Chapter 27 Ilya #2
"I have to go," I say instead.
She looks at me for a long moment, and what I see in her face is worse than anger. It's disappointment. Resignation. The look of someone who's finally accepting that the person they hoped for doesn't exist.
"Be safe," she says quietly, and turns away.
I leave without another word, and the entire drive to the warehouse, I feel like I've made a terrible mistake. Like I should turn around, go back, and tell her everything. Tell her that I’ll try. That I’ll let her have her freedom so that I can have her in my life.
That I love her.
But I don’t. I grit my teeth and focus on the job ahead, because all I was trained to be—all I’ve ever been—is a man who chooses control over trust and isolation over vulnerability.
And I realize, as we near the warehouse district, that's why I'm going to lose her.
—
The warehouse district is exactly as desolate as always, just abandoned buildings, broken streetlights, and the smell of salt and rust from the nearby port. Perfect for an ambush.
We park three blocks away and approach on foot, our three teams moving in coordinated silence. I'm with Kazimir and four others, approaching from the south. The other teams are in position at the east and west exits.
"Checking positions," Kazimir murmurs into his comm.
"East team in position," comes the response.
"West team in position."
"Hold for my signal," I say, scanning the warehouse. Lights are on inside, visible through the grimy windows. I can see shadows moving—people inside, just as our source said.
We wait. Minutes stretch into an eternity, every sense heightened, adrenaline singing through my veins. This is familiar territory—the hunt, the violence, the clarity that comes from knowing exactly what needs to be done.
This, I'm good at. This, I understand.
A black SUV pulls up to the main entrance. Two men get out, scanning the area before opening the back door. A third man emerges—a Chinese businessman in an expensive suit, carrying a briefcase.
This must be the syndicate meeting.
"Wait," I murmur into the comm.
We watch as the Chinese delegation enters the warehouse. More waiting. I watch for Sergei to arrive, coiled and ready in case of anything going wrong.
Minutes tick by. "Where is he?" one of my men whispers.
"Patience," I murmur, but unease is starting to creep in. Sergei should be here by now.
Kazimir's phone buzzes. He glances at it, frowns, then his face goes pale.
"Ilya," he says, voice tight.
"What?"
He shows me the screen. It’s a text from an unknown number: Did you really think I wouldn't know? You're getting predictable, Sorokov.
Ice floods my veins.
Before I can process it, Kazimir's phone rings. He answers, putting it on speaker, keeping the volume low.
"Hello, Ilya." It’s Sergei's voice, smug and amused. "Enjoying the view?"
"Where are you?" I demand, my mind racing through possibilities as a horrible realization starts to dawn.
"Not there, obviously." Sergei laughs, and the sound makes my blood run cold. "Your source told me everything. Your plan, your teams, your timing. I've known for days."
"This is a decoy," Kazimir says, his voice flat.
"Very good. The Chinese delegation is real—they're actually here to meet with my people. But me? I had more important business to attend to."
My jaw tightens, my blood humming with adrenaline as fear builds within my veins. No. No, no, no, no!
"You see, Ilya, you've been so focused on me, so obsessed with this little conversation that you want to have with me, that you left something very valuable unprotected." Sergei's voice drops, becomes almost gentle. "Or should I say someone?"
The world tilts. My heart stops, then starts again, pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, in my temples, in every nerve ending.
"If you touch her—" I start, but Sergei cuts me off.
"You'll what? You're miles away, Ilya. And your men at the penthouse... well, they were good. But mine were better."
I'm moving before I consciously decide to, running back toward the cars, Kazimir and the others scrambling to follow.
"All teams, back to the cars!" I shout into the comm. "Get back to the penthouse, now!"
I'm dialing Dimitri’s number as I run, my fingers shaking so badly I almost drop the phone. It rings. And rings. And rings.
No answer.
"Faster!" I shout at Kazimir as we reach the cars. He's already behind the wheel, engine roaring to life before I've fully closed the door.
The drive back is a blur of speed, my terror building with every mile that passes. I keep calling, keep getting nothing, and with each unanswered ring, the panic grows until it's a living thing inside me, clawing at my lungs, my heart, my sanity.
This can't be happening. Not again. Not Mara.
I think about the last thing she said to me: Be safe. I think about the disappointment in her eyes, the way I pushed her away instead of pulling her closer. How I confirmed everything she feared about me.
I think about Katya, about finding her too late, about the blood and the silence and the way my world ended in that moment.
I can't lose Mara. I can't. I won't survive it.
"Ilya." Kazimir's voice is tight. "We're two minutes out."
I don't respond. I'm checking my gun, preparing for whatever we're about to find. Preparing for war.
The penthouse building comes into view, and everything looks normal from the outside.
No signs of disturbance, no police, no obvious chaos.
We screech to a stop, and I'm out of the car before it's fully stopped, running for the entrance.
The doorman is slumped in his chair, and when I check his pulse, I find nothing.
Dead.
The elevator ride up is the longest of my life. Kazimir and my men are with me, weapons drawn, but all I can think about is Mara. Please let her be alive. Please let me be wrong. Please, please, please.
The elevator doors open, and the smell hits me first. Blood and gunpowder and death.
The penthouse door is ajar.
I push it open, and the scene that greets me is a nightmare turned into brutal reality.
There are bodies everywhere, signs of a fight.
Bullet holes riddling the walls, blood splashed over surfaces.
My men, Dmitri and his team, are scattered throughout the entryway and living room, along with a few men I don’t recognize who must be Sergei’s.
My team put up a fight, but it wasn’t enough.
A vicious voice in the back of my head whispers: Good. If any of them had failed to protect Mara and survived, I’d have killed them myself.
At least they died trying to save her.
Now it’s my turn to do the same.
"Mara!" I shout, my voice raw. "Mara!"
There’s nothing but silence.
I move through the penthouse like a man possessed, checking every room, every corner, every possible hiding place where she might be tucked away, hiding from the men who came from her.
The bedroom is empty, bed made, her book still on the nightstand.
The bathroom is empty. The library is, too, as is my office.
She's not here.
“Ilya!” Kazimir shouts my name from the living room, and I run back in to find him standing near the sofa.
In his hand is a black rose, and a note.
I snatch the note from him with shaking hands, eyes racing over the scrap of paper.
You came into my territory without asking, Sorokov. So I’ve taken the reason you’re here at all. Let's see if you're smart enough to get her back.
The rose falls from my fingers. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything but stand there, staring at the note, at the bodies, at the empty space where Mara should be.
This is my fault. I left her here. I thought six men would be enough. I thought I could handle Sergei and keep her safe at the same time.
I thought I was in control.
"Ilya." Kazimir's hand on my shoulder. "We'll find her. We'll get her back."
But I barely hear him. All I can think about is Katya, how I was too late then, how I failed to protect someone I cared about.
It's happening again. The same nightmare, the same failure, the same devastating loss.
I sink to my knees in the middle of the penthouse, surrounded by death and silence, and for the first time since I was sixteen years old, I feel the control I've built my entire life around shatter into pieces.
Mara is gone.
And I don't know if I'll ever get her back.