Chapter 24 - Alyssa
Pretending to find Troy charming might be the most difficult acting job of my life, but somehow I manage to giggle at his stupid joke about offshore banking.
“You’re so clever,” I coo as I lean across the small table like I’m hanging on his every word. The wine glass in my hand feels heavy as lead, but I take another sip to maintain the illusion that I’m relaxed and happy to be here. “I never realized how complicated your business was.”
Troy’s chest puffs up with pride, and he reaches across the table to squeeze my fingers.
His touch makes my skin crawl, but I bite my lip to avoid scowling.
“Most people don’t appreciate the sophistication required for what I do.
It’s not just about moving product; it’s about logistics, timing, market analysis. ”
“Tell me more,” I breathe, batting my eyelashes as if I’m genuinely fascinated by his criminal empire instead of gathering evidence to destroy it.
He launches into another explanation of supply chains and distribution networks, and I nod along as I parse through the details for something useful.
Names, locations, operational procedures—all of it gets filed away in my memory for later use.
The bourbon he’s been drinking has loosened his tongue considerably, which works perfectly for my purposes.
“The beauty of diversification,” Troy continues, “is that when one revenue stream faces challenges, others pick up the slack. Like when the weapons market got tight last year, we pivoted to more… specialized merchandise.”
“Specialized how?” I ask, though I think I have some idea.
“High-value, low-volume goods. Clients are willing to pay premium prices for unique inventory.” He leans back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. “Much more profitable than moving drugs or guns in bulk.”
“That sounds intriguing,” I manage, though my mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton. “What kind of unique inventory?”
Troy pops his lips and replies, “Young assets with long-term potential.”
The euphemistic language doesn’t hide what he’s really talking about, and bile rises in my throat. Children. He’s talking about trafficking children, and he’s describing it like a legitimate business venture.
“How young?” I whisper, praying I’ve misunderstood.
“Depends on the client’s preferences, but typically between eight and fourteen. Old enough to be useful, young enough to be… malleable.” He takes another swig of bourbon, completely oblivious to my horror. “We’ve got a dozen units in rotation right now, with more coming in next week.”
Units. He’s calling children units like they’re pieces of equipment instead of human beings. I swear, I want to vomit all over his expensive shoes.
“Where do you keep them? It must be hard to avoid suspicion.” I ask through a throat that feels like it’s closing up.
“Safe house on the east side. We converted a former manufacturing facility into specialized housing. Climate-controlled, security systems, the works. Clients appreciate knowing their investments are well-maintained.”
I memorize the description while fighting to keep my face neutral.
A former manufacturing facility on the east side with climate control and security—that should be enough for Maksim and his brothers to locate it.
Once we have the children safely extracted, we can focus on destroying Troy’s entire network.
“You’re amazing,” I tell him with a sigh. “I had no idea you were running such a sophisticated operation.”
“Most people underestimate what’s required to succeed at this level.” He refills his glass from the bottle on the table, and I notice his words are starting to slur. “But you understand quality when you see it. That’s why we work so well together.”
The delusion is incredible. He genuinely believes I’m impressed by his child trafficking empire, that I’m proud to be associated with his horrific crimes. The disconnect between his perception and reality would be laughable if it weren’t so sickening.
“I should probably use the restroom,” I announce, standing from my chair. “All this wine is catching up with me.”
I walk toward the indicated direction, but instead of heading to the bathroom, I slip into an empty room and pull out my phone. My fingers shake as I compose a text message with the location details, but before I can hit send, footsteps in the hallway make me freeze.
“Alyssa?” Troy’s voice carries a note of suspicion that wasn’t there before. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I call back, quickly deleting the unsent message and shoving my phone back into my pocket. “Just freshening up.”
I duck into the actual bathroom and splash cold water on my face, using the time to compose myself before returning to the table. When I emerge, Troy is standing in the hallway with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Funny thing,” he begins, blocking my path back to the main room, “It took you some time to find the bathroom.”
My heart pounds against my ribs, but I force myself to laugh. “Too much bourbon, maybe?”
“Maybe.” He studies my face with bloodshot eyes that look more alert than they should, given how much he’s been drinking. “Or maybe you’re not as happy to be here as you’re pretending, and you’re looking for a way out.”
“Of course I’m happy,” I protest as I inch toward him. “Why would you think otherwise?”
Instead of answering, Troy grabs my wrist and twists it hard enough to make me gasp. His grip feels like a steel manacle, and when I try to pull away, his fingers tighten until I whimper.
“Because,” he snarls, all pretense of drunken friendliness evaporating, “I know when I’m being played. And you, sweetheart, have been playing me all evening.”
“Troy, you’re hurting me,” I whimper, tugging at my trapped wrist.
“Not as much as I’m going to hurt you if you don’t start telling me the truth.” His free hand comes up to close around my chin. “What did you tell them?”
“Tell who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your boyfriend and his Russian friends. How much does Barkov know about my operations?”
“Nothing,” I lie desperately. “I haven’t told anyone anything.”
“Bullshit.” He twists my wrist harder, sending fire up my arm. “You think I don’t know about the surveillance? About your boyfriend’s little rescue mission?”
Terror claws up my throat as I realize how thoroughly I’ve underestimated him.
Troy isn’t just a jealous ex-boyfriend with control issues; he’s a career criminal who’s survived in this business by being paranoid and ruthless.
The performance I thought was fooling him barely scratched the surface of his awareness.
“I came here willingly,” I insist. “I chose you over him.”
