Chapter 196

Chapter 196

Ajax POV

I do not tell Nikolai.

That alone should tell you how bad things have become.

The estate is quiet in that false way that only exists after blood has been spilled. Guards move like ghosts through corridors still smelling of smoke and antiseptic. Medics whisper. Radios crackle low. Everyone is pretending the danger has passed, but we all know better. The Broker does not retreat. He circles.

Ares stands beside me in the armory, loading his weapon with mechanical precision. His face is carved from stone, eyes flat, jaw tight. He has not slept. Neither have I.

“He is still moving,” Ares says without looking at me. “The shipments. The coded routes. They are active tonight.”

I nod. I have been staring at the same satellite feed for twenty minutes, watching dots shift across Athens like insects. Abandoned warehouses. Coastal transfer points. Old council safehouses. Too many threads. Too coordinated.

“He thinks we are licking our wounds,” I say. “He thinks Nikolai will wait.”

Ares finally looks at me. “Nikolai cannot move right now.”

We both know why.

Angela.

The twins.

The way Nikolai’s hands shook when the doctor warned him one more shock could push her into early labor. The way his entire world narrowed to the woman in that bed. He is still the most dangerous man in Athens, but right now he is a husband terrified of losing his family.

Which makes this our job.

“We do this quiet,” Ares says. “Off the books. No teams. No radios tied to the estate.”

“And if we do not come back,” I say.

He gives me a grim half smile. “Then at least we die knowing where the snake lives.”

I grab my jacket. “Let’s go.”

We leave through the eastern service tunnel, the one only the inner circle knows exists. The city air hits my face like a slap. Athens glows in the distance, beautiful and rotten, layered with centuries of blood and lies.

We split the bikes at the edge of the road, engines low, lights off. I feel alive in a way that only violence brings. Focused. Sharp. No room for fear. Just the hunt.

The first location is a dead end. An abandoned shipping depot stripped bare. Fresh tire marks though. Too fresh. Someone was here within the hour.

“He is baiting us,” I mutter.

“Let him,” Ares replies. “We bite harder.”

The second location explodes.

Not literally. That comes later.

We breach through a rusted side door and find servers still warm, wires ripped out, bodies on the floor. Two men. Council mercenaries. Throats cut clean.

“This is his cleanup crew,” I say. “He is erasing himself.”

Ares kneels, checking a body. “Not fast enough.”

He holds up a burner phone.

My pulse spikes. “Trace?”

“Already did.”

He sends the coordinates to my watch.

The coast.

Of course.

We ride hard, engines screaming now, subtlety gone. The road curves downward toward the water, warehouses looming like broken teeth against the dark. I smell salt and oil and gunpowder before I see the lights.

Movement ahead.

Too much movement.

“Contact,” I say.

Gunfire erupts before the word leaves my mouth.

I swerve hard as bullets rip through the air where my head was a second earlier. Ares fires back without slowing, riding one handed, lethal and calm. We crash through the perimeter gate and skid behind concrete barriers as men pour out of the warehouse.

This is not a hit squad.

This is a fortress.

“He knew,” I snarl. “He fucking knew.”

Ares reloads. “Good. Then he is here.”

We move like we were trained to. Cover. Advance. Kill. The noise is deafening. My ears ring as I put a man down at close range, his blood hot on my hands. Another rushes me and I break his neck without thinking.

I feel every second stretch and compress. The world narrows to targets and angles and breathing.

We push inside.

The warehouse interior is massive, stacked with crates marked as medical aid and council supplies. Lies layered on lies. Screens flicker along the walls, feeds from traffic cameras across Athens. He has been watching everything.

And then the alarms scream.

“Shit,” Ares says. “Fallback plan.”

“No,” I snap. “Forward.”

We split.

I take the upper catwalk, boots pounding on metal as bullets chase me. A man lunges from behind a crate and I shoot him twice in the chest, stepping over his body without slowing.

I reach the control room.

Empty.

Just a chair still warm.

He was here minutes ago.

“Ajax,” Ares’ voice cracks through my earpiece. “We have incoming vehicles. Heavy.”

“Copy,” I say, scanning the screens. “He ghosted.”

Silence on the line.

“Ares,” I bark.

Static.

My stomach drops.

I run.

The lower level is chaos. Smoke. Fire. Men everywhere. I see Ares near the loading bay, back to a truck, bleeding from his arm but still standing. He looks like a god of war, cutting men down with ruthless efficiency.

I join him without thinking.

Together we carve a path out.

The explosion hits as we clear the perimeter. The warehouse erupts behind us, heat slamming into my back, the shockwave throwing us both forward. I hit the ground hard, breath ripping out of my lungs.

For a moment I think I am dead.

Then pain floods in.

Ares hauls me up. “Move.”

We stagger into the shadows as sirens scream in the distance. Police. Council forces. Everyone will be here soon.

We vanish.

Hours pass before we realize the damage we have done.

We did not get him.

But we burned one of his hearts.

Back at the estate the panic is immediate.

Nikolai realizes we are gone before dawn.

I know because my phone explodes with missed calls the moment I get signal. I do not answer. Not yet.

We regroup in a safehouse across the city. Ares stitches his own arm, teeth clenched, silent.

“We should have told him,” I say quietly.

“No,” Ares replies. “He would have stopped us.”

I think of Angela. Pale. Breathing through pain. Of Nikolai sitting beside her bed, breaking apart quietly.

“You are right,” I say. “But when he finds out…”

Ares meets my eyes. “He will understand. Or he will kill us.”

I almost laugh.

When we finally return at sunrise, bloodied and exhausted, the estate feels different. Tighter. Sharper. Like a beast bracing for another blow.

Nikolai is waiting.

His face is ice.

Angela stands beside him, one hand pressed protectively to her stomach, fear and fury warring in her eyes.

“You left,” Nikolai says softly.

“Yes,” I answer.

“You went rogue,” he continues.

“Yes.”

Silence stretches.

Then he exhales slowly. “Did you find him.”

“No,” I say. “But we know where he has been. And we hurt him.”

A flicker of something dark passes through Nikolai’s eyes.

“Do not ever do that again without telling me,” he says.

I nod. “Next time we finish it.”

Because there will be a next time.

And the Broker will not survive it.