Page 26 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

Dmitri watches me through the mirror. “Maksim’s estate.”

“The Pakhan’s house.” My voice stays flatter than I feel. “Very cozy. Should I have brought a gift?”

Nikolai’s mouth twitches. Dmitri’s gaze cuts to him once. The twitch dies.

Good to know. Humor is permitted only when state-approved.

Moscow thins behind us. Streetlights grow rare. Buildings become warehouse blocks, then fences, then dark trees packed close on both sides. My phone is gone. My laptop is gone. My son is across the ocean with Kathryn, if God, luck, and our emergency phrase have done their work.

Pancake emergency.

If Kathryn got the alert, she would’ve used her key. She would’ve woken him gently and told him it was an adventure if he asked whether I was hiding. The red and blue cars would’ve gone into his bag if she’d had five spare seconds. If they didn’t make it, he’d cry for them later, and the thought of him crying for anything without me there cuts so deep, I almost make a sound.

I bite the inside of my cheek until blood floods my mouth.

Dmitri looks at me through the rearview mirror. He says nothing.

The road bends, and the car leaves the cleaner stretch for narrow, muddy lanes flanked by tall trees stripped bare for winter. Snow clings in patches along the ground, and the grey sky presses down until the whole place feels designed to swallow sound.

My eyes miss nothing. A camera is mounted in a tree at an angle meant to look accidental. Another sits near a utility pole with no utility lines attached. The car slows before a gate I don’t see until it opens. There’s no guardhouse at first glance, then I spot the slit in the stone wall, the black lens under the overhang, and the man standing half behind a pillar with a compact carbine across his chest.

The first gate shuts behind us before the second opens. A sally port. Nothing says welcome home like a castle checkpoint with better asphalt.

The drive continues through the forest. The vehicle’s signal screen on the dashboard flickers, then blanks. Dead zone. Engineered, not natural. We pass a service road branching left, then another, both closed by retractable barriers. Two vehicles follow us. One more appears ahead after the third gate, then falls in behind like it was waiting for a cue. Escape from here is possible in the same way jumping out of a plane is possible. The math doesn’t encourage enthusiasm.

The estate appears through the trees, modern and severe, stone and smoked glass and dark wood, built into the land. Lights burn in narrow strips along the roofline. Cameras sit where decorative fixtures should be. The approach curves toward an inner courtyard where three men wait in coats, motionless until our car stops.

I take in every detail. Wide doors. Reinforced frame. No visible handles from the outside. Controlled access. Multiple camera angles.

Beautiful murder box.

Dmitri opens his door. “Out.”

“Still not asking prettier.”

He comes around and opens mine himself. “Please.”

The word is so flat it almost becomes funny.

I step into the cold. It cuts through my coat and straight down my spine. Boston gets cold. Moscow has a personal grudge.

The men outside look at Dmitri first. Then at me. Then away. That sequence tells me more than introductions would. I’m not a guest. I’m an object with a custodian standing beside it.

Custodian.

His word, not mine.

“Walk.”

“Do I get a leash, or is that for premium guests?” I ask innocently.

His gaze drops to my mouth, then returns to my eyes. “You talk when you’re afraid.”

I let my eyes travel from his coat to the men at his back, then back to his face, slow enough to make the inspection insulting. “I also talk when I’m bored, angry, hungry, or dealing with men who confuse kidnapping with logistics. It’s a versatile skill.”

“You’re alive because of logistics.” His mouth hardens.

We enter through the main doors into heat, stone floors, high ceilings, and a silence so well-funded, it should have a trust account. Staff move along the edges of the hall. A woman in a dark dress carries a tray and lowers her eyes when Dmitri passes. Two guards straighten near an interior arch. A man with a tablet stops speaking mid-sentence.