Chapter 25
Kirill
The night air bites straight through my jacket, winter-cold despite the official beginning of fall being a few days away.
I’m prone on the ridge above the Hearst estate, my body flat and rifle-still, with night vision binoculars glued to my face. The glass is icy against my brow, and thermals paint the world in smeared greens and reds.
I’ve been here for three hours, trying to find the rhythm of this place. Noting every guard shift, every window, every light. Hunting for a flaw. A crack in the armor.
The mansion sprawls below me in sharp architectural lines, pale limestone supporting a dozen windows. The estate is a sealed vault with no chinks and no leeway.
The surgical grounds offer no hedges or shadows worth using. Nothing but an exposed and monitored open lawn. That’s the same thing we do at Roman’s home, which begs so many questions.
Why does this Hearst guy require so much security?
I sweep the perimeter. A guard patrols the west corner, his shoulders squared and his steps measured. One minute. Two. Three. He vanishes behind manicured green.
Then seven minutes of nothing.
I count it down, my muscles braced and my lungs barely moving. Security always falls into a rhythm, and that predictable weakness and attachment to routine is how you crack them.
Except…sudden motion appears to the east instead of the west.
Two guards use a different door and path. No pattern at all.
Three hours, and not a single non-random movement. Then this.
Son of a bitch.
I ease onto my elbows, feeling the cool earth seep into bone, and switch my focus to the surveillance net. Cameras are mounted with military geometry, ensuring no blind spots. Every lens overlaps another in a matrix of attention.
Someone built this with intent, someone who understands danger like I do.
A second after my phone vibrates at my thigh, I pop the line open.
“Report.” Roman.
“Not good. Just like you anticipated, security is tight. Patrols are randomized, and the camera grid is solid. I need more time.”
Silence drags on as Roman calculates. I can almost feel him grinding over cost, risk, and opportunity. “We don’t have more time. We have to retrieve whatever’s inside that safe before anyone else does.”
I make the promise. “I’ll get in.”
“See that you do.” The line goes dead.
The unusually early fall frost grows teeth as I set the phone aside and press my earpiece. Alexei picks up with a wordless click.
“I need Emil.” He’s the cousin who’s best at tech stuff. There’s no system he can’t hack.
After a pause, Emil Kozlov’s sharp, professional voice comes through. “What ya need?”
“Richard Hearst’s estate. Schematics. Give me an entry point.”
Fingers pound away at the keyboard with the same kind of passion you might expect from tech nerds and gamers. Emil whistles softly through his teeth. “Impressive setup. Security feeds, alarm nets, perimeter sensors… Kirill, this is next level. Whoever ran point on this was scared. Paranoid, even.”
I keep observing the grounds, tracking guards that never repeat. “Find me an angle. Anything. A blind spot.”
“It’s a closed loop.” Emil’s tight, tense. “No outbound feed. I can’t hack what I can’t reach.”
My jaw locks. “Service net? Power? Water?”
“Air-gapped. Completely isolated. Maybe I could play with the sprinklers, but you’re not getting into the house that way.”
Below, the mansion glows with distant, untouchable warmth. I remember Jordan’s words at the hotel.
It’s designed to keep the messy world out.
She’s seen this place for what it is. More than just a rich man’s bunker, this is a stronghold built by people who know what lurks in the dark.
Sharks like me.
“Check again.” I refuse to quit. “Physical flaws. Camera overlap. There has to be something.”
“I’m looking.” Emil stays steady, but I can hear the strain in his voice. “They’ve got it all. Motion overlaid with heat sensors…redundant everything. No outside lines. Not even a crack at the service doors. Whoever built this was meticulous.”
I drag in a lungful of cold, letting the burn settle me.
I’ve cracked government buildings, rival syndicates, and black sites with armed guards and walls of steel, but this place is a different beast. A fortress with no seams or levers.
This isn’t right. “Don’t stop. If you keep searching, I’m sure you’ll find a way. You always do.” But the awful truth already lies in the lights below me.
I can’t break in. Not alone, anyway. Not with the tricks I know.
I take one last sweep with the binoculars, cataloguing every guard and camera. Then I pack up, running on muscle and my refusal to let go.
Jordan knew. She tried to warn me and like an idiot, I shut her out.
The truth spears me. Jordan’s not the problem. She’s the answer.
The woman I’ve treated like a liability is the only real asset I have in this job.
