Chapter 30Damir
30
Damir
T he RFID chip tracker pulses steadily in my hand as we approach the modernist mansion. The sleek structure rises from the landscape like a fortress—all glass, concrete, and sharp angles. My men move in formation around me, weapons ready, faces set in grim determination.
“Perimeter secured,” murmurs Viktor.
Within minutes, we’ve parked and headed toward the mansion on foot, splitting into groups. “East and west teams in position,” says Anton as we edge closer to the house.
I nod. “Move in. Remember, Elena is the priority. No one touches Nikolai. He’s mine.”
The mansion’s security system hums beneath my fingertips as I bypass the main circuit board. Complex, but with Nikolai’s signature flourishes—all expensive components arranged in familiar patterns.
“Just like his Moscow safe house,” I murmur to Viktor, who crouches beside me at the service entrance. “He never bothers changing his security codes. Always 0-5-1-7.”
“His birthday,” Viktor snorts. “Amateur mistake.”
Within four minutes, the system’s green light flashes, confirming deactivation. I tap my earpiece. “Security down. All teams prepare to breach on my mark.”
Three confirmation clicks sound in my ear. Team Alpha at the garage entrance. Team Beta at the terrace doors. My group at the main entrance.
“Three...” I position the shaped charge against the ornate front door’s lock mechanism. “Two...” The sweat beading on my neck feels cold in the night air. “One...”
The detonation is sharp but contained. The door blasts inward with a shower of splinters and glass, the custom Italian hinges ripping from the wall.
“Go, go, go,” I shout as we rush through the billowing dust. Six of my men pour through the doorway, rifles sweeping the marble foyer. From opposite sides of the house, I hear the synchronized crashes of the other teams entering.
“Clear!” calls Kotov from my right.
“Moving to second level,” reports Anton through the comm.
A guard appears at the top of the grand staircase, weapon raised but drops before he can fire, Viktor’s silenced shot catching him in the shoulder.
“Take prisoners when possible,” I order, stepping over the fallen guard. “We need information.”
The first guard appears from a side hallway, weapon already raised. I don’t hesitate. Two shots center mass, and he drops. Another guard emerges from the kitchen, shouting into his radio. Anton takes him down before he can finish his transmission, but the damage is done.
“They know we’re here,” I say, moving deeper into the house. “We need to move faster.”
We clear the ground floor methodically, room by room. Four more of Nikolai’s men try to stop us. None succeed. The tracker leads us toward the grand staircase in the center of the house. The signal grows stronger as we ascend.
“Second floor, east wing,” I tell my team. “That’s where they’re keeping her.”
Gunfire erupts from the top of the stairs. My men return fire, providing cover as we advance. I spot one of Nikolai’s lieutenants, Sergei, I think his name is, trying to reach for his phone. I put a bullet through his hand then his head when he screams.
“Reinforcements incoming,” warns Viktor through the comm. “ETA eight minutes.”
“We’ll be gone in five. If not, shoot them as they pile out of their vehicles.” The tracker leads us down a long hallway lined with modern art pieces that probably cost more than most people make in a year. The signal grows stronger with each step. We’re close now. So close.
A guard appears at the end of the hallway, firing wildly. My men take cover, but I keep moving forward, using the momentum to my advantage. The guard’s eyes widen when he realizes I’m not stopping. His aim falters, but I don’t miss.
The tracker is pulsing rapidly now, and the signal is almost solid. We reach a set of double doors at the end of the hall. I can hear voices inside, and one of them is Elena’s. My mouth gets dry at hearing proof of life.
I position myself in front of the door, my men flanking me. I count down silently—three, two, one—and kick the door open with enough force to splinter the frame.
The scene inside freezes like a tableau. Nikolai stands in the center of the room, gun pointed at Casey, who stands partially in front of Elena. Is he trying to shield her? It looks that way even though that doesn’t fit with the Casey I know.
Elena is pressed against the far wall, eyes wide with fear and relief when she sees me. She’s disheveled but appears unharmed. The sight of her sends a surge of rage through me.
Nikolai turns at our entrance, swinging his gun toward us. I’m already moving, crossing the distance between us in three long strides. I slam into him before he can fire, grabbing his wrist and forcing the gun away from my direction and Elena’s. It discharges into the wall, sending drywall dust into the air around us.
“Damir,” Elena cries out.
“Get her out,” I shout to Anton, not taking my gaze off Nikolai.
He and I grapple for control of the weapon. He’s strong—he always was—but I’m fueled by something more powerful than mere strength. I twist his wrist sharply, hearing the crack of bone. He howls in pain but doesn’t release the gun. It fires again during our struggle, and I hear a man cry out behind me. It’s not Elena or Anton, so I don’t turn to see who got shot.
