Page 15 of Bride of Vengeance

"A trap. But not one we're walking into blind."

As if summoned by my words, the night erupts in coordinated movement. Pavel's teams emerge from concealment with military precision, surrounding our position while maintaining killing fields that would make escape impossible.

For anyone who didn't bring backup.

"Mikhail Kozlov," a voice calls from the darkness. Russian accent, carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "Pavel Volkov would like a word."

The man who steps into the light is barely recognizable as human. Pavel crawled out of that burning building more machine than man, so destroyed by fire and shrapnel that he's probably more prosthetics than flesh now. Pavel's face is a patchwork of surgical scars and synthetic skin, his right arm obviously prosthetic, moving with mechanical precision. The explosion didn't just fail to kill him; it transformed him into something that belongs in science fiction.

One with a personal vendetta against everyone who put him in that situation.

"Agent Castillo," he continues, and his voice carries the artificial quality of a vocal box damaged beyond repair. "Thank you for making tonight so convenient."

Mariana's weapon appears in her hands with fluid competence, but she's smart enough to know we're outgunned and surrounded.

"What do you want, Pavel?" I ask, buying time while Alexei's teams move into position.

"What I've always wanted. Your family destroyed. Your reputation ruined. Your life ended in the most public, humiliating way possible."

"And what does she have to do with this?"

"Collateral damage. Agent Castillo dies beside the phantom she's been hunting. Tragic end to a federal agent who got too close to the truth, killed by the monster she was trying to stop."

The bastard has thought of everything. Except for one detail.

"You assume I came alone."

Pavel's artificial smile doesn't reach his reconstructed eyes. "You always work alone, Ghost. It's what makes you predictable."

"I used to work alone. But tonight, I'm working with my family."

The word is barely out of my mouth when the world explodes into coordinated violence. Alexei's counter-snipers eliminate Pavel's overwatch teams with surgical precision while his close protection units move to engage the surrounding forces.

In the chaos, I grab Mariana's hand and pull her toward the one escape route Pavel couldn't have predicted—straight into the killing field, where his men won't risk shooting their own boss.

"Trust me," I tell her as bullets whistle past our heads.

"As if I have a choice."

"You have something better: a partner."

We fight our way through Pavel's trap together, covering each other's movements with the kind of coordination that comes from shared purpose rather than shared training. She's FBI-trained and competent. I'm self-trained and lethal.

Together, we're unstoppable.

The battle for Pier 17 lasts exactly seven minutes. When Boris's teams close in, Pavel makes a desperate choice. Rather than be captured, he sprints toward the edge of the pier.

"Stop him!" I shout, but it's too late.

Pavel launches himself over the railing and into the black waters of the Hudson. We rush to the edge, but in the darkness and churning water, there's no sign of him.

"Get boats in the water!" Boris barks into his radio. "Search teams, now!"

But we all know it's too late. Pavel had this planned—probably had a boat waiting below, or diving equipment stashed. The bastard's escaped again.

In the aftermath, as sirens wail and federal agents swarm the scene, Mariana and I stand together watching the dark river that swallowed our enemy.

"He's gone," she says.