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The words hang heavy, each syllable a potential tripwire. But I am ready. "I'm covering for Markus," I say, my voice even betraying none of the simmering tension that courses through me.
It’s my story. Markus is one of our men on the inside, the man whose place I’m taking today and whose uniform I’m wearing. The story is solid, but I know it could all fall apart at any moment.
A beat of silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. Then, my allies, the guards loyal to our cause, chime in. Their assurances are smooth and practiced. "He's good. Markus is out sick, and this guy's stepping in.”
The supervisor's gaze lingers, probing, searching for a crack in my armor. But I offer nothing, just the calm assurance of a man doing his job. With a grunt that feels like a reprieve, he moves on, his attention diverted by the next name on his list.
As roll call ends and the guards disperse, I allow myself a single, silent breath of relief. The act continues, each step I take deeper into the prison's heart is one step closer to my brothers, to the salvation I've promised them.
The labyrinthine corridors of the prison stretch out before me, but I navigate them with a sense of purpose that feels like a beacon, each turn a calculated risk. I move with a silent urgency, my gaze darting between door numbers and the faces of passing guards, many of whom I don’t recognize. My brothers—Andrei and Leo—are somewhere in this concrete and steel fortress, and I can almost feel the weight of their expectations pressing on my shoulders.
Finding them is like searching for two needles in a stack of razor wire. The higher-ups wouldn’t have thrown them into the general population; they'd be isolated and segregated. Time is a luxury I can't afford, and with each tick of the clock, my window of opportunity narrows.
I swipe my ID card at the observation room, a flush of adrenaline coursing through me as the lock clicks and the door swings open. It's a den of digital eyes, screens lining the walls, each one a portal into the lives of the men caged within. The guard inside barely has a second to register my presence before I have him subdued, a whispered apology for the day he's about to have.
My fingers move deftly over the keyboard, pulling up camera after camera. The sterile light from the monitors paints my face in hues of blue and green as I scour the feeds for the familiar faces of family. There's a tightness in my chest, a mingling of fear and anticipation.
Finally, I spot them. Andrei's steely resolve is unmistakable, even behind bars. Leo's calm demeanor doesn't falter, even in captivity. Their cells are side by side, a small act of mercy in this unmerciful place. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. They're okay—for now.
But there's no time for relief. My mind is already racing through the next steps, piecing together a plan. The surveillance system is my playground for the next few moments as I begin to orchestrate their escape. Camera feeds flicker, and screens go dark as I manipulate the system, creating a blind path to my brothers' cells.
I memorize the route, etching it into my mind with razor-sharp clarity. Each guard patrol, every locked door, are hurdles that I will overcome—because I must.
Exiting the observation room, I blend back into the sea of guards, my disguise still intact. With the path I've cleared, it's only a matter of timing and execution. I can feel the weight of the gun at my side, a grim reminder of what might be required should things go awry.
But I won’t let it come to that.
The playback loop on the monitors is seamless; to any observer, the corridors remain silent, the cells occupied. I feel a thrill of victory, but it's short-lived; there's still much to do. The keys in my hand are cool and heavy as I unlock the doors to my brothers' cells. Their surprise at my appearance is obvious, but there's no time for lengthy explanations and emotional reunions. With terse whispers, I urge them to follow me, their footsteps a synchronized echo in the deserted hall.
We duck into a side passage, the cameras blind to our presence. The uniforms I've secured are a perfect fit. Andrei and Leo slip into them with the fluidity of men who've spent a lifetime donning disguises. The transformation is swift as prisoners become guards, our chances of escape instantly multiplying.
As we adjust the final details of our new apparel, Andrei's eyes lock onto mine, a storm of concern behind his usual stoicism. "Sandra," he mouths, the single word weighted with a husband's fear for his wife. I nod, my assurance firm despite the uncertainty that gnaws at my insides.
"She's safe. We're heading there now."
But Andrei's a strategist, his mind already sifting through the treachery that landed us in our current situation. "Who betrayed us, Damien?" he demands, his voice a low growl. I shake my head, my frustration a mirror of his own.
"We don't know yet. But we'll find out."
Leo's hand on Andrei's shoulder is a silent command for focus. "We escape first, settle scores later," he says, his gaze steely. His presence is a calming force, a reminder of the urgency of our situation.
I check the hallway, it's clear. With a nod, we move, three shadows cast in the sterile light of the prison. Our footsteps are measured, and our movements are deliberate. We are the very image of the institution that seeks to contain us, but beneath the surface, we are a raging torrent, a force that will not be held back.
We weave through the prison, turning every corner and bypassing every door, bringing us closer to freedom. With each step, the weight of our unknown enemy presses on us, a dark cloud over the relief of our near-escape. The questions churn: Who sold us out? How deep does the treachery go?
But Leo's right, first and foremost, we need to get out. Then, we will deal with the traitor among us. The hunt for the rat will come later, and when it does, Bratva justice will be swift and unforgiving. For now, though, we focus on the present, on the breath of fresh air that's waiting just beyond these walls.
The air outside is crisp, the scent of freedom intoxicating after the sterile confines of the prison. We pull up to the house, the engine idling quietly as we each take a moment to appreciate the solidity of the world outside those walls. As I step out, the front door bursts open and Mariya rushes toward me, her relief evident in the tightness of her embrace. Her lips find mine in a kiss that speaks of relief, hope, and a hundred unspoken promises.
Roman and Samuil are close behind, their presence a testament to the speed and stealth with which they operate. They're both grim-faced, the gravity of the situation etched into their features. Inside, the warmth of the house wraps around us, a stark contrast to the chill of the prison we just escaped from and the tension that still clings to our skin.
The living room becomes a makeshift command center, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the low murmur of urgent conversation. Andrei and Leo, still shedding the remnants of their prison pallor, are recounting the events of the raid, trying to piece together the puzzle of our betrayal. Sandra is there, her eyes sharp and calculating, a she-wolf among her pack.
Mariya stands by my side, her hand a constant pressure on my arm, grounding me. I can feel the others measuring her, reassessing the woman who has unexpectedly become a central figure in our current crisis. There's a newfound respect in their eyes—they see her steely resolve, her willingness to stand with us rather than apart.
With the family whole once again, we turn to the next challenge. Who tipped off the police? Who orchestrated the attacks that have shaken our empire to its core? The room is a live wire of potential violence, every brother ready to unleash hell upon whoever has dared to come against us.
"We need to find the leak," I say, my voice cutting through the clamor. All eyes turn to me, the half-brother, the one who has suddenly stepped into the role of savior. "We need to trace back every step, every deal, every whisper that led to this moment."
