Page 98 of His Stolen Bride

Enzo steps over him like he’s furniture. “Don’t waste ammo,” he mutters into comms. “They’re already breaking.”

We take the stairs up two at a time now, controlled speed, no panic.

The building above is louder. Shouts. Footsteps. A door slamming. Another burst of gunfire that ends fast.

When we reach the upper level, a man in a suit is backing down the hall with his hands raised, eyes darting wildly.

He’s one of Vladimir’s office guys, the kind who carries a briefcase and thinks he’s important. He sees me and his face drains of color. “Morin.”

“Move,” I say.

He stumbles aside.

We hit the main corridor that runs parallel to the river-facing room, a line of windows on one side, offices on the other. This is where Vladimir likes to stand with a drink and feel like he owns the city.

He doesn’t own the city. Vienna has been owned by empires and survived them. It’ll survive him too.

A body lies near the lobby doors. He’s alive, groaning, holding his thigh. He looks up at me with panic. “He’s going to the dock,” he spits. “He’s going to run.”

Enzo laughs once, humorless. “That dock’s sealed.”

The man blinks. “What?”

Enzo leans down, close to his face. “Your boss doesn’t inspire loyalty. He inspires fear. Fear makes men sell you for a way out.”

The man’s mouth opens. No sound.

Enzo stands. “Keep moving.”

At the end of the corridor, a heavy door leads to Vladimir’s inner office. Another ego room. Another place he uses to make people feel small.

The door is closed.

Behind it, I can hear a voice, loud, furious.

Vladimir’s voice. He’s shouting into a phone, probably, or at a man who can’t fix the fact that his world is folding. Enzo signals with two fingers. Two men take positions. Another covers the hall behind us.

I reach for the handle.

The door opens from the inside before I touch it, and a man steps out fast, eyes wide, tie crooked. He nearly runs into my chest and freezes immediately.

I recognize him as one of Vladimir’s lieutenants. The one who reassigned perimeter teams for us. The one who wanted his family moved first. He swallows and takes one careful step back. “He’s inside.”

“I know,” I say.

The lieutenant’s gaze flicks toward the stairwell. “He’s armed. He’s… not stable.”

Enzo shifts his weight. “He’s never been stable.”

The lieutenant’s mouth tightens. “He’s got a second pistol. He thinks he’s still in control. He’s screaming about contracts.”

“He can scream,” I say. “It won’t change anything.”

The lieutenant nods once, then moves aside fully and doesn’t look at me again. He’s done. He picked his side. He’s going to live with it. I step into the office.

Vladimir is in the center of the room, jacket off, sleeves rolled like he’s trying to copy me. His face is flushed. His hair is messy. His pale eyes are hard and bright, the way they get when he’s excited.

He’s holding a pistol in one hand, phone in the other. He turns and sees me. For half a second, something like disbelief crosses his face.