Page 34

Chapter 34

Walk into the Fire

Vasiliyi

T he sleek glass walls of Volkov Enterprises gleam like polished lies. A fortress dressed in corporate skin, hiding blood-soaked roots beneath its marble spine. Manhattan stretches out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a skyline of ambition and decay, but all I see are threats. Every shadow drips with possibility. Every silence could be a setup. The Glock under my suit digs into my ribs, a hollow comfort when the war’s already on our doorstep.

“We need to talk about the club,” Igor says, his voice low, strained. He stands by the window like it’s a confessional, hands braced against the glass. The city reflects back at him, distorted and cruel—just like us. “Vladimir’s men are circling.”

Nikolai cuts him off, pacing like a caged animal. He hasn’t sat since the meeting started, too tense, too wired, too close to breaking. “Forget the fucking club. We are being hunted.”

My phone buzzes.

Galina.

Relief hits like a needle to the vein—short-lived and cruel.

[Galina]: Jaromir is working with Yakov

[Galina]: I can’t stay here

[Galina]: It’s not safe

[Galina]: I left through the tunnels

My breath stutters.

It clicks. All of it. The strange silences from guards who should’ve checked in hours ago. The way the usual updates slowed to a trickle. Delays that felt like nothing at the time but now reek of sabotage. And underneath it all, the scent of something rotten festering beneath our carefully laid plans. We’ve been bleeding from the inside, and I didn’t see it until now. “It’s not Vladimir,” I say, voice sharp. “It’s Yakov.”

Igor flinches. “But Vladimir’s men hit the club?—”

“That was misdirection,” I snap. “Vladimir wants property. Yakov wants bodies. He wants to bleed us dry. Piece by piece. Not for power. For punishment.”

Igor’s face hardens. “He blames me. For Ana. For keeping my son—his nephew—from him.”

“And now he’s going after what we can’t afford to lose.” Nikolai’s voice is quiet now, deadly. “He’s not after turf. He’s after hearts.”

I nod once. “We need to find them.”

Katya. Katarina. The women who tethered us to something human. Gone. Snatched while we watched the wrong threat.

We spiral into strategy—plans that start strong and crumble under the weight of uncertainty. The footage Nikolai pulls is useless. Blurred faces. License plates ghosted. The tech team digs deeper, but we’re behind. We’re always behind.

My phone rings again.

Mila.

My stomach sinks.

“Vasiliy,” she breathes, voice taut. “Galina was supposed to meet me. She left the club over an hour ago. She’s not here.”

The world narrows. Every sound fades.

“When did you last speak to her?”

“Right before she left. She said something wasn’t right?—”

A video call slices through her words, and I take the call.

Matvei’s face fills the screen—scarred, sneering, soaked in malice.

“You looking for something?” His voice is silk soaked in venom.

He turns the camera.

Galina.

Unconscious. A bruise blooming on her temple. Fragile in the backseat of a blacked-out SUV like a broken doll. My lungs seize.

I don’t scream. I don’t rage.

I go still.

And in that stillness, something monstrous wakes up.

The part of me that never left Siberia. The part that learned to kill without sound.

“Karma’s a bitch,” he snarls. “And she’s wearing your fucking name.”

My pulse hammers, but my voice stays measured. “What do you want?”

His smile stretches, feral and gleeful. “Come alone. I’ll send the address. No police. No backup. Just you.” He tilts the camera again, and the image sears into my brain—Galina, slumped and still, a smear of blood curling at her temple. “Or your lisichka dies. And your spawn with her.”

The screen cuts to black.

A beat later, a message pings.

Coordinates. A warehouse address in Jersey.

“It’s a fucking trap,” Igor growls, already reaching for his gun. “You walk in, you both die.”

“No.” I’m already checking my mags, re-holstering. “He wants me to suffer. He won’t kill her until he has me.”

Nikolai grabs my arm tight. “Think. We assemble a team. Surround the place. Extract?—”

“There’s no time,” I snap, yanking free. “And if you think it’s a coincidence your wives vanished too, you’re dumber than you look.”

Their faces pale. Reality slams into the room like a loaded gun.

“This is it,” I say. “Yakov’s checkmate. He’s gathering everyone—Katya, Katarina, Galina—one final blow to destroy what’s left of us.”

“Then we do it together,” Nikolai argues. “Bring the whole fucking army.”

“That’s what he wants,” I bite out. “To wipe us out in one glorious blaze. But if I go in alone, I give you the opening to get the others out.”

“You’ll die,” Igor says, deadpan.

“Maybe.” I move for the door, adrenaline already syncing with breath, with steps. “But I’ll take as many of them with me as I can. Including that bastard Matvei.”

“Vasiliy,” Nikolai calls, voice low, hoarse. I glance back. His jaw is tight, eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them. “If you get the chance…make them suffer.”

I nod once. A pact, sealed without ceremony. Brotherhood doesn’t need vows.

“We’ll be ready,” Igor says. “When you give the signal.”

“I’ll get them out,” I promise. “But when the gates open, bring hell.”

The city blurs past—headlights smearing into streaks, horns screaming. Each second stretches, tightens, frays at the seams of my sanity. I can’t afford fury now. Not the white-hot, throat-ripping kind that screams burn it all . I need calculation. Precision.

If Yakov has them, he’s not working alone.

My mind replays Galina’s message. Jaromir is working with Yakov.

That snake. That smiling fuck with polished shoes and dirty hands.

But why would Vladimir hand his niece over to a sadist like Matvei?

Unless he didn’t know.

Or he did—and didn’t care.

Either way, the why doesn’t matter.

The how ends tonight.

I run through every scenario, every room in the warehouse, every possible place they could be keeping them. I’ll tear the place down brick by brick if I have to. Light it up with bodies if that’s what it takes.

The warehouse looms ahead, jagged against the twilight like a beast with broken teeth. Rusted steel, shattered windows, the scent of rot thick in the air.

Perfect.

A slaughterhouse dressed in shadows.

I kill the lights. Step out. The wind bites, sharp and cold.

Inside, Galina waits.

Our child waits.

And I swear to every god listening?—

I’m not leaving without them.

Savagery wraps around me like a second skin—familiar, unyielding. I’ve worn it too long to call it armor. It’s instinct now. Breath. Pulse. Purpose.

Whatever waits behind that door, it ends here.

One way or another, only one of us walks away.

And it sure as hell won’t be Matvei.

The door creaks under my palm, the darkness behind it stretching wide like a mouth ready to devour. I breathe in once, slow and sharp, anchoring myself in the one image that cuts through the haze—Galina at the fashion show, radiant and defiant, her smile a weapon. Fire in her blood. Life in her eyes.

The mother of my child. The only thing in this fucked-up world that makes me believe there’s still something left to fight for beyond vengeance.

“I’m coming, moya lubov ,” I whisper, voice low and raw. “Just hold on.”

And then I step into the dark.

Not just ready for the fight—starving for it.

He wanted a monster?

I’ll give him one.