Because they will fail. They always do.”

Dmitri eyes him with a flicker of annoyance. “Keep your wits. I’d rather we not walk into a bloodbath with you drunk.”

Akim, who has been pacing like a restless hound, adds, “A bloodbath might be what we need to send a message. You think the Rossis are going to roll over just because we got guns? No. We storm their hideout, find Davide, and put an end to his meddling once and for all.”

My patience frays. “Enough.” My gaze travels over each brother. Aleksei, calm but wary. Nikolai, doubtful but grudgingly supportive. Dmitri, the brains who’d prefer more intel before charging in. Maksim, the wildcard. And Akim, itching for a fight. “We do this right. We go in, confirm if Davide’s there, and if it’s him… we finish him.”

Aleksei nods. “Time?”

Dmitri gestures to the slip of paper. “Midnight, old shipping yard on the east side of the city. We’ve got a few hours to get in position.”

“Fine,” I say, shoving the paper into my pocket. “Everyone gears up. I want eyes on that yard at least an hour early. If there’s movement, we’ll know.”

Nikolai grimaces. “If this is truly Davide, we might finally get the name of whoever hired him to target Pavel. That alone is worth the risk.”

Pavel’s loss left a hole in our family. He wasn’t just an ally—he was practically a brother by loyalty and bloodshed. The idea that Davide still breathes while Pavel’s in the ground makes my chest tight with rage. “We leave in two hours,” I announce, biting out the words. “Get your teams ready.”

They file out, each with a different expression reflecting how they feel about this lead. I stand there a moment, inhaling slowly, forcing my clenched fists to relax. Tonight, we either find justice for Pavel or we confirm yet another worthless trail. Either way, I’m done sitting idle.

***

Two hours later, we’re approaching the shipping yard in four vehicles with tinted windows hiding our faces. The yard stretches near the waterfront, with rusted cranes and rows of abandoned cargo containers standing around. Dmitri parks in the rear to scan the area with night-vision scopes. Our men disperse quietly, forming a perimeter. Maksim and Akim stay close to me, while Aleksei positions himself on higher ground with Nikolai to watch for an ambush.

I grip my pistol and whisper into the radio, “Status?”

Aleksei’s reply crackles back. “No suspicious movement yet. It’s quiet.”

Maksim pops a piece of gum in his mouth. “Too quiet.”

I ignore the cliche, though it does rankle my nerves. We creep between shipping containers. The stench of salt and rotting metal stings my nostrils. Dmitri signals that the warehouse in question is just ahead. A battered sign reading “G12” hangs off the corrugated metal walls.

Nikolai’s voice crackles over the comm. “Seeing a couple figures. East entrance, near a stack of crates.”

I glance at Akim, who nods, itching to storm forward. “Steady,” I order. “We confirm if Davide’s among them first.” My breath slips out in a low hiss as I peer around a corner, vantage perfect to spy on two men. One is short and stocky, the other tall with broad shoulders. Hard to see faces in the darkness.

Aleksei’s tone cuts through the radio. “Movement on the roof. Possibly a sniper.”

Ice darts through me. The Rossis might very well be waiting for us to show. My teeth grit, but I wave Dmitri to circle around and flush out the rooftop gunner, if possible. The rest of us hold our positions.

Suddenly, headlights wash over the yard, illuminating the men by the crates. I duck behind a container, cursing the flash that killed my night vision. A black SUV rumbles into view, stopping near the warehouse door. Someone steps out. He’s wearing a dark jacket, and though I can’t see his face, my gut says this is our man.

Akim lifts his phone to snap a quick photo, no doubt hoping to match the silhouette with Davide’s known features later. Then the tall figure speaks to the two men, gesturing animatedly.

Nikolai’s voice is urgent in my earpiece. “We’ve got at least three men in the warehouse. They’re armed. I see rifles.”

Aleksei murmurs, “Sniper’s still on the roof. Dmitri can’t get close without a firefight.”

A chill seeps along my spine as I realize we’re likely outnumbered, but I refuse to retreat. “We didn’t come here for nothing,” I hiss. “We take out that sniper first, then push in. Nikolai, can you distract him?”

“On it,” Nikolai replies. A moment later, a faint pop echoes—he’s fired a suppressed shot. The sniper on the roof jerks, flailing. Then Dmitri lunges from the darkness, wrestling the weapon away. The scuffle is brief, and soon, Dmitri’s voice comes back, short and triumphant. “Rooftop clear.”

The men by the crates whirl around, realizing something’s off. One shouts an alarm, fumbling for his gun. “They know we’re here,” I announce. “Move in!”

Gunfire erupts, loud enough to pound in my skull. Maksim roars a war cry as he returns fire with calm precision. Akim sprints forward, weaving between containers. I cover him with shots barking from my pistol, forcing the two men behind the crates to duck. They unleash a volley of bullets in response that ping off metal, one ricocheting near my feet.

Aleksei calls over the comm, “The tall one is running west!”

“After him!” I command.

