Chapter 23 - Aleksei
We're slow to start, Lorenzo and I. It's an awkward situation figuring out how to spearhead an operation when we're both used to being in charge —a test of patience and pride that neither of us has time for right now. Every decision feels like a tug of war. It’s several minutes into strategizing, him shooting down my suggestion for the umpteenth time, that something shifts.
In that split second, we both realize we don’t have the liberty of time right now. We're here to make sure that our family members are safe. There are a few beats of uncomfortable silence before Lorenzo speaks up again. His voice is measured but clearly tense.
“We need to think logically about where Sasha would take them. I've known her for years, and she's nothing if not methodical. She wouldn't act on impulse.” I nod, forcing myself to digest his words. He knows the woman better than I ever could, so I have to place my bets on him now.
“Agreed. We need to combine our resources and knowledge. You know her patterns better than I do.” He looks at me, eyes narrowing slightly—as if assessing whether I'm sincere.
“All right,” he nods after a short while. “I know Sasha has a few properties for her own uses. If she's keeping them anywhere, it's one of those.” Lorenzo stands up swiftly and pulls out a map from a nearby drawer. He spreads it out swiftly, smoothing over it with his hands before pointing to several different locations around various areas of New York.
There are five properties, and if we choose wrong it could mean death for either Bianca or Grigor. We narrow down our options, Dmitri weighing in that strategically it would only make sense for two—both nearing the center of the city—to be the ones she chose. Hiding in plain sight is a daring strategy but one that makes sense if she’s counting on us going with the other, more isolated options.
Between the two of us, we determine the most likely candidate to be a hidden brownstone in the West Village, nestled between a row of nearly identical structures. The street is central enough that it would most likely be overlooked by most, the kind of serene silence in the middle of the storm that Sasha would probably look for.
The next step involves a rough outline of a strategy. We decide to approach the estate from multiple angles to minimize the risk of detection, mindful that nothing rash is done to either Bianca or Grigor. Lorenzo insists on a cautious approach, while I push for speed and precision—urgency, I argue, is what could make or break this. We find a middle ground a few minutes later.
By the time we're ready to move out, there is an unusual but mutual unspoken respect. I do not like him , I decide, but in this moment, we need to work together and that's enough . We quickly hurry out of the safe house and head to our vehicles—Dmitri the designated driver for ours, while his men drive his—and we start heading out. It’s at this point that I receive a message—the number unknown—but I recognize the wording as Lorenzo’s.
Just got a report from one of my men that the GPS in Sasha’s car pinged in at West Village five minutes ago. We were right about the location, Barkov.
I don’t sigh—there is no relief in knowing their location. For all I know, both of them could already be dead. We need to hurry. The drive to West Village is more nerve-wracking than the one to Lorenzo—it feels final. From what little Bianca told me about her stepmother, she didn't sound like she cared for her all that much. Sasha’s maternal instincts would not be enough to protect Bianca, and the thought makes me worry.
As we step out of the car, the cool evening air immediately sharpens my senses. The quiet of the neighborhood only amplifies the sound of our footsteps as we approach the property from all sides. Lorenzo starts to enter from the front door while me and my men head from the back.
We move swiftly, and my heart once again pounds in my chest as we make our way inside. The interior of the apartment is starkly different from its charming exterior. The walls are bare, furniture sparse and utilitarian. It's clear this place is meant for function and not comfort. The air is thick with tension as we sweep through the rooms. Meeting with Lorenzo halfway. When we discovered that the ground floor is empty.
We don't speak at all, the only sound being the muffled footsteps that we try to conceal with soft steps so as to not alert Sasha that we’re present. I thank whatever higher power that the stairs do not creak as I ascend them, my brothers and Lorenzo following closely behind. Once upstairs, we advance towards a room with closed wooden doors. It's when I lean against that door that I hear what I assume is Sasha's voice—she’s talking in hushed tones but with a decidedly angry undertone.
I look back to check the men behind me are ready, nodding at them and waiting for their response. I’d detonate a grenade down the corridor to cause a distraction—it’s a plan we went over with Lorenzo several times, knowing we’ll need the precious few seconds the diversion will buy us.
The second I get a nod from them, I throw the small ball of metal down the corridor in the opposite direction of the room. Everything is a blur from then on, the smell of burnt material and heavy smoke permeating there. That’s when I kick the door in.
Inside, Sasha is clutching her arm but standing there with a look of defiance. But the biggest surprise is a young woman standing next to her, features hauntingly similar to Bianca’s. The room crackles with electricity, and it’s then that I scan the room again and see Bianca and Grigor in the corner, limbs bound. It feels like there will be blood spilled tonight. I almost do a double take when the third figure triggers recognition— it’s Maksim .
Lorenzo's cracking voice breaks the silence, a mix of anger and disbelief.
“Sasha, Giorgia, why?” The question hangs heavy in the air.
