Chapter Twenty-Two
Nikolai —
The Bugatti — sleek, black-on-black, engine humming like a predator — tore down the empty two-lane stretch. It had been left at the gate by one of his men that morning along with his duffle bag of clothes.
Nikolai hadn’t spoken since leaving her.
Hadn’t lit a cigarette.
Hadn’t called Maksim.
Hadn’t turned on music.
His mind was full of her.
Not just the way she felt in his arms.
Not just the softness in her voice when she told him to stay.
Not just the way her breathing changed when she let her guard down — just for a moment.
It was the silence she allowed him.
The stillness.
A kind of peace he hadn’t touched in years.
She was a risk.
She was a complication.
She was a walking contradiction — fire and calculation, tenderness and terror.
And she was under his skin.
He should’ve walked away.
Should’ve shut it down the second she handed him back his own control, daring him to stay even as her eyes warned him not to get too close.
Instead, he was halfway to his club, pulse still elevated, craving the next reason to be near her.
Not for strategy.
Not for business.
But for something he wasn’t ready to name.
Volkov Noire’s private lounge was shadowed and warm, lit by a grid of soft amber downlights and a row of top-shelf vodka glowing in a glass case.
Soft music whispered beneath the sound of clinking ice and shifting loyalties.
Nikolai sat back in a leather armchair, untouched crystal in one hand, and the weight of silence in the other.
Maksim stood across the table, spine stiff, arms crossed.
“It was Tomasz,” Maksim said without preamble. “He set the explosive.”
Nikolai’s jaw tightened. “You’re certain.”
“Confirmed through our inside source. Same wiring. Minimal blast radius—meant to terrify, not slaughter.”
“He nearly killed her,” Nikolai said.
“Yes, Pakhan.” Maksim’s voice had the flatness of someone delivering bad math. “He’s escalating. He’s baiting.”
“And the girl?” Nikolai asked.
“New. Sharp. Off-radar. Gets paid in silence.” Maksim folded his hands. “We’ll find her.”
“Find her,” Nikolai said cold as winter water. “Tell me everything she breathes, eats, fears. Double the perimeter. Quietly.”
He let the sentence hang. “I think she’s not the target. I think she’s the endgame.”
Maksim’s eyebrow lifted. “You think Tomasz wants her gone or broken?”
“Both,” Nikolai said. “Either will end her.”
Anika —
The wind had picked up again.
Cold. Sharp. It whispered through the pine boughs like a warning.
Anika moved along the perimeter in a crouch, headset feeding her a steady pulse of telemetry from motion sensors and field cams. Kilo flanked her left, tongue lolling silently, muscles taut.
Nyx and Ares remained inside — always inside — like living shadows guarding the house’s heart. But outside, she had four others actively sweeping the estate: Charlie, Sarge, Scout, and Yankee. Their trackers blinked across her tablet in neat, predictable patterns.
Her shoulder burned with a dull, stubborn ache each time she flexed. The diner’s brick had ripped the bandage; she’d resisted stitches. Stubbornness was part of the armor. So was control.
She issued a sharp command in Italian. “Andare. Cerca.” (Go. Search.)
Kilo peeled off to check the ridgeline.
She let her feet guide her toward the old training barn.
That’s when it hit her.
The air was different.
Heavy.
Her body froze as her instincts screamed. She drew her weapon and moved low, slicing the barn door open with the edge of her foot.
Nothing moved inside.
Until—
Yankee.
The young fawn female paced near the opposite door, ears flat, muscles coiled. Her eyes were locked on the back wall, where the door creaked slightly in the wind.
Anika moved forward.
And then she saw it.
A piece of paper. Folded. Tucked between the doorframe’s cracked wood.
Her name — Anika — written in jagged black ink across the front.
No markings.
No threats.
But every hair on her arms stood up.
She didn’t open it. Not yet.
Instead, she tucked it into the inner pocket of her jacket and whistled for Yankee, who bolted to her side like a shot.
Outside, the wind had dropped again — eerie and unnatural.
She issued another command.
“Estendi il perimetro.” (Extend the perimeter.)
Charlie and Scout came bounding from the east, fawn blurs through the grass, waiting for her signal.
Once they were gone, Anika pulled her phone from her pocket.
She stared at it for a moment.
Texting him felt like surrender.
But this wasn’t about pride.
This was about control.
She typed:
Found something. Folded note. No cameras saw who left it. You free?
A beat of hesitation.
Then she added:
Dogs are on edge. So am I.
She hit send.
Nikolai —
His phone buzzed twice against the polished wood.
Normally, he’d ignore interruptions while conducting business.
But when he saw the name, his hand moved before he even realized it.
He read the message once.
Twice.
Then a third time.
His jaw flexed — not in anger, but something worse.
Need.
She hadn’t spoken to him since sunrise.
Hadn’t called.
Hadn’t said thank you.
But she’d reached out now.
That said more than anything.
He rose without a word.
The lieutenant beside him blinked. “Should I clear your afternoon?”
Nikolai was already strapping his weapon under his coat. “Yes.”
“You want backup?”
“No,” he growled, voice low. “This is personal.”
Tomasz —
A hundred miles south, the warehouse stank of sweat, old oil, and deeper rot.
Tomasz leaned against the wall, flicking ash from the tip of his cigarette as his contact — the girl — bounced a rubber ball against the wall.
“She didn’t open it?” the girl asked.
Tomasz gave her a look. “Not yet.”
“She will,” the girl said, catching the ball with one hand. “She’s methodical, but she’s not immune to curiosity.”
“She’s paranoid.”
“Exactly. Which means she has to open it eventually. She’ll need to know what’s inside before it becomes a threat.”
Tomasz tilted his head. “You’re awfully invested in a woman you claim to want to beat.”
The girl smiled — slow, calculated. “I don’t want to beat her.”
She turned toward him, eyes sharp.
“I want to break her.”
Tomasz flicked his cigarette to the floor, crushing it under his boot.
“And if she sends that note straight to him?”
The girl’s smile only deepened.
“Then the real fun begins.”