27. Mikhail
MIKHAIL
My men are moving, and Vladimir’s men are deciding whether to run, die, or join me. I tighten my hold on Alina’s hand. This is the part where I’m supposed to leave her and go finish it. This is what a leader does, but I can’t bring myself to leave her. Enzo shifts. “Mikhail, we need you upstairs.”
“I’m here,” I say.
“Mikhail.”
I look up at him. “I said I’m here.”
Enzo’s eyes harden. “He’s still alive.”
“I know.”
“He’ll try to get to her.”
“I know.”
Enzo takes a breath like he wants to argue, then he swallows it. “Fine. Two minutes. Then you move.”
Two minutes.
I can do two minutes.
I lean closer to Alina, mouth near her ear again. “When you wake up, you don’t talk to anyone except my people. You don’t answer questions. You don’t bargain.”
Her lips move, barely. No sound comes out.
I keep my voice low. “I’m going to say something, and you’re going to hear it, even if you can’t answer.”
Enzo’s gaze flicks to me. He knows what I’m doing. He doesn’t interrupt.
“You can leave,” I tell her. “Not tonight, not in the middle of this, but after. I’ll erase you.
I’ll erase the boy. You’ll get papers that work, money that’s clean, routes that don’t get you killed.
You’ll go wherever you want. You won’t owe me anything.
You won’t answer to anyone. You won’t see me again unless you decide to. ”
Her breathing stays steady, but her fingers twitch once in my grip.
Good. She’s hearing me.
I keep going because if I stop now, I won’t say it later.
“I won’t track you again. I won’t keep anything on you. You’ll be free for real. If you stay, it will be because you choose it, not because you’re trapped.”
Enzo’s voice cuts in, quiet and tight. “Time.”
I glance at Alina’s face. She’s still out, but her brow is faintly furrowed, like she’s fighting against the drug.
I press a quick kiss to her forehead, and then I stand. The second I step away, something in my chest tries to follow her and chain me to the bed. I snap it off.
I’m not doing that here. Enzo falls in beside me as we leave the room. The doctor stands against the wall, breathing hard, eyes wide.
“Stay,” I tell him.
He nods quickly. “I will. I will.”
We move down the corridor. Another door opens ahead, and a man runs out with a pistol, face slick with sweat. He sees us and stops like he hit a wall. He lifts the pistol, then hesitates.
That’s the crack.
Enzo shoots him in the shoulder. The man screams and drops the gun. He goes down to his knees.
Enzo steps over him like he’s furniture. “Don’t waste ammo,” he mutters into comms. “They’re already breaking.”
We take the stairs up two at a time now, controlled speed, no panic.
The building above is louder. Shouts. Footsteps. A door slamming. Another burst of gunfire that ends fast.
When we reach the upper level, a man in a suit is backing down the hall with his hands raised, eyes darting wildly.
He’s one of Vladimir’s office guys, the kind who carries a briefcase and thinks he’s important. He sees me and his face drains of color. “Morin.”
“Move,” I say.
He stumbles aside.
We hit the main corridor that runs parallel to the river-facing room, a line of windows on one side, offices on the other. This is where Vladimir likes to stand with a drink and feel like he owns the city.
He doesn’t own the city. Vienna has been owned by empires and survived them. It’ll survive him too.
A body lies near the lobby doors. He’s alive, groaning, holding his thigh. He looks up at me with panic. “He’s going to the dock,” he spits. “He’s going to run.”
Enzo laughs once, humorless. “That dock’s sealed.”
The man blinks. “What?”
Enzo leans down, close to his face. “Your boss doesn’t inspire loyalty. He inspires fear. Fear makes men sell you for a way out.”
The man’s mouth opens. No sound.
Enzo stands. “Keep moving.”
At the end of the corridor, a heavy door leads to Vladimir’s inner office. Another ego room. Another place he uses to make people feel small.
The door is closed.
Behind it, I can hear a voice, loud, furious.
Vladimir’s voice. He’s shouting into a phone, probably, or at a man who can’t fix the fact that his world is folding. Enzo signals with two fingers. Two men take positions. Another covers the hall behind us.
I reach for the handle.
The door opens from the inside before I touch it, and a man steps out fast, eyes wide, tie crooked. He nearly runs into my chest and freezes immediately.
I recognize him as one of Vladimir’s lieutenants. The one who reassigned perimeter teams for us. The one who wanted his family moved first. He swallows and takes one careful step back. “He’s inside.”
“I know,” I say.
The lieutenant’s gaze flicks toward the stairwell. “He’s armed. He’s… not stable.”
Enzo shifts his weight. “He’s never been stable.”
The lieutenant’s mouth tightens. “He’s got a second pistol. He thinks he’s still in control. He’s screaming about contracts.”
“He can scream,” I say. “It won’t change anything.”
The lieutenant nods once, then moves aside fully and doesn’t look at me again. He’s done. He picked his side. He’s going to live with it. I step into the office.
