Chapter 16
DIMITRI
Time fractures into crystalline shards of awareness. The Kozlov soldier's arm wrapped around Alina's throat. The gun barrel pressed against her temple, cold metal kissing pale skin. Her green eyes wide with terror, finding mine across the smoky interior of the cabin.
Something primal tears through my chest, ripping away decades of careful control. I've killed men before. But this is different.
This is Alina.
My wife. The woman who stood up to her father, who pressed the panic button I gave her, who trusted me to come for her.
The woman I love.
The realization hits me with the force of a bullet, and I have to lock my knees to keep from swaying. Love. That weakness I swore I'd never allow myself. That vulnerability that gets men killed in my world.
I can’t really be in love, can I? Is this what it feels like?
But looking at her now, at the fear in her eyes and the way her hands grip the soldier's arm, trying to create space between the gun and her head, I know the truth. I'd burn the entire city to ash for her. I'd sacrifice everything I've built, everyone I command, every principle I've held.
I'd die for her.
But I won't have to. Because I'm going to kill this man first.
"Hold your fire," I say in Russian, my voice carrying across the cabin. My men freeze, weapons still trained on the soldier.
The soldier's eyes dart between me and my men, calculating his odds. He's young, maybe twenty-five, with the kind of desperation that makes men dangerous. His hand shakes slightly where it grips the gun, and I see a bead of sweat roll down his temple despite the cold.
"Stay back!" he shouts, his voice cracking. "Stay back or I'll kill her!"
I raise my hands slowly, showing him I'm unarmed. It's a lie, of course. I have a Glock at my hip, a knife in my boot, another blade at the small of my back. But he doesn't need to know that yet.
"Easy," I say, taking a step forward. My boots crunch on broken glass and spent shell casings. "Nobody needs to die here."
"You're lying." He presses the gun harder against Alina's temple, and I see her wince. Red rage floods my vision, but I force it down. Emotion makes you sloppy. "You'll kill me the second I let her go."
"Maybe." I take another step, my movements slow and deliberate. "But if you hurt her, you're definitely dead. So let's talk about your options."
Alina's eyes meet mine, and I see the question there. Trust me, I try to tell her silently. Just trust me a little longer.
"I don't have options," the soldier says, but his voice quavers. "You're Dimitri Morozov. You don't make deals."
"I make deals all the time." Another step.
I'm ten feet away now, close enough to see the individual beads of sweat on his forehead, the way his finger trembles on the trigger.
"That's how I've survived this long. So here's my offer.
Let the girl go, and you can walk out of here. I'll even give you a head start."
He laughs, a harsh sound that has nothing to do with humor. "You think I'm stupid? The second I let her go, your men will cut me down."
"Probably," I admit, and his eyes widen at my honesty. "But you're dead either way. The question is whether you take her with you."
I see the calculation in his face, the desperate hope warring with the certainty of his death. He's Kozlov family, which means he knows the stories about me. Knows what I'm capable of.
Time to remind him.
"Your name is Pyotr Volkov," I say, my voice dropping to something cold and conversational. "You're twenty-six years old. You have a mother, Svetlana, who lives in an apartment on Fourth Avenue. Third floor, blue door. She has a cat named Misha."
The color drains from his face. "How do you…"
"Your sister, Irina, works at a bakery on Sadovaya Street.
She has a boyfriend, Anton, who wants to marry her but can't afford a ring yet.
" I take another step, and he doesn't even notice.
He's too focused on my words, on the implications of what I know.
"Your cousin just had a baby. A little girl. They named her Anastasia."
"Stop." His voice is barely a whisper.
"Your mother has a heart condition. She takes medication every morning, the pills in the white bottle on her kitchen counter.
" I'm close enough now to see the individual hairs of his beard, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.
"She worries about you. Calls you every Sunday to make sure you're eating enough. "
"Please." Tears are streaming down his face now, mixing with the sweat. "Please don't."
"If you hurt Alina," I continue, my voice never rising above that calm, conversational tone, "I will find your mother.
I will find your sister. I will find every single person you have ever loved, everyone who has ever mattered to you, and I will make them suffer in ways you can't imagine.
I will make it last. I will make sure they know it's because of you, because of this choice you're making right now. "
The gun wavers, pulling slightly away from Alina's temple. Not much, just a fraction of an inch, but it's enough.
"I will burn down that bakery with your sister inside," I say, each word precise and measured.
