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The cavernous expanse of the warehouse seems to stretch out endlessly before me, rows upon rows of stacked crates and shelves. The overhead lighting casts long, treacherous shadows that could hide danger, or in my case, offer concealment. The smell of old wood and the faint, familiar scent of tobacco fill the air.
Each step I take is calculated, every breath measured. The guards, I quickly notice, converse amongst themselves in Romanian—thick accents dripping with the familiar cadence of my old adversaries. It's a bittersweet realization; while it gives me the advantage in understanding them, it also tells me they are likely Radu’s last remaining loyal men, which means they won’t go down easily.
I glide from shadow to shadow, using the stacks of crates as my cover, noting each exit and potential weapon at my disposal. It's a tactical dance, one I've perfected over the years. My confidence grows with every guard I manage to evade.
Until…
There's no mistaking the sensation of being watched, of eyes tracking your every move. I feel him before I see him. Turning, I come face-to-face with a behemoth. The guard's sheer size is intimidating, his hulking frame making him look like a human wall. His shaved head, thick neck, and cold eyes that hold a gleam of recognition leave no room for doubt, he's been expecting me.
There's a split-second standoff. Two predators sizing each other up, calculating the risks, the odds.
But time is a luxury I don't have, especially with a baby to consider. Rushing headfirst at a man like this in normal circumstances would be risky, but now? Now, it's sheer madness. Yet this is how Radu plays his malicious game, always pushing me to my limits, forcing me to take impossible risks.
With a deep breath, I launch myself at the giant, aiming for his center of gravity. The element of surprise is on my side, at least for the moment. As I anticipate, he sidesteps, but I'm ready. My training kicks in. Using his momentum against him, I pivot, driving the heel of my boot into the back of his knee. He grunts, staggering forward, but he's far from defeated.
He roars, swinging a meaty fist in my direction. I duck, but the force of his blow creates a gust of air that ruffles my hair. Knowing full well I can't trade blow for blow with this mountain, I use his size to my advantage.
While he's busy trying to land a hit, I'm moving, striking the soft spots—the sides of his knees, his groin, the hollow of his throat. Quick, incapacitating moves. My aim isn't to overpower but to outmaneuver.
Suddenly, he lunges, catching me off guard. The world tilts as I'm pinned against a stack of crates. His beefy hand encircles my throat, squeezing. Panic flares, but I suppress it. Reaching into my pocket, I wrap my fingers around the guard's knife I'd taken earlier.
With a swift motion, I drive the blade into his side, just enough to make him release his grip and stumble back, gasping in pain.
I don't waste any time. I sprint away, knowing I've only bought myself a few precious seconds.
Heart racing, breath ragged, I understand now more than ever what's at stake.
Chapter 37
Samuil
The Queens warehouse district is dead silent, save for the distant sound of horns beeping in the city beyond. The night's thick, humid air clings to my skin as I pull up. Waiting for me are the Dominicans, three men sent by Carlos, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and wariness.
I step out of the car, sizing them up with a quick glance. They're heavily armed, ready for a fight. It’s obvious they respect the situation, but it's equally evident they're wondering why they're here, working with a Russian instead of handling their own affairs. There'll be time for introductions and alliances later.
As we approach the entrance, I'm immediately struck by the eerie silence. Not the suffocating silence of an empty warehouse, but the unsettling stillness, the aftermath, that follows a skirmish. It’s a sensation I’m intimately familiar with.
What I see next confirms my suspicions. Strewn across the floor are several guards, unconscious or worse. These men didn’t go down without a fight, but they've been bested by a superior adversary. I smirk to myself; that's my Ana.
But pride is a fleeting emotion, replaced instantly by the high-pitched clang of metal and muffled shouts from above. Myheart jumps as I realize that’s where she is. And that’s where I’m headed.
The Dominicans, sensing the urgency, fall into formation behind me. We move swiftly, my every sense heightened, pulse pounding loudly in my ears. The staircase looms ahead, and as we ascend, the sounds of combat grow louder, more desperate.
And then I see a sight that stops me in my tracks.
Ana, my fierce, formidable woman, is locked in a dance of death with the hulking brute I'd glimpsed earlier on the video feed. Even from this distance, I can see the ferocity in her eyes, the sheer will to survive, to protect our unborn child. Her movements are swift, precise, each strike a testament to her skill.
I'm about to intervene when I witness the sheer brilliance of her tactics. Using the thug's size against him, she feints left, drawing him into a false sense of security. And then, with a rapid, almost ballet-like move, she pivots, slamming her elbow into the base of his skull.
The man crumples, hitting the floor with a thunderous crash.
Ana's gaze meets mine, a mixture of exhaustion, relief, and that fierce spirit that I've always admired. Even covered in grime and sweat, she's still the most beautiful sight I've ever seen.
Without a word, I cross the distance between us and pull her into my arms. The Dominicans stand a respectful distance away, their eyes wide, clearly impressed by the spectacle they've just witnessed.
She stands there, surrounded by the aftermath of her own doing, her chest heaving from exertion. Turning her sharp gaze to the Dominicans, she smirks, "You didn't really think I was going to sit around and wait to be rescued, did you?"
I chuckle, stepping forward with a glint in my eye. "Darling, I was genuinely looking forward to returning the favor after you bailed me out."