We crash into an expensive-looking table, sending it splintering to the floor. The gun finally comes loose, skittering across the hardwood. I drive my fist into Nikolai’s face, feeling the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking under my knuckles. “You should have stayed away.” I land another blow to his ribs.
Nikolai laughs through bloodied teeth. “And miss all this? Your wife is quite beautiful, Damir. I can see why you’re so whipped.”
I slam him against the wall, pressing my forearm against his throat. “You don’t speak about her.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Casey on the floor, clutching his bleeding torso while trying to crawl toward the door. The stray bullet must have hit him. My men are securing the room, and Anton is moving toward Elena.
Nikolai uses my momentary distraction to drive his knee into my stomach. I stagger back, and he follows with a punch that catches me across the jaw. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
“You’ve gone soft, brother,” he taunts, circling me. “The Damir I knew wouldn’t let a woman distract him. Wouldn’t let a child weaken him.”
I spit blood onto the floor. “The Damir you knew died the day you betrayed him.”
We clash again, trading blows in the brutal, efficient style we both learned in the same training grounds. For every hit I land, he returns one. My ribs ache from a particularly vicious strike, but I push through the pain.
“Your parents were smart,” says Nikolai as we separate, both breathing hard. “They knew what you were worth, exactly the price of their freedom. Nothing more.”
The words cut deeper than they should. More than twenty years later, and the wound still feels fresh.
“They saw what you were,” he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper. “A monster in the making. Just like me.”
I lunge at him, rage making me careless. He sidesteps, using my momentum against me, and drives his elbow into my back. I stumble forward but recover quickly, spinning to face him.
“And now you think you can be a father?” Nikolai laughs, the sound sharp and cruel. “What will you teach your son, Damir? How to kill efficiently? How to make a man beg for death?”
I see Elena’s face pale at his words. The realization that Nikolai has been watching us that closely enrages me. “How did you find out about the baby?”
“Some rich brat at the hospital who dislikes your wife. He was happy to spill everything he knows just for the price of buying him a couple of drinks and listening to him whine. I almost shot him just to shut him up.” Nikolai laughs.
I think I hear Elena say, “Justin,” but I’m distracted as Nikolai continues provoking me with words, trying to wear me down since we’re evenly matched physically. I stiffen at the next thing he says.
“Better to let the child die now than grow up with a father like you,” he says, his eyes gleaming with malice.
Something in me snaps, and I charge him with renewed fury, driving him back across the room. My fists connect with his face, his chest, and anywhere I can reach. I don’t feel the blows he lands in return. All I see is red.
“You will never touch my family,” I say, my voice deadly calm despite the rage coursing through me. I haven’t had an opening to get to my Glock19, ankle gun, or ceramic knife. We’re too closely quartered and engaged in more visceral fighting.
Nikolai’s back hits the wall, and I pin him there, my hand around his throat. For a moment, I see a flicker of fear in his eyes. It’s possibly the first time I’ve ever seen Nikolai afraid. It’s certainly the first time since we started fighting.
Then his expression shifts to a smirk. “You still don’t understand, do you? This was never about territory or business. This was about taking everything you love.”
I don’t see the knife until it’s too late. The blade slides between my ribs with sickening ease, and the pain is sharp and immediate. I release Nikolai, staggering back, my hand going to the wound. Blood seeps between my fingers, and it’s warm and slick.
Nikolai advances, the bloody knife held low. “I wanted you to watch as I took your wife, your child, and your empire. I wanted you to live with that knowledge, but plans change. Just know, she’ll be dead minutes after you, and your legacy dies with her and the spawn in her womb.”
He raises the knife for a killing blow. I try to move, to block, but my body isn’t responding as it should. The room tilts slightly as the edges of my vision blur.
A sudden gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space. Nikolai jerks, a look of surprise crossing his face as a red stain blooms on his chest. He turns slowly, looking behind me.
Anton stands there, his gun still raised, expression cold. “You talk too much,” he says.
Nikolai collapses to his knees, and the knife clatters to the floor. He looks at me, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth, and tries to speak. No words come out before he pitches forward onto the floor.
The adrenaline that kept me upright begins to fade, and the pain intensifies. I press harder against the wound, but blood continues to seep through my fingers. My vision narrows, darkening at the edges.
“Damir?” Elena’s voice seems to come from far away.
I turn toward the sound, my movements sluggish. Through the gathering darkness, I see Casey crawling toward the exit, leaving a trail of blood behind him before he collapses. The pool around him grows much bigger in a short amount of time. The sight should satisfy me. The man who betrayed Elena, who put her in danger, is now bleeding out. Instead, I feel nothing but a strange emptiness.
My knees give out, and I sink to the floor. Elena’s face appears above me, pressing her hands against my wound. Her lips move with words I can’t quite hear. The last thing I see before consciousness slips away is her eyes, filled with tears and fierce determination.