Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
JULIAN
PRESENT DAY
The scent of death permeates the air in the early morning hours.
Or maybe I’m just projecting. It should make me sick but instead, I feel alive.
Three years in the making are coming down to this day, this moment.
If I’m honest with myself, I didn’t think it would happen.
Despair had grown such deep roots inside me, I couldn’t see a way out.
Not when Igor was making himself a ghost and Misha’s empire seemed impenetrable.
Everything is about to change. Electric anticipation runs through my veins, reminding me who I am when I’m not looking for a husband who doesn’t want to be found.
It’s three in the morning; the sun won’t be up for another four hours, giving us just enough time.
What happened at the docks was already six hours ago.
Too much time for Petrov to regroup. We don’t have the luxury of waiting any longer.
This whole operation was prepared back in Kalliste in just a few days. We can’t afford to waste any more time.
I need more sleep. But it had no appeal when I could enjoy my husband’s skin on mine.
Waking up from our nap with Igor in my arms was a shock to my system. Yet, it has nothing on seeing him command our little army, explaining the weak points in Misha’s compound. There aren’t that many, but whatever they are, they hang onto his every word, recognising a natural leader in their midst.
He’s stern, brow drawn down in concentration. Fitted with clean dark clothes I had for him, with more weapons than I can count strapped to his body, it’s enough to have my cock hard again.
I adjust myself discreetly, turning my attention to his words. All around the encampment, squads of elite soldiers gather around their commander. The small artificial head lamps on their foreheads illuminate grave faces and determined tilts of unsmiling mouths.
Giulia and Lana have tied their long hair in tight chignons.
Everyone is equally armed. My brother nods solemnly.
He rarely smiles. Today, his expression is even more weighted.
The realisation of what we’re about to do sinks in.
Each and everyone of us has different reasons for wanting Misha Petrov dead, all wanting to claim his head, to make him suffer.
Ultimately, we all have to set aside our desire for revenge.
Eighty men and women count on us to return them to their family.
They know what could be the price of this operation.
Yet, we can’t get carried away by blood lust. What matters is Misha Petrov’s death.
“Misha will already be preparing for an ambush or an attack,” Igor says to our congregation.
“I never leave the compound without his order, and with Arkadi and I missing, he knows something’s up.
If he hasn’t already gotten rid of every asset on the property, be ready to watch him kill every single one of them. ”
“We need to save them,” Lana objects. “No innocent lives will be lost today.”
“It might already be too late. The people he keeps there, Lana, they are his prized possessions and like everything he owns, he’d rather see them destroyed than lost.”
“We save as many as we can,” she insists.
Igor simply nods, his lips tight. He knows her well, even after all this time apart. Our friend is nothing but determined when it comes to sex trafficking victims.
“We’ll need to split,” Igor informs us. “Three squads of eight will take care of the people Misha is holding captive. Lana, you lead that faction. Lisandru, cover her.”
My brother grunts his agreement. Like he’d let Lana do anything without covering her ass. That man is so obsessed with his wife, I’m not sure she can pee without him watching.
“Is Nico here?” Igor asks, and Lana answer in the negative.
Nico Capaldi, Marie’s boyfriend, is a skilled assassin. But with everyone else of the family present for this suicide mission, it was decided that Nico and Marie would stay behind. If anything happens to Lana, they’ll be the future of the Moretti-Bartoli empire.
A shiver runs up my spine and I clench my teeth not to react and shake myself like a dog with a tick. I can’t think of our failure. We won’t fail. We all know the risks, but none of us are ready to give up our lives and our future.
The rest of the briefing goes by quickly. Every man and woman around us is highly trained. They know their role. They’ll do what needs to be done.
Watching Lana, Lisandru, Giulia and Andrea strap in more knives and extra guns at their thighs has anxiety rushing through me, just like it does when Igor does the same. All the weapons are lightweight, but the added precautions is just one more reminder of all the risks we are all taking.
If anything happens to them, I don’t know how our families will recover.
“Everyone survives,” I say. “Mammona will have a fit if anyone misses her eighty-ninth birthday next month.”
Forced smiles follow my poor attempt at levity.
Around three forty-five, we’re moving, dressed in camouflage or dark clothes and armed to the teeth. We walk the three miles separating our encampment to Misha’s compound. It was already too close to Igor’s brother for comfort.
The London Bratva squad is on gate duty.
Their chief of security is ex-MI6 and moves like night taken form with the other seven people of his team to take on the eight soldiers guarding the manual, massive reinforced steel gates of Misha’s compound.
Static is all I can hear in the earpieces connecting us all together.
It’s the sound of silence. And it’s about to be broken.
These elaborate earpieces aren’t only for communication.
They’re also a GPS system of its own, connected to Andrea’s computers back at the base.
If anyone falls, we know where they are, and can retrieve their bodies for proper burial as protocol has been established.
I pray to a God I don’t believe in that it won’t happen but I’m realistic.
Against almost twice as many men as we have, there’s going to be casualties.
Swallowing around bile, I wait in the bushes for our signal.
Beside me, Igor bristles with unspent energy and a violence I barely recognise.
I take the sharp angles of his jaw and the set line of shoulders, ready to snap.
He turns his eyes to meet mine. His lips stretch into a smile that doesn’t reach the brown irises I love so much.
I don’t mirror him. There’s no point in giving each other false reassurance.
He’s here, next to me. That’s all I need to know.
And until we all bathe in Misha Petrov’s blood, I won’t take that for granted.
One hour at a time. One minute at a time. That’s all I can focus on.
Lana takes my hand in hers on my other side and squeezes without looking at me. “Let’s end this,” she murmurs for my benefit.
I squeeze back. “I love you, Lana.”
“I love you, too, Jules. Keep checking in,” she says as she taps her ear.
Our signal comes from the gates, a code made of flashing lights I spent hours learning by heart.
For someone who hates being told what to do outside of the bedroom, I find myself being quite the good little soldier.
I wait for the first row of our men to glide in between the short space between the gates, created by our team.
We’ll open it later, when we have to take the people out of their prison.
Some of our men are waiting at our barracks. They’ll drive two vans our way in ninety minutes. And back and forth so long as we extract people out of the Petrov’s compound. They have orders to evacuate completely in two hours, no matter who came back to the base from our war.
One war in a single battle.
Our odds aren’t good.
But hope is a silly thing, and adrenaline’s fuelling it.
I follow the last line of our team. Igor directs us with sharp command of his fingers.
We spread out around the territory, taking down soldiers walking the perimeter efficiently, slashing throats and spilling blood already.
Then, we advance to the house itself. Even the outside looks like a fucking prison. Concrete walls and bars on all windows make for an imposing structure.
We can’t enter via the entrance or back door so we have to create a new point of entry.
And a perfect diversion. While our explosive team sets up on the side of the house where Igor told us the kitchens are located, other soldiers start to scale the wall on the East side, electrical saw ready in hand to break the iron bars.
It’ll be slow but we need multiple ways to exit with the prisoners, and multiple points of attack to divert Misha’s attention.
While we hunt him down.
If he’s even here.
One of the men signals five seconds with his hand, running towards us to cover from the explosion.
All hell is about to break loose.
I hold my breath.
Three.
Two.
One.
Everything goes to shit.