Kirill
The hotel room door swings open beneath my palm, and a hollow silence hits. Despite the early hour, the sheets on the bed remain undisturbed. The bathroom is unlit and dry, with no trace of steam lingering in the air.
For the space of a breath, my mind blanks.
She’s gone.
She probably fled the moment my shadow disappeared from the room. All the talk, all the reassurances…
I should have known better.
My fists clench, my knuckles popping with the urge to destroy. I force them open.
Focus. She’s on foot. She can’t have vanished.
I pivot and stride toward the elevator. The corridor feels too long, the pattern on the carpet writhing beneath each stride. Once I jam the button, the seconds crawl by, each tick heavier than the last.
Not this again. Not after everything. If Roman hears I lost her—
The elevator opens. I enter and breathe, regulating my heartbeat and slowing everything down. Rushing creates more issues than it solves.
Mentally, I note all the hotel exits, the street perimeter, and the transport hubs. I took her credit card. Though she might have managed to collect some cash from a sympathetic conference attendee.
Jordan is sharp, but people always leave trails.
I’ll hunt her down.
The doors ding open on the lobby.
After checking left and right, I prowl into the open space and freeze.
There she is.
Sitting alone on an oversize couch with a mug of complimentary hot tea cupped in her hands and her legs folded. She watches the tide of people serenely, untouched by the current, her expression calm and meditative.
Discovering her like this throws me for a loop. I was ready for the struggle of dragging her back. Instead…
She’s waiting. For me.
How did I miss her on the way in?
I change direction, detouring to the coffee bar so I can blend in with the other customers. I order a black coffee from a barista who refuses eye contact and makes the drink with quick, nervous hands.
With the cup burning my palm, I approach the couch. Jordan doesn’t glance up, her eyes fixed on the motion of the lobby.
I sit at the far end of the sofa, leaving a space between us. “You were right.”
Only then does she peer over. She pauses, giving me nothing.
The coffee scalds my hands as I force myself to continue. “You told me that the estate can’t just be broken into.”
Her lips quirk in a barely there reaction. “No, you can’t break in. If you’d listened, you could’ve skipped an entire night staking the place out.” She sips more of her drink. “But you can get an invitation.”
“What?”
She hunches forward and sets her mug on the low table. Her voice drops, meant for me alone. “The Hearst Foundation’s annual charity gala is this week.”
I blink slowly. “And that is?”
“Our way in.”
Jordan sketches the outline of what high-society Chicago views as the most prestigious event of the year. Politicians, old money, and socialites will crowd the house.
“There will be extra staff everywhere. Nobody will know who’s supposed to be where. Security will be focused on the main rooms.”
“But the systems? The alarms and cameras?”
She shrugs. “Disabled, at least for the most part. They can’t risk a senator stumbling off for a tryst and setting off Klaxons.”
I study her. “How do you know all this? About bypassing security?”
She blows off the question with a flick of her fingers. “Because I needed to learn to escape. That’s how I got out.” Her gaze is sharp and unwavering. “The only way in is straight into the crowd through the front door. With me.”
The plan quickly falls into place. Forget break-ins. This is a walk-in. Hide in the chaos, with Jordan as our ticket inside.
I want to laugh at the simplicity.
Because I’m so used to destroying things, I missed the easy answer. I’m used to expecting obstacles, not opportunities.
I’ve always trusted violence over cleverness.
My hand slips to the back of her neck, drawing her in. Her lips part on a sharp inhale, and her pupils darken with either heat or fear. Maybe both.
I release her and lean back.
She resets instantly, sipping her tea as if nothing happened, a ghost of a grin on her lips. Though she avoids eye contact, the energy between us is louder than any triumphant yell.
I told you so.
Jordan, with her talismans and vision boards, has solved the unsolvable.
While I stalked walls and guards, she discovered the open door.
Respect ripples through me, followed by a sliver of uneasiness.
I’ve never truly had a partner. Never wanted one. Alone, I can map every move.
Enter Jordan. A variable, a risk, a weapon with her own agenda.
I bury the thought.
“So,” I force nonchalance, “any other surprises up your sleeve? Things I should know about? Things that will get me killed?”
She simply cocks her head, as if I’m the problem rather than the solution. “We’ll need clothes. Hope your cards are good.”
Just like that, the axis tilts and knocks me off-balance.
Jordan is no longer baggage or liability but my partner.
And, for the first time since I broke into her house, I can’t predict a damn thing she’ll do.