Chapter 26
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Maksim
The dossier lies open before me, a stark black and white map of Filip Semenov's world—the world that has held Andrea captive for two agonizing years. His house. My eyes trace the layout, analyzing weaknesses. Only two external cameras picked up by our sweep, both easily bypassed. But the feeds are almost useless, covering only the main hall and kitchen. The entire upper floor is a blind spot. And that’s the problem.
I’d bet my life he keeps her up there, close. Always close.
Akim moves with grim efficiency in my periphery, the metallic clicks and slides of him checking weaponry a familiar, unsettling soundtrack to our planning.
Julia sits hunched over a laptop, her brow furrowed in concentration as she monitors the live feeds from the two drones we sent ahead, counting shadows, mapping patrol routes.
Vlad sent us a message asking how many men he should send, and knowing a small, heavily armed battalion waits just beyond the tree line for my signal offers a sliver of grim satisfaction, a cold counterweight to the tension coiling in my gut.
Zoya appears silently, leaving a plate of something—crackers, maybe?—on the edge of the desk. Her gaze snags on the flickering drone footage displayed on Julia’s screen, her expression tightening into something unreadable, almost resentful.
"I don't understand why you have to go," she says, her voice quiet, but the thread of anxiety woven through it is unmistakable.
We’ve always shielded Zoya from this. Akim taught her basic self-defense, enough to handle herself in a minor scrape, but we never put a weapon in her hands. She's always been the little sister, the one we instinctively protect.
Before I can formulate a response, Julia cuts in, her tone sharp, focused. "Because that girl needs to get out, Zoya. And because this is how we prove our loyalty to Vlad. This is how we get what we need."
A sound escapes Zoya, halfway between a scoff and a sigh.
"If someone hadn't interfered two years ago," she mutters, almost under her breath, "there'd be nothing to save right now.
" The instant the words are out, she seems to realize what she’s said.
Her head drops, shame or maybe anger coloring her cheeks, and she turns, fleeing the room.
A heavy silence hangs in her wake. It's the first time I've heard her say something so…callous. Apparently, I’m not the only one who noticed.
"Does Zoya seem…different lately?" Julia asks, frowning at the now empty doorway.
Different? Maybe . Growing up in this poisonous house warps everyone eventually.
The trauma seeps into your bones. It’s hard to blame her.
We're the only family she has. If it weren't for her condition, maybe she’d have found the courage to build a life outside these walls. But as it is, she’s tethered to us.
And a mission like this, right on Ivan’s doorstep, carries risks far beyond the usual. It's natural she'd be scared.
"She'll get over it when she sees us walk back through that door," I say, reaching for Julia's hand, needing the contact. Her skin is warm against mine. "Just don't do anything stupid out there. Keep that machine gun up."
"Since when do I ever put my machine gun down?" she replies, a playful glint entering her eyes, a brief flash of the woman beneath the warrior.
Without conscious thought, I lean in, capturing her mouth with mine. It’s a desperate attempt to drown myself in her, to steal a moment of light before plunging back into the darkness.
She seems surprised by my boldness, a slight hesitation before she melts against me, kissing me back with an answering fire.
"Everything's ready." Akim's voice, carefully neutral but undeniably present, cuts through the moment as he clears his throat.
Right. Later. There will be time for kissing later when we get back.
When we have something real to celebrate.
Andrea free, Vlad's resources at our disposal…
The possibilities bloom, sharp and dangerous.
It takes us months now, sometimes, just to plan an extraction, to pull a few kids out, navigating the labyrinth of checks and security layers.
Encrypted comms, money laundered through countless accounts…
what should take weeks stretches into an eternity.
"Let's move," I command, pulling away from Julia, the taste of her still lingering on my lips.
?
Outside, the wind bites, carrying the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.
The only sounds are the rustle of forgotten leaves clinging stubbornly to branches and the distant, rhythmic chirping of a lone cricket.
