Chapter 16 Tony
Tony
I’m on my second cup of coffee when the door explodes inward.
No warning. No knock. Just the crack of splintering wood as Boris and three men in police uniforms flood into the safehouse.
My weapon is ten feet away on the kitchen counter. Might as well be ten miles. I’m sitting on the couch in sweatpants with a mug in my hand, and four armed men are already inside, spreading out to block every exit.
“Don’t move,” Boris orders in Russian.
I don’t. I tick through scenarios, working the odds. Four against one, caught sitting down, no weapon in reach. Fighting would be suicide, and it would hurt Sasha.
That last thought stops me cold.
“Where’s Sasha?” I ask.
“Get up. Slowly.”
I set down my coffee and stand with my hands visible. One of the uniformed men moves behind me while another pats me down. They’re thorough, checking for weapons they won’t find. My phone comes out of my pocket. My wallet. Keys to the safehouse.
“Am I under arrest?”
“You’re coming with us,” Boris declares. Not an answer.
“Where?”
“You’ll find out.”
The third uniform produces handcuffs. Real ones, not zip ties. They secure my wrists behind my back and give me a good shove.
“Sasha,” I try again. “Where is she?”
Boris’s face doesn’t change. “She’s safe. That’s all you need to know.”
They march me outside to a black SUV idling at the curb. One of the uniforms shoves me into the back seat. Boris climbs in beside me while the other three take the front and the row behind us.
Nobody speaks.
The drive takes forty minutes. We head away from central Moscow, past the industrial district, and into an area where the buildings sit abandoned, and nobody asks questions. Classic interrogation location. Off the books. No witnesses.
I’ve been in places like this. Usually, on the other side of the equation.
My hands are going numb in the cuffs. I roll my shoulders, trying to get circulation back. Boris notices but doesn’t offer to loosen them.
“Did Sasha send you?” I ask after a while.
“She’s more than you deserve,” he barks out. “Hopefully, she’s finally figured that out.”
So, she knows. Whatever she’s uncovered, she brought it to Dmitri, and now I’m about to disappear to a black-site for questioning. Standard protocol when you discover a threat inside your organization.
The SUV pulls up to a gray concrete warehouse with high windows and roll-up doors. Perfect for privacy. We park near a side entrance.
“Out,” Boris orders.
They haul me from the vehicle and march me inside. The interior makes my heart stutter.
Empty space. A concrete floor. Work lights on stands that create harsh pools of illumination. A single chair bolted to the floor in the center.
Dmitri Kozlov sits behind a folding table, looking every inch the Pakhan.
The items on the table make me understand how serious this is going to get.
Restraints in various grades. Leather straps. Zip ties. Chains. A selection of tools that could be used for construction or torture. Pliers. Hammer. Bolt cutters. Things designed to break fingers and extract truth through pain.
“Sit,” Dmitri prompts in English.
Boris shoves me toward the chair, and I do as I’m told. My hands are still cuffed behind my back, leaving me vulnerable. One of the officers produces more restraints and secures my ankles to the chair legs.
I couldn’t run even if I wanted to.
Dmitri stands and stalks around the table. He’s dressed for business in an expensive suit. The contrast between his tailored appearance and the brutal setup makes him more dangerous.
“You know why you’re here,” he says.
“I can guess.”
“Then save us time. Who hired you?”
I look at the tools on the table and work out how long I can hold out under questioning. Maybe a few hours if they go easy on me. Less if they’re creative.
But the thing about torture is that everyone breaks. The human body has limits. Pain overrides loyalty, fear, and training. I’ve seen men with twice my experience give up everything after thirty minutes with someone who knows what they’re doing.
And Boris knows what he’s doing.
I can lie now, endure whatever they do to me, and tell them the truth anyway. Or I can skip the suffering and just be honest.
More importantly, Sasha is probably watching this. Or she’ll see the recording later. I need her to know which parts of me were real.
“I’ll answer every question you have.” I meet Dmitri’s eyes. “Truthfully. No games. No misdirection. You don’t need the hardware.”
“Why should I believe that?”
“Because I’m done lying. To you. To her. To myself.” I shift in the chair as much as the restraints allow. “You’ll find out everything anyway. Might as well hear it from me.”
Dmitri cocks his head and eyes me warily. Then he nods to Boris, who moves behind me and secures my wrists to the chair with additional restraints. My shoulders protest the position, but I don’t complain.
Trust isn’t something I’ve earned here.
“Who hired you?” Dmitri asks again.
I take a breath. “Adrian Belmont.”
The name lands like a grenade. Dmitri’s face doesn’t change, but I see the recognition in his eyes. Boris curses quietly in Russian behind me.
“When?”
“Six weeks ago. He contacted me through a referral from another client.”
“What were your orders?”
“Gather intelligence on your organization, financial operations, and security. Find any vulnerabilities he could exploit. And… get close to Sasha. Make her trust me. Learn everything about her that he could use to hurt her later.”
