30. Ivan
30
IVAN
T he air inside the warehouse is thick with the scent of oil and steel, mingling with the faint tang of mildew from the damp walls. It’s not the most pleasant place to hold a meeting, but it’s one of the few places we can talk freely without fear of prying ears.
Nikolai leans against a rusted metal table, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the men gathered before us. Dmitri is pacing near the corner, his expression dark, the tension radiating off him in waves.
I stand in the center, my hands clasped behind my back, taking in the scene with a calm that I don’t feel. The warehouse feels too quiet, the men too nervous. Something about it doesn’t sit right.
“Three men,” I say finally, breaking the silence. “Dead in Staten Island. Hit-and-run.”
One of the men, a younger recruit named Yuri, shifts uncomfortably. I focus on him, watching the way his gaze flicks to the ground.
“You all worked with them,” I continue, my voice steady but firm. “You knew them. Loyal, hardworking men. And now they’re gone because Vadim wants to send a message.”
The mention of Vadim’s name sends a ripple of unease through the group.
“We can’t let this slide,” Nikolai says, his tone sharper than mine. “Vadim thinks he can play games with us, and the longer we let him think that, the bolder he’ll get.”
“That’s not all,” Dmitri adds, finally stopping his pacing. He leans against a stack of crates, his arms crossed. “Someone tipped him off.”
I let his words hang in the uncomfortable silence.
I glance at Dmitri, raising an eyebrow. “You’re sure about that?”
“Positive,” he says, his voice tight. “Vadim’s men knew exactly when and where to strike. Someone fed him that information.”
The men shift uneasily, glancing at one another.
“A snitch,” Nikolai mutters, his jaw tightening. “Perfect.”
I take a step closer to the group, my gaze sweeping over each of them. “If someone here has something to say,” I say, my voice low but deadly, “now is the time.”
Silence.
I let the moment stretch, watching their faces, their body language. Most of them look uneasy, but none of them meet my gaze for long.
“This is a dangerous game we’re playing,” Dmitri says, pushing off the crates. “And whoever’s feeding Vadim information is risking all our lives. Including yours.”
“Enough,” I say sharply, cutting off the growing tension. “We’re not here to accuse blindly. But make no mistake—if I find out someone here is working against us, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”
The men nod quickly, their faces pale.
“Vadim is testing us,” I continue. “These aren’t just random attacks anymore. Vadim is making his move, and three of our own paid the price for it. Boris, Gleb, and Anton. Good men. Men who followed orders, worked hard, and trusted us to protect them.”
My gaze sweeps across the room, pausing on each face long enough to let the weight of my words sink in. Some meet my eyes, others glance away, their discomfort evident. Good. They should be uncomfortable.
“They died because someone wanted to send us a message,” I continue, my tone hardening. “But here’s the thing—we don’t take messages. We deliver them.”
A murmur runs through the group, low and tense. I hold up a hand, silencing it immediately.
“Vadim thinks he can intimidate us. He thinks he can hit us where it hurts and get away with it. But we are not weak, and we do not forget. ”
My voice drops lower. “Let me make one thing very clear—we are going to find out who gave him that information. And when we do…” I let the sentence hang, my meaning crystal clear.
The men exchange glances, their unease growing.
“And we’ll respond. But we do it on our terms. Clear?”
“Yes, sir,” the men murmur in unison.
“Good,” I say, turning to Nikolai and Dmitri. “We’re done here. Let’s go.”
As the men disperse, Dmitri steps closer, his expression grim. “You know I’m right,” he says quietly.
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “I know,” I admit. “But we can’t go accusing our own men without proof. Find the leak first. Then we deal with it.”
“And we will, like we always do,” Nikolai says.
I open my mouth to say something when the unmistakable crack of gunfire splits the air.
The first shot is distant, muffled by the thick walls of the warehouse, but the second is louder, closer.
“What the—” Nikolai starts, but I’m already moving.
“Get down!” I bark, my voice echoing off the concrete walls.
Dmitri dives behind the nearest stack of crates, his gun already in his hand. Nikolai follows, crouching low as he pulls his own weapon. I draw my gun, the cold metal familiar in my grip, and scan the area for movement.
More shots ring out, rapid and chaotic. Shouts follow, mixed with the heavy thud of boots against the concrete.
“East entrance,” Dmitri says, his voice clipped as he peers around the edge of a crate. “They’re coming from the east.”
“How many?” I ask, my heart pounding.
“Too many,” Nikolai mutters, his jaw tight.
A deafening crash reverberates through the warehouse as something heavy slams against the metal doors. Sparks fly as the hinges strain under the impact.
“We’re sitting ducks in here,” Dmitri growls. “We need to move.”
“Not until we know how many there are,” I say firmly, my mind racing. “And who sent them.”
“Who do you think?” Nikolai snaps, his voice low but sharp. “Vadim is playing his hand.”
Another round of gunfire erupts, and this time, it’s closer. Too close. A bullet zips past my head, embedding itself in the wall behind me.
“We can’t keep running!” I bark, glancing at Dmitri and Nikolai as we duck behind a stack of crates. “We hold them here!”
