Marchetti wanted me dead. Derek wanted the Volkov inheritance. They'd joined forces to set this up, using Vivienne as bait, waiting for me to walk into it.
But they miscalculated one thing.
They thought I'd weigh my options. Send my men to negotiate. Let reason override emotion.
They didn't know that the moment Vivienne and my child fell into their hands, I stopped caring about my own life.
"Rally everyone." I turned and strode toward the armored vehicle. "We leave in ten minutes."
"Yes, sir!"
The lights were still on at Kostya's gym.
I pushed through the door. He was cleaning blood off the ring—clearly someone had just gone through a brutal underground fight.
"Nikolai?" He looked up, obviously startled. "What brings you—"
The words died in his throat.
I held his gaze.
"You need me." Kostya dropped the towel and limped over. "All right. Who is it?"
"Marchetti took Vivienne." My voice was hoarse. "Derek might be involved too. They're waiting for me at the abandoned steel mill in the south district. It's a trap. Anyone who goes might not come back."
Kostya was silent for a few seconds.
"You love her." Not a question. A statement.
I didn't answer.
But my silence was answer enough.
"Fuck." Kostya swore, turned toward the weapons cache. "I knew one day you'd lose your mind over a woman. Give me five minutes. I'll get my gear."
"You don't have to—"
"Shut up." Kostya cut me off, glanced back, that scarred face showing a rare smile. "You almost got killed in Moscow saving my ass. Now it's my turn to repay the debt."
Five minutes later, Kostya emerged fully armed—tactical vest, silenced pistol, combat knife, and his beloved AK-47.
"Let's go." He clapped my shoulder. "Let's get your woman back. And send that worthless brother of yours to hell while we're at it."
Outside the abandoned steel mill, the night was pitch black.
Three armored SUVs stopped silently three hundred meters from the target. I opened the door. Twenty fully armed Cleaner operatives were in position—the Volkov family's most elite fighters. Every one of them had seen real combat.
"Listen up." I stood before them, voice low. "My woman's inside. And Sasha. Our objective is to get them out alive. Marchetti's men will fight to the death. There may also be Volkov traitors. So—"
I paused, scanning each face.
"No survivors."
"Yes, sir!"
I turned to Kostya. "Take ten men, go in from the west side. Cut off their escape. Anyone who tries to run, shoot to kill."
"Got it."