“What are you doing here, dad?” She asks, voice pleading and unsteady.
I don't detect a sliver of regret in her face, and it's becoming abundantly clear that confrontation is inevitable. Lorenzo looks from his wife to his youngest, shaking his head in disappointment and disbelief. Giorgia is standing next to her mother, eyes wild and darting around the room as if she's looking for an escape or someone to blame. She's unraveling , I realize disconcertedly. It’s a dangerous state for her to be in a room full of armed men. Her body shakes like a leaf, growing more as her composition crumbles.
Giorgia scrambles onto the floor, frantic, until she comes back again but this time with a heavy metal object in her hand. She’s armed.
“Giorgia, what the hell are you doing?” He echoes her question with his own. “Get away now.”
She stays still, as if rooted in place, eyes frantically searching around the room. Lorenzo takes a step towards her, but within a second, she cocks the gun and aims it at Bianca.
“You're got to stop this madness.” Lorenzo's voice booms, authoritative and desperate, but it only seems to agitate her more.
“Yo-you don't understand, Father.” She yells, producing a high-pitched, shrill sound. “This was the only way. They all betrayed us, and you're too blind to see it.”
I move closer, my eyes locked on Bianca. She looks at me, her teary eyes filled with a mix of relief and fear. I want to run to her and untie her—to hold her close—but I know I need to handle Georgia first. She's a ticking time bomb, and any wrong move from us could set her off.
“Georgia, listen to me,” I say, keeping my voice low and steady and my arms out in a placating gesture. “We can end this peacefully. Let them go, and we can talk.”
But she's not listening. She's shaking her head frantically, tears streaming down her face, black mascara streaks everywhere.
“No, you'll just take them away and kill me. I'm not stupid.” She spits out. Lorenzo takes a step forward, his hand outstretched.
“Georgia, please. This isn't you. Put down the gun, and we can figure this out together.”
For a moment, it seems like she might listen. It's fleeting, though. Her grip on the gun loosens and she looks at her father with a potent mix of anger and longing. But then her eyes gloss over, hardening, and she tightens her hold on the pistol again.
“No. This ends now.”
She raises the gun, and everything happens in a blur. Lorenzo lunges forward, shouting for her to stop. I run to Bianca, pulling myself down, shielding her with my body. A shot rings out, echoing throughout the room, and then everything is silent. Too silent.
A scream echoes in the air, but this time, it is one of pain—not of emotional distress. My heart drops to my stomach, not yet being able to discern who it belongs to. But then Georgia falls to the floor, clutching her knee as she collapses, blood seeping through her fingers. The gun clatters away from her, useless now. Lorenzo runs to her, bending down and holding his own hand over her wound, his face a mask of sorrow and regret.
“I'm sorry, Georgia,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I'm so sorry.”
I turn to Bianca, cradling her face before quickly untying the chords around her limbs.
“Are you alright, darling?” I ask, my voice betraying my beating heart.
She nods, the tears finally spilling from her eyes. “Ye-yes.” She repeats herself, as if confirming the truth of the statement. “I'm okay now.”
Maybe it's the years of practice or some instinctual need to make sure the situation is truly over. I can’t pinpoint why, but I look up. A man standing in the corner—one I didn’t previously pay too much attention to —is staring down at us, Bianca in particular, his face a mask of rage. His face triggers a memory, and I realize that I recognize him from the pictures. He's the one who fired at the limousine, Giorgia’s main bodyguard, from what Bianca mentioned. He moves swiftly, his hands on the handle of the gun in his holster, but I'm faster. My shot is precise. He crumples to the ground, his weapon clattering beside him.
I turn to Bianca from my now standing position. She’s huddled into a crouched fetal position, hands over her head. Her face is deathly pale. My heart pounds not from the fight but from her terrified expression. I rush back down to her, pulling her into a tight embrace. Relief floods through me and overrides the anger and fear that gripped me just a few seconds ago. I pull back slightly, cupping her face in my hands, searching her eyes for any lingering fear or pain. She smiles a shaky but genuine expression that gives me a semblance of hope.
“I thought I'd lost you,” I admit. My voice barely more than a whisper. “I-I thought you left me.”
She shakes her head with vigor, moving her shaky hands to palm over mine.
“I would never do that.” Her admission sounds resolute.
Hearing her words and feeling her warmth makes everything else fade away. All that matters in this moment is that she's here in my arms, unharmed and where she belongs.
“I'm so glad you're okay,” I reiterate. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”
The room is almost quiet now, everyone in the post adrenaline dip after the imminent danger has passed. Dimitri and Nikolai hurry out of the room, presumably to make sure that the house is fully secured and there’s no one else lurking around. Akim remains behind, keeping a trained eye on Giorgia and Sasha, but not stepping forward to help either of them.
“I'm not letting you out of my sight again,” I promise Bianca, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead.
She smiles through the salty tears accumulating on her chin. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”