27. Mikhail #2
Vladimir’s eyes snap to him. “Shut up.”
Enzo’s voice stays light. “You’re not used to being the one begging.”
Vladimir’s cheeks go red. He turns back to me. “Last chance.”
I don’t move.
“Your men,” he says through his teeth. “Your son. Your mother. You think they’re safe. You think you can lock a house and call it protection.”
My spine goes cold for half a second. Then I remember my mother’s message. Oisin asleep. Sofia beside him. The house locked. Extra men outside.
Vladimir doesn’t know what we’ve set up. He’s guessing. He’s reaching. “That’s all you have,” I say. “Threats you can’t back up.”
He snarls. “I have her.”
“You don’t,” I say.
His eyes flicker again, involuntarily, to the wall behind me, toward the medical room he left.
He realizes and his mouth opens, and for the first time, his smug mask slips fully.
“You’re here,” he says slowly, “and she’s not.”
“Correct.”
His pistol jerks up a fraction. That’s the moment he decides he’s going to shoot me and run anyway. He starts to squeeze the trigger, but I fire first. It’s one shot. Suppressed. Clean. Center mass.
Vladimir staggers like he didn’t believe bullets applied to him. His gun slips from his hand and hits the floor. His eyes are wide, shocked, furious, almost offended. He tries to speak.
No words come out.
He falls to his knees.
I step closer and keep my pistol trained on him.
Enzo stays in the doorway, scanning the hall, not looking at the man dying in front of me like it’s a show. Enzo has seen too many bodies to care about this one.
Vladimir’s mouth moves again, trying to pull air that won’t cooperate.
I crouch slightly, just enough that he can see my face clearly.
“You thought she was currency,” I say quietly. “That you could own her. You couldn’t.”
His eyes burn with hate. I don’t let him have a last speech.
I fire again.
His head drops and silence hits the room. My chest doesn’t loosen. It doesn’t feel like relief.
It feels like the end of a long irritation that still leaves a mark. Enzo’s voice is steady. “Outside teams report all exits sealed. Dock’s clear. Two men tried to jump. They didn’t make it.”
“Good,” I say.
Enzo’s gaze flicks to Vladimir’s body. “That it?”
“That’s it,” I answer.
He nods once. “Let’s get you back to her.”
We move fast now. The building is ours, but chaos still leaves corners sharp.
In the hallway, men are being zip-tied. Some are on their knees. Some are face down. Some are bleeding and screaming.
I don’t stop. I head straight for the stairs.
Down to the medical corridor, the doctor is still pressed to the wall like he’s glued there. His eyes follow me with panic. “She’s waking,” he blurts.
I go into the room.
Alina’s eyes are open—not fully focused, but open. Her gaze finds my face, and her throat works like she’s trying to swallow and the drug is still fighting her.
I’m at her side again. My hand goes to her cheek, careful, grounding.
“Hey,” I say, because I don’t have better words right now. Her lips move. A whisper tries to form and fails. “Don’t talk,” I tell her. “Just look.”
Her eyes open and close slowly like she’s forcing them to stay on me. “It’s over,” I say. “He’s done.”
She blinks once.
Then twice.
Her fingers twitch, and she tries to lift her hand. It shakes. I take it and hold it firmly. Enzo stands at the door. “We’ve got ten minutes before anyone outside realizes what happened and starts asking questions.”
“Let them ask,” I say.
Enzo’s mouth tightens. “They will.”
“I know.”
I look back at Alina. “You did it,” I tell her. “You walked in, and you walked out alive.”
Her throat works again. She swallows, and I see the faint movement near her neck where the capsule sits, hidden.
Her eyes glisten for a second, and she blinks it away like it’s a weakness she refuses to show.
That’s her. I slide my arm under her shoulders, careful of the IV line the doctor has placed. She’s light in my hands, too light, and it pisses me off. “I’m going to carry you,” I say.
Her lips part again. A sound comes out this time, thin. “No.”
“Yes,” I answer, and I don’t argue.
I lift her, and she makes a small, involuntary sound, pain or frustration, I can’t tell. Her arms try to move. She doesn’t have the strength. I hold her against my chest and turn toward the door.
Enzo steps aside, eyes scanning the hall. “Path’s clear.”
We move. Bodies line the corridor now, some alive, some not. My men keep their faces blank. This isn’t celebration. This is cleanup.
We hit the stairwell. I take it one step at a time because I won’t jostle her more than necessary. Her head rests against my shoulder. Her breath is warm through my shirt.
She’s conscious enough to track where we’re going, but she’s drifting. I tighten my hold.
Vans are waiting. Men are moving in coordinated lines, loading weapons, packing evidence, wiping prints. It’s automatic. It’s not pretty. It’s what keeps us alive tomorrow.
Enzo’s phone buzzes. He checks it and gives me a short nod. “Your mother’s fine. House is sealed. Oisin’s still asleep.”
Good.
I carry Alina toward the van, but she shifts in my arms, weak but stubborn.
Her lips brush my jaw as she tries to speak again.
“Don’t,” I tell her.
She does anyway.
It’s a whisper, broken and rough, but clear enough to cut straight through the noise.
“I’m staying.”