Chapter 9 Xander
XANDER
Isit across from Markov at his desk while the sunlight fades across the river.
I've been working for weeks to eliminate the Brotherhood and I feel I'm nowhere near my goal.
Based on the way the boss is looking at me, he realizes it too.
I've been distracted, unable to keep the memory of Nadya in my bed out of my head.
I knew before I even stole that first kiss how dangerous it would be for me, how it would cloud my thinking and slow my reactions.
I knew it because I was off my game before it even happened.
Otherwise, I'd never have allowed one of them to get a shot at me.
Now I sit across from my boss feeling like a guilty man.
I'm up against a clock and failing.
"Progress is acceptable but insufficient," Markov says without looking up from the documents.
"The Brotherhood still operates from four confirmed locations. Your deadline remains unchanged."
"I understand."
I keep my voice neutral, but I feel the turmoil in my chest.
"I'll get it done."
He finally raises his eyes to meet mine.
"You have thirty-nine days, Xander, to dismantle what remains of their organization or face consequences we've previously discussed."
The reminder of my own execution date only makes the knot in my chest worse.
"The remaining cells have improved their security protocols," I explain.
"They know we're hunting them now. Direct assault will cost more soldiers than we can afford to lose."
"Then use indirect methods. Use the assets you've developed. Use that forensics expert who's been providing tactical analysis."
Markov's smile is devilish and dangerous.
"She's proven quite useful, according to your reports."
My jaw tightens at the mention of Nadya.
Markov knows about her existence but not the extent of her involvement in my operations.
He certainly doesn't know she spent a night in my bed this week or that I wake each morning wanting to keep her there permanently.
"She provides valuable insight into crime scene analysis," I say carefully.
"I'm sure she does. Beautiful women often prove multi-talented."
He leans forward and his smile grows sinister.
"Perhaps it's time to expand her role in our organization."
"Her current role suits operational requirements."
"Her current role serves your personal requirements, which may not align with our priorities."
Markov stands and moves to the window overlooking the square.
"Attachment makes men vulnerable, Xander. Vulnerability gets them killed."
The warning carries weight beyond mere advice.
Markov built his empire by eliminating threats before they became problems—including women who lay in his own bed.
If he perceives my relationship with Nadya as weakness, she becomes expendable regardless of her usefulness.
"I understand," I repeat, though understanding and compliance remain different beasts entirely.
"Good. I expect the Brotherhood eliminated before the deadline. Use whatever methods prove necessary, but deliver results."
He returns to his desk and picks up another report.
"That will be all."
I exit his office and descend to street level where my driver waits beside the black sedan.
The afternoon sun reflects off snow-covered buildings, transforming Moscow into a winter postcard that conceals the blood flowing beneath its pristine surface.
"Where to?" he asks as I settle into the back seat.
"Drive. Anywhere. I need to think."
The car pulls into traffic and begins winding through the city center.
I stare out the window at pedestrians bundling against the cold while my mind processes my options.
Four Brotherhood cells with improved security require different approaches than the straightforward assaults I've been conducting.
The cell operating from the nightclub in Zamoskvorechye employs civilian shields, making direct confrontation too messy.
The group using the construction site near Sokolniki has multiple escape routes and elevated positions.
The warehouse facility in Butyrsky offers defensive advantages that would cost significant casualties.
Each target presents unique challenges that require specific solutions.
Solutions that Nadya's analytical mind could provide if I'm willing to risk exposing her to increased danger.
Her forensic background allows her to read scenes others miss, to identify patterns and weaknesses that tactical training alone doesn't reveal.
So if she can read them after the fact, she may be able to read the landscape beforehand, tell me how to proceed with caution.
But involving her deeper in active operations violates every survival instinct I've developed over fifteen years in this business.
The smart play would be eliminating her now, before attachment compromises my judgment further.
A bullet behind the ear, body disposed in the river, problem solved permanently.
But the thought of killing her makes my chest tighten.
The idea of silencing that sharp mind, of never seeing her eyes widen when I enter a room, of never feeling her body respond to mine again…
I force the weakness from my thoughts and focus on operational priorities.
I'm down to thirty-nine days to eliminate four cells with minimal losses while maintaining organizational security.
I have to prove my continued value to Markov or I'm going to end up being the one in the river.
And now I have someone else to protect on top of that.
As easy as it would be to remove Nadya from the equation before I grow too attached, I just don't want to.
"Take me to the construction site," I tell the driver.
The vehicle changes direction toward Sokolniki as I try to force her out of my head again.
The Brotherhood cell there handles arms trafficking for their remaining operations.
Eliminating them would cripple the others' ability to acquire heavy weapons, forcing them into defensive positions with limited firepower.
Hitting there first makes the most sense.
But the site offers multiple elevated positions and clear sightlines for blocks.
I can't walk my men into a killing field with inadequate cover.
The smart approach requires reconnaissance and planning, resources that consume time I don't possess.
My phone buzzes with a text message.
Unknown number, which means either emergency communication from one of my soldiers or updates from the boss.
But what I find chills my blood and draws anger from deep in my chest.
The message contains a single photograph—Nadya entering her sister's apartment building, taken from across the street sometime today, based on the daylight and her clothing.
Below the image, three words.
Pretty little bird.
Hot and immediate rage floods my nervous system.
They're watching her, photographing her movements, sending messages designed to distract me and warn me.
The Brotherhood knows about her importance to my operations and plans to exploit that knowledge.
I swallow the tide of anger and force myself inward.
Fury is useless unless it is sharpened into strategy, yet this feels different.
The photograph is not a tactic—it is an intrusion.
Nadya’s face does not appear in the frame, but the implication is enough.
They have reached into my private hunger and turned it outward, making it a spectacle.
It is an insult disguised as a warning, and it gnaws at me.
Markov would tell me to sever the weakness.
He would remind me that the Brotherhood survives because they exploit sentiment, and that sentiment is fatal.
He would not be wrong.
If I kill her, the problem ends—clean, efficient, a solution buried with the others in the river.
But my mind refuses obedience.
I see her climbing that stairwell, the shape of her against the light.
I see her in my bed, hair tangled, eyes uncertain but alive.
I test the thought of her absence, and what it leaves in me is not relief but vacancy, a hollow wider than strategy can fill.
I tell myself the truth.
She is part of the war now.
The bird in their photograph is already caged, and I have decided she will stay and sing for me and no one else.
And anyone who approaches the cage will have their hands cut off, and maybe their heads too.