Chapter 120 Nikolai
I arrived at the warehouse at eleven forty-five.
I was fifteen minutes early. It was enough time to access the situation.
Mikhail sat beside me in the car. Neither of us had spoken for the last ten minutes.
"You do not have to do this," Mikhail said finally.
"Yes I do," I replied.
"There might be another way. We could..."
"There is no other way," I said. I looked at him. "If I fight Katya, she gives Anya to Volkov. If I walk away, at least Anya is safe."
"And you?" Mikhail asked. "What happens to you?"
"I survive," I said. "I will start over. Somewhere far from Moscow. Somewhere Volkov cannot reach me."
"With Anya?"
I did not answer. Because I did not know if Anya would come with me. She had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with me.
But at least she would be alive. At least she would have the choice.
"Let us go," I said.
We got out of the car. I had brought only Mikhail and three other men. Enough to show I was serious but not enough to start a war.
The warehouse looked abandoned from the outside. The windows were broken. The metals were rusted. From outside, it looked like something that had ben abandoned fpr decades. But I knew Katya would be inside.
I pushed open the door.
The smell of copper hit me first. It was too sharp.
Blood.
I felt something cold settle inside me. Something feels wrong.
"Boss," Mikhail said quietly. He had smelled it too.
I pulled out my gun and moved forward carefully.
The warehouse was dark and silent. Too silent.
I found the first body ten feet inside the door. One of Katya's guards. He had been shot twice in the chest.
"What the hell?" Mikhail whispered.
We moved deeper into the warehouse and found more bodies. Three more guards. All of them were dead. All shot in the chest.
"This was not us," Mikhail said.
"I know," I replied.
We reached the center of the warehouse. And there she was.
Katya.
She lay on the concrete floor in a pool of blood. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing.
I knelt beside her and checked for a pulse even though I knew there would not be one.
My sister was dead.
"Boss," Mikhail said. "We need to leave now. This is a setup."
"Anya," I said. I stood up quickly and looked around. "Where is Anya?"
We searched the warehouse. Every room. Every corner.
She was not there.
"She is gone," Mikhail said. "Someone took her."
"Volkov," I said. The name tasted like ash in my mouth. "He did this. He killed Katya and took Anya."
"Why would he kill Katya?" Mikhail asked.
"Because she was trying to use him," I said. "And Volkov does not let anyone use him."
I pulled out my phone and vcalled every contact I had. Asked if anyone had seen Volkov. If anyone knew where he might take Anya.
Nothing. No one had seen anything. It was like he had disappeared.
"We need to go," Mikhail said again. "If Volkov comes back..."
"He is not coming back here," I said. "He got what he wanted. Anya."
The word made me feel sick. Volkov had Anya. The monster who had tortured her before. Who had tried to marry her. Who hated me more than anyone alive.
And I had no idea where he had taken her.
"Boss," Mikhail grabbed my arm. "We leave now or we do not leave at all."
He was right. Standing here would not help Anya. I needed to regroup. Make a plan. And find Volkov before it was too late.
We moved toward the door.
But before we could even step outside, gunfire erupted from outside.
"Down!" Mikhail shouted.
We hit the floor. Bullets tore through the walls. Glass shattered. Metal sparked.
"How many?" I shouted.
"At least ten," Mikhail said. "Maybe more."
I looked at our three guards. They were returning fire. But we were outnumbered.
"The back exit," I said. "Let's go out through the back."
We crawled across the floor. Bullets whistled over our heads. One of our guards screamed. I looked back. He was dead.
"Keep moving!" Mikhail shouted.
We reached the back door. Mikhail kicked it open.
More unfire came from behind me.
We were surrounded.
"Upstairs," I said. "Let's go up."
We ran for the stairs. Bullets chased us. Another guard fell. Then the third.
It was just me and Mikhail now.
We reached the second floor and found a room with a window overlooking the street.
Below us, men surrounded the warehouse. At least twenty of them. All armed. All waiting.
"We are trapped," Mikhail said, letting out a sigh.
"I can see that," I replied.
I looked around the room. There had to be a way out. A fire escape. A roof access. Something.
But there was nothing. Just four walls and one window.
"We fight our way out," I said.
"We will die," Mikhail said.
"Maybe," I agreed. "But we are dead anyway if we stay here."
I moved toward the door. Ready to run back down the stairs.
And then I heard it. A voice calling from below.
"Nikolai Markov! We know you are in there. Come out with your hands up. Or we burn the building down with you inside."
I recognized that voice. It was one of Volkov's lieutenants. A man named Sergei.
"They are not here to negotiate," Mikhail said.
"I know," I replied.
We had two choices. Surrender and die slowly. Or fight and die quickly.
Neither option would save Anya.
"On three," I said to Mikhail. "We go down shooting. We take as many of them with us as we can."
Mikhail nodded. "It has been an honor, boss."
"The honor was mine," I said.
I took a breath, checked my gun, prepared to die.
"One," I counted.
"Two."
The door burst open behind us.
I spun around with my gun raised.
Four men rushed in. I fired twice and two of them dropped dead.
But there were too many.
Something hit me hard in the chest. It wasn't s bullet it was a tackle.
I went down. My gun flew from my hand.
Stromg hands grabbed me, and held me down. I fought, kicked, bit. But there were too many of them.
"Mikhail!" I shouted.
I heard him fighting. I heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh.
Then a gunshot.
"Mikhail!" I screamed.
I turned my head and saw him on the floor. Blood spreading beneath him.
His eyes met mine. It was filled with pain and regret.
"Run," he mouthed.
But I could not run. They had me.
Someone hit me hard in the head. My vision went black at the edges.
The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was Mikhail's body on the floor.
My oldest friend. The man who had stood by me through everything.
He was dead.