Vladimir is in the center of the room, jacket off, sleeves rolled like he’s trying to copy me. His face is flushed. His hair is messy. His pale eyes are hard and bright, the way they get when he’s excited.
He’s holding a pistol in one hand, phone in the other. He turns and sees me. For half a second, something like disbelief crosses his face.
Then he smiles.
Even now.
Even while the building shakes under the weight of his men turning. “Mikhail Morin,” he says. “You came.”
“I’m here,” I answer.
Vladimir sets the phone down slowly on the desk, like it’s a chess move. “You’re late.”
I don’t react.
Vladimir’s smile widens. “Where is she?”
“Safe,” I say.
His eyes narrow. “Safe.”
“Yes.”
He lifts his pistol slightly. “Bring her.”
“No.”
His smile twitches. “You’re making demands in my house.”
“It isn’t your house anymore,” I say.
Vladimir laughs with wild eyes. “You always liked to talk like that. Power in the tone. Control in the word choice. It’s a good illusion, but it won’t work with me.”
Enzo steps into the doorway behind me. Vladimir sees him and snickers. “Ah. The dog.”
Enzo smiles. “Bark, bark.”
Vladimir’s eyes go back to me, hungry now, like he’s feeding on the attention. “Let’s talk like men.”
“We’re talking,” I say.
He gestures with his gun toward the wall where there’s a framed map highlighting old borders and disputes.
Vladimir loves history when it lets him justify being a predator.
“You know what your family did in Odessa,” he says.
“You know what Vienna was used for, the corridors, and the routes. The treaties that meant nothing.”
“I know,” I say.
“You married her,” Vladimir says, voice tightening. “You thought you could erase a contract with a ring.”
“I married her because my brother was dead and my enemies were watching,” I say. “You know that. That’s why you pushed.”
His eyes flash at the word brother. “Sergei was a problem.”
“You killed him because you’re petty,” I reply, keeping emotion out of the deal.
Vladimir’s smile returns. “I killed him because he got in my way.”
“And you killed her mother,” I add.
He shrugs, like he’s talking about a bill he paid. “Cleaning up loose ends. Your wife was always going to cry about something.”
Enzo makes a rough sound behind me. I feel him tense.
I keep my eyes on Vladimir. “You don’t get to speak of her like you know her.”
Vladimir takes one step forward. “I know what she is.”
He says it like it’s a compliment, like he’s proud of the way he reduces women into objects he can count. “Tell me,” he says, voice almost playful. “Did she beg you for protection when she realized I was coming?”
“She didn’t beg,” I answer. “She planned.”
Vladimir’s eyes narrow. “Planned?”
“She walked into your plan because she wanted you talking,” I say. “And you couldn’t shut up.”
His smile shifts. “You think that changes anything?”
“It does,” I say. “Because it means you lost to her first.”
Vladimir’s nostrils flare. “She’s mine.”
“No,” I say.
He laughs again, but it’s brittle. “The contract was first. Her father owed me. He signed.”
“Her father is dead,” I say. “And his signature doesn’t make you a husband.”
Vladimir’s gaze darts to the side, to the desk drawer, to the phone. He’s calculating. He’s looking for a way out.
“You think you’ve won,” he says. “You think this is a clever operation. Bribed men, turned dogs, shut doors. You’re proud.”
“I’m efficient,” I correct.
Vladimir’s eyes flicker with hate. “Bring her.”
“No,” I say again, and I don’t raise my voice.
He steps forward again, closer, and now I can see the sweat at his hairline. I can smell his cologne. “You can’t keep her,” he says. “Not forever. She’s a problem you married to look strong. You don’t even want her.”
I feel the urge to break his jaw. “You don’t get to decide what I want.”
Vladimir’s grin turns ugly. “Then what do you want, Morin?”
I pause.
This is where men like him expect posturing. They expect threats and the same ugly language they use. I keep it simple. “I want you gone,” I say. “And I want her freed from the contract.”
Vladimir’s eyes widen, just a fraction. “Free.”
“Yes.”
He scoffs. “You think you can do that? You think you can erase the way this world works?”
“I’m doing it right now,” I say.
Vladimir’s hand twitches toward the desk drawer.
Enzo shifts in the doorway.
Vladimir sees it and his mouth tightens. “You bought them.”
“I did,” I say.
“You can’t buy loyalty,” Vladimir spits.
“I didn’t buy loyalty,” I answer. “I bought a way out.”
His face contorts in a mix of rage, panic, disbelief.
The first real emotion I’ve seen on him that isn’t performance.
He lifts his pistol higher, and now it’s aimed at my chest. “Step aside,” he says.
“Let me leave. You’ll get your wife back.
You’ll get to keep pretending you’re noble.
I’ll go elsewhere and I won’t burn your house down. ”
Enzo laughs quietly. “You’re bargaining.”