It’s almost peaceful. Deceptively so. Ignoring the fact that just beyond the trees lies a monster's den holding an eighteen-year-old girl prisoner.
We need speed and silence. Minimal attention.
That means neutralizing the six guards patrolling the perimeter before they know we're here.
Back in the car, hidden deep in the shadows, I pull out my laptop, the glow illuminating my face as my fingers fly across the keyboard, programming my newest acquisitions.
Mini-drones. Barely two inches long, designed to mimic unconventional insects, each carrying a micro-payload of concentrated tranquilizer.
Technically, they were designed for poison delivery — Japanese military prototypes.
But a few million dollars slipped into the right accounts works wonders. And any effective substance will do.
With a final command sequence, two of the devices whir to life, their tiny "wings" vibrating.
I hear Julia murmur a soft "whoa" beside me, but I'm lost in the lines of code, the countdown timer ticking in my head.
Twenty seconds. They have to launch in the next twenty seconds, or they won't reach all targets before the guards cycle back toward the house.
One last click. They're airborne. I watch the monitor, tracking their infrared signatures as they flit silently through the trees, across the dark ribbon of road, homing in on their unsuspecting targets.
One hundred and twenty-five seconds later, exactly as calculated, all six heat signatures collapse, falling silently to the ground. Time to break out the heavy artillery.
Vlad's small army waits, shadows among shadows, tense and ready. A singular directive from me through the encrypted comms. “Go. Andrea is the only priority. She gets out alive. Everyone else is expendable.”
Julia, Akim, and I move in behind the initial assault team, weapons held ready, the familiar weight settling in our hands. We haven't even crossed the threshold when chaos erupts.
Two of Semenov’s guards burst from a side door, weapons raised, spitting fire. They stand no chance against the disciplined wave of Vlad's men forming our front line. Bullets whine past, impacting walls, shattering decor. We all wear reinforced vests, but instinct screams louder than logic.
My head snaps toward Julia, eyes scanning her for any sign of impact, any flinch of pain.
She catches my look and shakes her head almost imperceptibly, but I know what she’s telling me: I’m fine, stop hovering .
But the primal, protective urge clawing inside me doesn't settle until I've verified it myself.
We reach the top of the main staircase, the sounds of gunfire echoing from below. We split, Akim going right, Julia and me left, kicking open doors, clearing rooms methodically.
According to the intel, Semenov is fifty-eight, likely not a physical threat himself. Even alerted, what damage could he do? He doesn't know the real reason we're here. Not yet.
Just as we reach the last door on the left corridor, Akim's voice crackles in my earpiece, tight with controlled urgency. "Got her. Fourth door on the right. She's here."
Julia and I pivot, moving fast and silently toward his position.
We burst into the room. And there she is.
Andrea. Handcuffed to a radiator, looking small and pale in the sudden intrusion of tactical lights.
Her hair is darker now, a washed-out, ashy blonde.
Her green eyes, wide with shock and fear, seem older, haunted.
But physically…she appears unharmed. No visible wounds, no blood.
Just the stark reality of her captivity.
I watch Akim struggle with the cuffs binding Andrea to the radiator. The metal groans but doesn't yield. He curses under his breath, realizing we need either keys or bolt cutters. As he steps back, frustrated, Andrea’s hand darts out, grabbing his arm with desperate strength.
"Please," she whimpers, her voice thin and raspy, "don't leave me here!"
A flicker of something raw, something deeply uncharacteristic, crosses Akim’s face, which is usually stoic in moments like these. He covers her small hand with his own, his voice rough but surprisingly gentle. "We're here for you, malyshka."
He glances back, catches my raised eyebrow. That term of endearment…it’s jarring, unexpected coming from him. He just shakes his head curtly, dismissing my silent question, his eyes already scanning the room for anything heavy enough to break the cuffs.
A few seconds later, Andrea’s tear-filled gaze lands on Julia, who stands framed in the doorway, her own eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Recognition dawns, followed by disbelief.
"You?" Andrea breathes, her voice cracking. "My God, you're alive!"