Akim dashes around the side, determined to intercept. The two men near the crates attempt to hold us off, but they’re outmatched. Maksim lands a shot in one, sending him staggering. The other tries to flee but runs straight into Dmitri’s line of fire.

“Two down,” Dmitri barks.

I pivot, searching for the tall figure who might be Davide. I round a corner, nearly tripping over a fallen shipping pallet, and see him sprinting for the black SUV. Akim emerges from behind a container, tackling him in a flying leap. They hit the concrete with a sickening thud.

“Got him!” Akim shouts, trying to wrestle the man into submission. But he’s strong and cunning. He twists free and smashes his elbow into Akim’s jaw. Akim reels, giving the suspect a split second to scramble away.

“Don’t let him escape!” I shout.

Another round of gunfire blasts from somewhere behind me—maybe a hidden Rossi ally. Nikolai curses over the radio, calling for backup. I grit my teeth, ignoring the clamor and focusing on the suspect.

He leaps into the SUV and slams the door. I sprint closer despite the bullets whizzing past. The engine revs and the vehicle peels out in a squeal of tires. Without hesitation, I raise my gun and squeeze off a few rounds, but it’s no use. The SUV disappears into the shadows at the far end of the yard.

“Damn it!” I slam my fist against a shipping crate, frustration boiling over. We were so close. If that was Davide, we lost him—again.

Aleksei’s voice crackles: “We need to clear out. Sirens are inbound.”

I scan the area. The men we downed are either dead or incapacitated. One moans in pain near a forklift, clutching a bullet wound in his thigh. Maksim strides up and kicks the enemy’s gun away.

I’m stalking in their direction when something catches my eye—a phone lying near one of the fallen attackers. I pick it up. A cheap burner phone with a cracked screen. This might be something. “Dmitri! See what you can recover from this.”

He hurries over and plucks the device from my hand. “I’ll do what I can. Might help us track who they’ve been calling.”

We regroup, battered but alive, as the wail of distant sirens grows louder.

“Grab your wounded, if any,” I order. “Dmitri, handle that phone. Maksim, help me with the bodies.”

***

By the time I finally step into my home that evening, exhaustion claws at my bones. We spent hours cleaning up our tracks to ensure the cops couldn’t trace the mess back to us. Despite the near miss, the burner phone in Dmitri’s possession might yield the clue we need. The Rossis remain a step ahead, but I refuse to stay in second place.

A few guards linger near the entrance, nodding respectfully as I pass. I wave them off and head toward the living room. I find Seraphina there, perched on the sofa with her legs tucked beneath her. She’s reading something, but her eyes snap up the moment I appear.

At first glance, she looks composed. Then I spot the tension in her shoulders, the way her foot taps against the cushion. She’s definitely on edge.

“You’re awake,” I note as I drop into the armchair across from her.

She closes her book and sets it aside. “Wasn’t sure you were going to make it back tonight.”

I shrug. “I told you I’d come back.”

She frowns as she runs her eyes over my blood-stained clothes. “Did anything… happen tonight?”

She’s prying, and I’m not in the mood to share details about the ambush. “What makes you ask?”

She shifts, chewing on her lower lip. “You look… worn out.”

I can’t deny that. “Long day. Let’s leave it at that.” A silence settles, uncomfortable. I let out a measured breath. “Is there something you need?”

She straightens her posture and stretches an arm over the back of the couch. “I want to see my father.”

The words jolt me. I never got the impression that the two of them were very close. In fact, I’ve been given every reason to believe that she’d never want to see him again after the wedding. “Why?”

She draws in a slow breath. “I haven’t seen him in weeks, not since the wedding, and… I just want to talk to him.”

Her father is the same man who arranged our marriage as part of some twisted alliance. I still don’t trust him, even if he is technically family. “You realize he’d sell you out in a heartbeat if it benefited him, right? He’s already done it once.”

A flicker of pain darts across her face. “I know exactly what he’s capable of. But I still need to see him.”

I study her, noticing how her hands clench and unclench in her lap. “Alright. On two conditions. One: you take bodyguards. And two: you let them stay close enough to intervene if your father tries anything.”

“I’d rather have some privacy when I speak to my father, Grigor.”

“Then you can talk in a place that’s easy to surveil from outside.”

She exhales, and her shoulders slump. “Fine. I’ll take your damned guards. Satisfied?”

“When?”

“Tomorrow,” she answers. “Early.”

“Then tomorrow morning it is. Anton will go with you.” I push myself to my feet and every muscle protests. “If we’re done negotiating, I need some rest.”

She doesn’t stop me as I head for the stairs. Halfway up, I pause to pull out my phone and shoot a text to Anton: Seraphina wants to see her father. You go with her in the morning. Report everything.

The instant reply pings back: Understood.

I stash my phone back and my pocket and resume walking. I hate secrets, but trusting Seraphina fully is impossible when she’s so tied to a man like Evan Thorne. If she’s colluding with him… I push the thought away.

She’s my wife now, and I have to at least entertain the possibility that she can be trusted, even if her father can’t. Either way, I won’t leave her unprotected or unwatched.