Dmitri wipes the sweat from his brow, his gun already raised. “About time,” he mutters. “I was starting to get bored.”
Nikolai grins faintly, though his expression is tense. “They’re expecting us to scatter. Let’s give them a surprise instead.”
I peer around the corner of the crates, spotting movement near the entrance of the building. At least a dozen men, armed and determined, moving with calculated precision. Vadim’s men. No doubt about it.
“Positions,” I command, my voice low but firm.
Dmitri moves to higher ground, climbing a stack of metal beams to get a better vantage point. Nikolai stays with me, his eyes sharp as he takes aim at the advancing figures.
The first man steps into the open, his weapon raised. Without hesitation, I fire, the shot echoing through the space as he crumples to the ground.
“Here we go,” Nikolai mutters, opening fire on another figure.
The room explodes into chaos. Bullets ricochet off metal surfaces, sparks flying as the attackers press forward. Dmitri picks them off from above, his aim deadly accurate, while Nikolai and I hold the line below.
“They’re flanking!” Dmitri shouts, his voice cutting through the noise.
I glance to the side, spotting a group of men moving along the far wall. “Cover me!” I yell, breaking into a sprint.
Nikolai lays down suppressive fire as I move, my heart pounding as I reach the far wall. One of the attackers rounds the corner, and I take him down with a quick shot to the chest.
Another man lunges at me, his knife glinting in the dim light. I sidestep his attack, slamming my elbow into his face before finishing him off with a shot to the head.
“Still breathing over there?” Dmitri calls out, his tone almost casual despite the chaos.
“Focus, Dmitri!” I snap, ducking behind cover as a spray of bullets tears through the crates around me.
“Just making sure you’re not slacking,” he retorts, taking out another target with a well-placed shot.
I can hear Nikolai muttering curses under his breath as he reloads, the tension in his voice palpable. “There’s too many of them,” he says, firing off another round. “We need to end this now.”
I glance around, my mind racing. The warehouse is a maze, but we know it better than they do. If we can force them into a bottleneck, we might stand a chance.
“There!” I shout, pointing to a narrow passageway leading to one of the storage areas. “Draw them in!”
Dmitri and Nikolai nod, moving into position as I fire a few shots to keep the attackers at bay. The plan works—slowly but surely, the men are funneled into the passageway, their movements restricted by the tight space.
“Now!” I yell.
Dmitri opens fire from above, his bullets tearing through the group with ruthless precision.
But the attackers keep coming.
“They just don’t stop!” Nikolai growls, ducking behind a steel beam as bullets ricochet dangerously close.
“They’re trying to wear us down,” I reply, firing at a man who had been inching closer. He falls with a cry, but three more take his place.
A loud crash echoes from the far end of the warehouse as another wave of attackers floods in, their shouts mixing with the chaos. My grip tightens on my gun, my mind racing. We’re outnumbered, pinned down.
And then, through the haze of smoke and chaos, I hear it.
The roar of engines.
“Reinforcements!” Dmitri yells, his voice cutting through the noise.
The heavy metal doors at the side of the warehouse burst open, and a black SUV skids to a stop. Men pour out, Morozov men, their faces hard and their weapons ready.
A surge of relief washes over me as they open fire, their precision and training evident as they quickly take control of the situation.
“They’re here,” I mutter, ducking behind a stack of crates to reload.
Nikolai grins faintly, his breathing ragged. “About damn time.”
But the relief is short-lived. As the Morozov men spread out, covering the warehouse, I spot movement out of the corner of my eye. One of the attackers, hiding behind a stack of barrels, his gun trained on me.
I react instinctively, raising my weapon, but I’m too slow.
A shot rings out.
Time seems to slow as I brace for impact, but the bullet never comes. Instead, the attacker crumples to the ground, a clean shot to the head.
I turn, my chest heaving, to see Alexei standing in the doorway, his gun still raised.
“Little too close, don’t you think?” he says, his voice calm despite the chaos around us.
“Alexei,” I breathe, lowering my weapon.
He strides into the room, firing another shot as an attacker rushes toward us. The man drops instantly, and Alexei smirks.
“Saved your ass,” he says, his tone teasing. “You’re welcome.”
I shake my head, the adrenaline still coursing through me. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
“And miss all the fun?” he replies, raising an eyebrow.
Dmitri drops down from his perch, reloading as he joins us. “Glad you could make it,” he says dryly.
“Couldn’t let you three handle this mess on your own,” Alexei replies, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
The four of us regroup, the tide of the battle turning in our favor as the Morozov men sweep through the warehouse, taking down the remaining attackers.
By the time the gunfire ceases, the room is eerily silent.
I glance around, my chest heaving, my ears ringing from the noise. The attackers are either dead or captured, their weapons scattered across the floor.
“Wow, still got it,” Alexei says, storing his gun away.
“Thank you, for saving me,” I say.
Alexei’s eyes soften. I see so much of my father in him. “We Morozovs stick together. That’s how we defeat them.”
“You’re right,” I say, looking in the direction where the assailants came in. “Now it’s time to send a message of our own.”