He blinks. “You were sent to seduce my sister.”
“That was part of it, yes.” I nod.
Dmitri’s hand moves so fast that I barely register it before his fist connects with my face, and my head snaps to the side. My cheekbone throbs, and within seconds, I taste copper.
I spit blood on the concrete floor and straighten as much as I can.
“I deserved that,” I acknowledge.
“You deserve worse.” Dmitri flexes his hand. “But we’ll get to that. Keep talking.”
“Adrian wants revenge. He blames Sasha for destroying his operation at Christie’s. The contract was for eight weeks. I was supposed to make her fall for me while I gathered intelligence he could use to destroy both her and your family.” I swallow more blood. “I have two weeks left on the contract.”
“And what have you given him?”
I shake my head. “Nothing real. False intelligence. Fake financial records. Made-up security protocols. I’ve been feeding him garbage since day one.”
“Why?” Dmitri squints at me.
The question is simple but loaded. Why would I betray my client? Why would I sabotage my mission? Why would I risk everything Adrian could do to me for breaking our contract?
“I fell for her,” I admit through a rush of air. “I was supposed to make Sasha want me, but somewhere along the way, I ended up wanting her instead. Caring about her. Needing to protect her more than I needed Adrian’s money.”
“Convenient.”
“It’s the truth. You can verify everything I’m telling you. Check my communications with Adrian. I’ve been sabotaging this job for weeks because I couldn’t go through with it.”
Dmitri walks back to the table and picks up a pair of pliers. He tests the grip, and the metal teeth click. The sound echoes through the empty warehouse.
“Here’s my problem, Tony. Or should I call you something else? Is that even your real name?”
“It’s my real name. Anthony Volkov. Tony for short.”
“Here’s my problem,” Dmitri repeats. “You’ve admitted to being a professional liar.
You’ve admitted to taking a contract to destroy my family.
You’ve admitted to using my sister to accomplish that goal.
And now, you’re asking me to believe you’ve had a change of heart?
” He sets down the pliers and picks up a hammer instead.
“I don’t believe in redemption stories. I believe in consequences. ”
“I’m not asking you to believe me. I’m asking you to verify what I’m saying. Text Adrian. Pretend to be me. Read my messages about the intelligence I’ve provided. Check the information I gave him against your operations. You’ll see it doesn’t match.”
“Or you’re playing an even deeper game. Feeding him false information to make yourself look trustworthy while gathering real intelligence through other means.”
“Then how do I prove it? Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”
Dmitri sets down the hammer and crosses his arms. “You can’t prove it; that’s the point. You’ve destroyed any credibility you might have had. Even if everything you’re saying is true, I have no reason to trust a single word out of your mouth.”
I know he’s right, but I have to try anyway.
“Sasha’s favorite memory from London is the first time she authenticated a genuine Rembrandt,” I blurt out.
“She spent three days examining it and nearly convinced herself it was a forgery because she couldn’t believe something that beautiful could be real.
When she finally confirmed it was authentic, she cried in the museum bathroom. ”
Dmitri doesn’t respond.
“She feels guilty about leaving you and Alexei to handle the family business while she built a life in London. She thinks you see her as fragile instead of capable. She has nightmares about your parents, even though she was too young to remember the details surrounding their deaths. She plays with her necklace when she’s nervous.
She bites her lip when she’s concentrating.
She becomes radiant when she talks about art. ”
“None of that proves—”
“I started calling her Solnyshko. Little sun. Because that’s what she is. She makes everything around her warmer and brighter without even trying. What I feel for her, Dmitri… it’s not part of any mission. That’s not something I can fake. That’s real.”
The confession settles over the warehouse like fog.
Dmitri doesn’t speak. He just stands there, studying me while I sit restrained in this chair, bleeding from a split lip and probably looking desperate.
I am desperate.
I’m desperate for Sasha to hear this and believe me. Desperate for one person in this world to understand that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen and to protect her from Adrian, even if it costs me everything.
“You have feelings for her,” Dmitri finally says. The words aren’t a question; he’s testing how they sound. “And yet, you took a contract to destroy her.”
“I took the contract before I met her. Before I understood what kind of person she is. Before I…” I stop myself.
“There’s no excuse. You’re right. I’m a professional liar who used your sister to get close to your family.
The only difference between what I was supposed to do and what I did is that I couldn’t finish it.
I couldn’t betray her. Couldn’t hand Adrian the weapons he wanted to hurt her with. ”
“Noble of you,” Dmitri snickers.
“I’m not noble; I’m selfish,” I counter. “I want her alive and safe because I can’t imagine my life without her. That’s not nobility, that’s self-preservation.”
Dmitri turns back to the table. For a terrible moment, I think he’s reaching for one of the torture instruments. But instead, he pulls out a phone.
Whatever comes next, I’ve earned it.