"I will make your mother watch. I will find that baby, that innocent little girl named Anastasia, and I will make sure she grows up knowing her family died because her cousin was too stupid to take the deal I offered. "
"I'm sorry," he sobs. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to do this, they made me, Kozlov said…"
"I don't care what Kozlov said." I'm five feet away now. "Kozlov is dead. His entire family is dead or scattered. You're alone, Pyotr. You have no backup, no support, no way out. But you still have a choice."
His hand is shaking so badly now that the gun is barely steady.
Alina's eyes are locked on mine, and I see the trust there.
She knows what I'm doing. She knows I'm going to save her.
But she also looks sickened by the threats I made and I can see the question in her gaze, wondering if I would go through with them.
"Let her go," I say softly. "Let her go, and I'll make it quick.
You won't feel anything. Your family will never know what happened here.
They'll think you died in the firefight, a soldier doing his duty.
Your mother will mourn you, but she'll be proud.
Your sister will name her first son after you. "
"You promise?" His voice is that of a child, desperate and afraid.
"I promise."
It's a lie, of course. I'm going to kill him either way. But the lie is kind, and kindness is sometimes the cruelest weapon.
His grip on Alina loosens. The gun drops another inch. And in that moment of hesitation, that split second when his guard is down and his attention is divided, I move.
My hand goes to the Glock at my hip, drawing and firing in one smooth motion.
The shot is perfect, honed by decades of practice and hundreds of kills.
The bullet enters through his right eye, the one not blocked by Alina's head, and exits through the back of his skull in a spray of blood and brain matter.
He's dead before he hits the ground.
Alina stumbles forward, and I catch her, holstering my weapon and pulling her against my chest. She's covered in blood, Pyotr's blood, warm and sticky against her skin. She's shaking, her whole body trembling like a leaf in a storm.
"I've got you," I murmur in Russian, my hands running over her body, checking for injuries. "You're safe. I've got you."
She makes a sound that's half sob, half laugh, and buries her face in my chest. I can feel her tears soaking through my shirt, can feel the rapid hammer of her heart against mine.
"Secure the area," I bark at my men. "Check for survivors. I want a full sweep of the perimeter."
They move immediately, well-trained soldiers who know better than to question orders. Borge approaches, his face grim.
"Alexei?" I ask.
"Alive. Conscious. The doctor's with him now." Borge glances at Alina, then back to me. "The rest of the Kozlov soldiers are dead or fled. We found evidence that Viktor Popov was here earlier, but he's gone. It must have been before they took Alina, though. Maybe to set things up in advance."
My jaw clenches. Viktor. The man who sold out his own daughter, who drugged her and handed her over to his enemies. The man who's responsible for all of this.
"Find him," I say, my voice cold. "I want to know where he went, who he's with, what he's planning. Use every resource we have."
"Already on it, Pakhan."
I lift Alina into my arms, cradling her against my chest, and carry her out of the cabin into the cold night air.
The clearing is littered with bodies, Kozlov soldiers who made the mistake of standing between me and what's mine.
My men are moving efficiently, checking corpses, securing weapons, erasing evidence.
The SUV is waiting, engine running, back door open. I slide into the seat with Alina still in my arms, unwilling to let her go even for a second. She curls against me, her face pressed to my neck, and I feel the dampness of her tears on my skin.
"It's over," I tell her, stroking her hair. "You're safe now."
The driver pulls away from the cabin, and I watch through the rear window as the structure disappears into the darkness. Behind us, my men are already working to clean up the scene, to make it look like the Kozlov soldiers simply vanished.
We drive in silence for several minutes, the only sounds the hum of the engine and Alina's ragged breathing. I hold her close, one hand stroking her back in soothing circles, the other cradling her head against my shoulder.
Then she speaks, her voice small and broken in a way that makes my chest ache.
"What are you going to do to my father?"
The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with implications.
My silence stretches, filling the SUV with a tension that's almost palpable.
Alina pulls back slightly, looking up at me with those green eyes that see too much.
She's asking me to tell her I'll be merciful, that I'll let Viktor live, that I'll find some way to resolve this without more bloodshed.
But I can't lie to her. Not about this.
So I say nothing, and in that silence, she finds her answer.
The look that crosses her face, the understanding and the fear and the resignation, tells me she knows exactly what I'm going to do to Viktor Popov.
And that my mercy died the moment he put his hands on her.