Julia moves swiftly to her side, sinking to her knees before the trapped girl. "I'm so sorry I couldn't do more back then," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.
This woman…her relentless goodness is going to be the death of me. She did too much. The scars crisscrossing her back are brutal proof.
"It's me who's sorry," Andrea chokes out, tears finally spilling over, "for what those bastards did to you."
A phantom heat flares across my palm, the ghost memory of the whip handle searing my skin.
"Let's get you out of here," Julia murmurs, her eyes lifting to meet mine. We're running out of time. Where the hell is Filip?
"Anyone found Semenov yet?" I demand into the comms, the question tight with impatience.
Static crackles for a moment, then a clipped voice responds. "Found him. Bringing him to your location now, Mr. Rastovski."
That goddamn name. It grates every time. When two of Vlad’s soldiers haul Filip into the room, I understand instantly why he and Ivan are friends. He’s small, soft, with the resentful eyes of a man who’s never earned genuine affection, only ever taken it by force.
Andrea flinches violently at the sight of him, trying to shrink back against the cold metal of the radiator. Julia immediately positions herself protectively in front of the girl, her machine gun leveled squarely at Filip’s chest.
"The keys. Now," Julia commands, her voice dangerously low, lethal. "And I promise not to empty this entire magazine into you."
A dark, predatory smile curves my lips against my will. The sheer authority radiating from her, the effortless power she wields holding that weapon…it conjures sudden, vivid dreams of her beneath me, pinned, breathless, her voice uttering commands just like that.
"Don't know who the hell you are," Filip spits, venom dripping from his words, "but you can take her.
Useless bitch anyway." He fumbles behind his back, tossing a small key onto the floor near Julia’s feet.
His watery eyes then find mine, and an ugly laugh escapes him.
"Look at the snake Ivan harbors in his own house.
You don't deserve the name you carry, boy," he sneers, the hatred boiling off him palpable.
I don't bother responding. He's not worth the breath.
My focus shifts back to Julia as she swiftly unlocks the cuffs, freeing Andrea. Akim is there instantly, helping Andrea to her feet, then sweeping her carefully into his arms.
As Julia straightens, her gaze lands on Filip, cold and assessing. She looks at the two soldiers flanking him.
"Give us some room, please," she requests, her tone deceptively polite.
The soldiers step back instinctively. Julia raises the machine gun again, the barrel unwavering.
"Hey!" Filip squeaks, his bravado evaporating, replaced by stark terror. "You said—you promised you wouldn't use that on me!" He scrambles backward, hands raised uselessly, sweat plastering his thinning gray hair to his temples, his eyes darting wildly for an escape that isn't there.
"I'm keeping my word," Julia states calmly, lethally. "I said I wouldn't empty the whole magazine." A pause, pregnant with violence. "Just half."
The roar of the automatic gun explodes in the confined space, deafening for five solid seconds.
The impact of the bullets slams Filip’s body backward out into the hallway, his form jerking a few times.
When the deafening noise finally stops, he looks less like a man and more like a discarded fishing net, riddled with holes, blood pooling rapidly beneath him.
Silence descends, thick and heavy, smelling of death.
"Let's go," I say, turning to Andrea, who is now curled tightly against Akim's chest, trembling. "Your father can't wait to see you."
As we move toward the exit, something about the way Akim holds Andrea, the possessive curve of his arm around her, makes me pause just inside the doorway. The others file past, heading down the stairs, but Julia waits, sensing my hesitation.
I try to pinpoint the unease coiling in my gut.
"Does something seem…off," I ask Julia quietly, nodding toward Akim's retreating back, "about the way he's looking at her?"
Julia follows my gaze, her expression thoughtful. Then she looks back at me, her eyes knowing. "He's looking at her," she says softly, "exactly the way you looked at me after Gregory tried to put his hands on me."
Fuck . If my best friend is feeling even a fraction of the consuming, territorial inferno I felt that day…we are all well and truly screwed.