Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy
Dmitri had always believed timing mattered more than force.

Force was crude.

Force announced itself.

Timing slipped quietly through open doors.
He stood beside a scarred metal table in the center of the warehouse, staring down at a map already marked with black lines, red circles, and two narrow routes leading away from the Volkov estate.

The building smelled of damp concrete. Rain tapped intermittently against the corrugated roof.

Six men waited.
None spoke unless addressed.
Good.

He had chosen them for discipline rather than loyalty. Loyalty was unpredictable. Men loyal to causes often became sentimental. Men loyal to money only needed to believe payment remained possible.

Dmitri placed one finger against the route leading toward Asheville.

“They leave shortly after eight,” he said. “The women travel together. Two dogs in the primary vehicle.”

One of the men shifted slightly. “Escort?”

“Secondary vehicle. Maksim.”

That earned the first visible reaction.
Not fear.
Respect.
Dmitri understood it.

Maksim was not a man to underestimate. He was disciplined, experienced, and inconveniently difficult to provoke into mistakes.

But everyone made mistakes eventually.
Especially when emotion entered the equation.

Dmitri’s mouth curved faintly.

“Maksim will remain behind them at distance,” he continued. “That is their compromise. Close enough to intervene. Far enough to preserve the appearance of normal movement.”

Normal.
Anika’s favorite illusion.

She insisted on it because she believed appearing fortified created attention. She was not entirely wrong.

But normalcy created patterns.
Patterns created openings.

“And Volkov?” another man asked.

“At the estate.”

The man’s shoulders eased slightly.
Dmitri noticed.

“Do not confuse absence with safety,” he said quietly.

The room tightened at once.

“Nikolai does not need to be present to be dangerous. The second contact is lost, every resource he controls will begin moving.”

He tapped the first red circle on the map.

“This is why the abduction occurs here.”

An abandoned service road curved through a heavily wooded section between two stretches of county highway. Sparse traffic. Poor cellular coverage. Enough room to force the vehicle down a narrower access route without creating a visible roadblock.

One clean interruption.
A disabled utility vehicle.
A man in reflective gear.
Ordinary enough to slow for.

The first mistake would be compassion.
The second would be believing they still controlled the situation.

“They are armed,” Dmitri said. “The women know how to fight. Anika has extensive tactical training. The veterinarian is less experienced but not helpless.”

A third man glanced toward the map. “And the dogs?”

Dmitri looked at him.

“Do not kill them unless necessary. They are valuable,” Dmitri stated. “And Volkov’s people respond emotionally to them.”

That mattered.
Injured dogs were chaos.
Dead dogs were rage.

A wounded animal dragged attention in several directions at once—medical care, tracking, recovery, guilt.
Useful.

“Use the vests against them,” Dmitri said. “Their protection gear will absorb most impact. Shock them. Separate them. Do not waste time trying to dominate them physically.”

The men exchanged brief looks.
Dmitri ignored them.

He had studied Fenrir’s dogs for months.
He knew their commands.
Their patterns.

Which animals favored direct engagement and which circled before committing.
Nyx was faster.
Ares was heavier.

Both would protect Anika without waiting for instruction now.

That had become increasingly obvious in the surveillance reports.

Interesting behavior.
Possessiveness beyond standard training.
One of his observers had suggested stress.
Dmitri doubted it.
Animals recognized changes humans missed.
Not that the reason mattered.
Only the effect.

“They will react before the women understand the threat,” he continued. “That gives you seconds. No more.”

He pointed to the second mark on the map.

“This vehicle blocks the secondary route. Maksim will be delayed, not engaged.”

One man frowned. “How?”

“A false collision. Two civilian vehicles. One injured driver. Enough disorder to slow him without making the obstruction look deliberate.”

“He’ll recognize it.”

“Eventually.”

Dmitri smiled faintly.

“Eventually is all we need.”

Maksim’s strength was discipline.
His weakness was responsibility.

If people appeared injured, he would not drive through them blindly. He would assess. Secure the immediate scene. Protect civilians.

Nikolai had built conscience into his command structure and called it evolution.
Dmitri called it predictable.

“How long before the escort catches up?” someone asked.

“Four minutes if he abandons the scene immediately. Six if he clears the obstruction. Eight if communications fail at the correct moment.”

“And if the primary vehicle escapes?”

“It will not.”

The certainty in Dmitri’s voice silenced the room.
He moved his finger farther along the route, toward an access road leading to an old forestry property.

No official address.
No recent utility records.
No obvious connection to him.
The women would be transferred there first.

“Anika is the objective,” Dmitri said. “Doctor Park is leverage.”

One of the men looked up. “Against Maksim?”

“Yes.”

The answer came easily.
For years, Maksim had been nearly impossible to manipulate because he allowed himself nothing outside duty.

Then Elizabeth Park arrived.
And the machine began to behave like a man.

The last surveillance still had captured them near the firepit, his hand at her jaw, her body angled toward his.

Dmitri had studied it longer than necessary.
Not because romance interested him.
Because weakness did.

Dmitri stepped away from the table and crossed toward the warehouse window. Beyond the grimy glass, rain silvered the tracks as another freight train moved slowly through the darkness.

He remembered standing beside Nikolai as boys, watching trains pass through industrial yards while Volkov senior spoke about power.

Not inheritance.
Control.

The old man had taught them that everything moved along routes someone else had chosen.
Money.
Weapons.
People.

Nikolai had rejected half the lesson and kept the throne anyway.

Dmitri had remembered all of it.

One of the men cleared his throat behind him.

“And if Volkov refuses to negotiate?”

Dmitri turned.

“He will negotiate.”

“He killed his own father.”

“Yes.”

The words settled heavily.

“Which proves he is capable of destroying what he loves when principle demands it.”

Dmitri paused.

“But Anika is not principle.”

She was future.
That was different.

Nikolai had spent his life surviving loss. His mother. His father, though he had dealt the final blow himself. Allies. Pieces of his own humanity.
Anika had changed the shape of his ambition.

He no longer wanted only control.
He wanted permanence.
A home.
A legacy.

Dmitri almost pitied him.
Wanting more only created more places to cut.

His phone vibrated once against the table.
A single message.

PRIMARY VEHICLE CONFIRMED. DEPARTURE 08:15.

No names.
No unnecessary language.

Dmitri looked at the time.
07:30.

Around the room, the men straightened.
The atmosphere shifted from planning to execution.

At last.
Dmitri picked up his coat and buttoned it slowly.

“Positions,” he said.

No one hesitated.
Chairs scraped back. Weapons were checked. Radios disappeared beneath jackets. Within seconds, the warehouse began emptying through separate exits.

Dmitri remained alone beside the map.

For years, he had waited for Nikolai to reveal the place power had made soft.

It was not the estate.
Not the guards.
Not the dogs.

It was the future Nikolai had finally allowed himself to believe in.

Dmitri folded the map once and slid it into his coat.

By nightfall, Nikolai would understand the mistake.