“No, you chose to sacrifice yourself to protect that artist bitch. Noble, but stupid.” He drags me back toward the main room by my wrist. “Now you’re going to call your boyfriend and tell him to back off, or I'll start mailing him pieces of you.”
The threat galvanizes something inside me. I remember every lesson Maksim taught me about fighting back, every technique he drilled into me. Troy might be stronger, but he’s also drunk and overconfident.
I wait until we’re in the center of the room, then pivot on my left foot and drive my knee upward with all the force I can muster. The impact connects solidly with Troy’s groin, and he doubles over with a grunt of pain, releasing my wrist.
“You fucking bitch,” he wheezes before lunging for me with both hands extended.
I dodge to the side and try to make it to the door, but Troy recovers faster than expected. His hand closes around my ankle, sending me toppling onto the floor with a painful thud. Before I can scramble away, he’s on top of me, pinning my arms with his knees.
“Should have stayed gone,” he pants, raising his fist above my face. “Should have kept running instead of playing hero.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for the impact, but instead of pain, I hear the unmistakable sound of gunfire from somewhere else in the building. Troy freezes above me and turns his head toward the noise.
“What the fuck—”
The door explodes inward with a crash that shakes the entire room. Maksim fills the doorway like an avenging angel, his face contorted with rage and a gun in each hand. Behind him, I can hear more gunshots and shouting as his brothers engage with Troy’s security.
“Get off her,” Maksim orders.
Troy scrambles to his feet and reaches for something inside his jacket, but Maksim doesn’t give him the chance to draw whatever weapon he’s going for.
The first shot takes Troy in the shoulder, spinning him around.
The second catches him center mass, and he crumples to the floor like a marionette with cut strings.
I roll away from Troy’s body and push myself upright, and my whole body shakes with adrenaline and relief. “Maksim—”
“Are you hurt?” He’s beside me in two strides, and his hands run over my arms and face to check for injuries.
“I’m okay,” I manage. “But there are children. He told me about the children they’re holding at a facility on the east side.”
“We’ll get them,” he promises, pulling me against his chest. “But first we need to get you out of here.”
The sound of approaching footsteps makes us both tense, but it’s only Dmitri appearing in the doorway with his weapon drawn.
“Building’s secure,” he reports. “Three tangos down, no casualties on our side.”
“Good. We need to move fast,” Maksim replies, keeping one arm around me while he addresses his brother. “Alyssa has intel on a trafficking operation. Children are being held at a converted manufacturing facility on the east side.”
“How many?” Dmitry demands.
“He said a dozen,” I whisper. “Kids between eight and fourteen.”
“Fucking animals,” Dmitri spits. “I’ll coordinate with the others. We can hit the location within the hour.”
“Make it thirty minutes,” Maksim corrects. “Every second those children spend in captivity is too long.”
The next hour is filled with tactical planning. Maksim’s brothers converge on our location with enough firepower to level a city block, and I provide every detail I can remember about Troy’s operation.
“You did good, little sister,” Aleksei tells me as we prepare to move out. “Getting that intelligence took real courage.”
The praise from the eldest Barkov brother means more than he probably realizes. These men have accepted me as family, and now I’ve proven I can contribute something valuable to their world beyond just being someone who needs protection.
I sit beside Maksim in the back of an armored SUV on the ride to the holding facility, watching him check his weapons. The man who kissed me so gently two days ago has transformed into something lethal and focused, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Stay in the vehicle once we arrive,” he instructs without looking at me. “This is going to get messy.”
“I want to help,” I protest. “Those children—”
“Will be safest if you let us handle the extraction. Please, Alyssa. I can’t focus on the mission if I’m worried about your safety.”
When we arrive, Maksim and his brothers move as one unit, each taking assigned positions around the perimeter while I watch from the relative safety of the vehicle.
What follows is fifteen minutes of controlled mayhem. Gunfire sounds from multiple directions as the Barkov team systematically clears the facility. I count each shot, each shout, and each moment of silence that might indicate someone has been hurt.
When the shooting finally stops, the quiet feels almost oppressive. Minutes crawl by before Maksim’s voice crackles through the radio.
“All clear. Package secured.”
Package secured. That’s how he refers to a dozen traumatized children who’ve been freed from a nightmare I can barely comprehend. But even the clinical language can’t hide the emotion I hear beneath it, the fury that promises these crimes won’t go unpunished.
The children emerge from the building in a ragged line, most clutching blankets provided by the extraction team. They range in age from maybe seven to fifteen, and their faces are hollow with the kind of trauma that will take years to heal.
“It’s over,” Maksim says as he reaches the vehicle where I’m waiting. Blood stains his shirt, though I can’t tell if it’s his or someone else’s. “Troy’s entire network is finished.”
I throw myself into his arms without caring about the blood or the weapons he’s still carrying. His body against mine feels like coming home after the longest, most terrifying journey of my life.
“I love you,” I whisper against his neck. “I’m sorry it took almost losing you to figure that out, but I love you, Maksim.”
“I love you too,” he breathes as his arms wrap around me like he never wants to let go. “God, Alyssa, when I saw him on top of you—”
“But you got there in time. You saved me, and we saved them.” I pull back enough to look into his face, where I see exhaustion and relief warring in his blue eyes. “It’s really over.”
“It’s over,” he confirms, cupping my face in his hands. “And now we can finally start the rest of our lives.”
The kiss that follows tastes like promises and new beginnings, like the end of running and the start of something permanent. Around us, his brothers coordinate the cleanup operation while emergency responders tend to the rescued children. But for this moment, none of that matters.
All that matters is the man holding me like I’m the most precious thing in his world, and the knowledge that I’ve finally found where I belong.