Chapter Twenty-Three
Audrey
For the first time since I set foot in this crazy world, I understand the weight Igor carries. I know what it feels like to bear the hopes and expectations of every man under his command.
They have their eyes on me, waiting, expecting a plan that will assure our victory. I don’t want to fail them…or my brother.
I won’t fail Simon.
The room is almost suffocating with the scent of musk, leather jackets, and cold tension.
I sit at the edge of my seat, my eyes burning as I stare at the massive digital map projected across the center table.
Dozens of red markers glow against the dark topography, each one representing a shell company property tied to Serrano.
To my right, Igor leans forward.
I expect him make an input—display his mafia prowess, or something—but he’s completely silent.
His massive hands are planted flat on the glass table, his knuckles white. Around us, his top strategists murmur in low, clipped Russian, and their faces are hardened with anticipation for a war that’s rapidly reaching its breaking point.
They’re looking in the wrong places. That’s the mistake most people make when it comes to a man like Serrano.
“You’re wasting time on his strongholds.” I interrupt the low rumble of masculine voices.
The room goes dead silent. A few of the older men shift. They look slightly annoyed, but Igor’s gaze snaps to me. As it is most of the time, his eyes are unreadable, but the subtle nod of his chin gives me the floor.
Under his gaze, I don’t particularly feel proud that I have the information I’m about to share, but I don’t have a choice.
“Serrano never keeps leverage in his primary locations,” I explain, then trace a finger over the screen to drag a cluster of markers away.
“He’s too paranoid for that. He prefers secondary properties, places that look completely abandoned from the outside but are structurally reinforced on the inside.
I guess he does that to try to throw his enemies off his scent, if that makes any sense. ”
I swipe through the data. There are twelve potential sites, but I filter them down to five. “Look.” I point at the screen. “Look at the recent utility activity and the unusual security camera pings from the grid. These five are alive and breathing, even if they look dead on paper.”
“Five is still too many,” Igor rumbles, and his deep voice vibrates against my spine. “The problem is, if we strike blindly, there’s a higher chance that we’ll lose him.”
Him being my brother.
I swallow down the gruesome image that quickly forms in my mind at the thought of what Serrano could do to him, and force myself to be positive that this operation will work.
It has to.
“We won’t strike blindly,” I counter, then zoom in closer on the remaining cluster. “I can say I know Serrano well enough to know he always chooses places near water or rail access. Comfort means nothing to him, but escape routes? They mean everything.”
My eyes scan the five locations until they lock onto a single point. A chill ripples down my arms. “There. The warehouse near the old industrial docks.”
One of the strategists frowns, leaning over the table. “That sector has been dark for three months.”
“Exactly. But look at the grid logs. It was recently reconnected to high-voltage electricity, yet there’s zero registered business activity.
He’s powering something heavy.” I look up at the tech officer stationed at the wall monitors.
“Give me the traffic cam footage from the three-block radius surrounding that dock. Let’s have a look at the last forty-eight hours. ”
The man springs into action and keys clack furiously.
A grid of grainy, gray-toned video feeds populates the main screen. We watch in silence as vehicles pass, mostly rusted sedans and commercial trucks. Then a blacked-out transport van glides across the frame of camera four.
My stomach violently tightens into a hard, cold knot.
“Freeze that frame,” I whisper.
The image sharpens and we have a clearer view. The license plate is fake, but the dent on the rear bumper and the specific aftermarket reinforcement on the chassis are unmistakable.
“That van,” I say, my throat suddenly dry. “It was used during his last hostage exchange in Brazil. Serrano is a creature of habit. He trusts familiarity when he’s vulnerable.”
I feel my husband’s gaze heat the side of my face before he stands up to his full height, his presence instantly dominating the room.
“You believe he used the same van to abduct your brother?”
I nod. “Yes. And I might just have an idea where he’s holding him.”
Igor grunts, then nudges me. “Go on.”
“He prefers upper floors for captives,” I say, staring at the warehouse grid, and my mind races through Serrano’s sick psychology.
I’m really appalled that I know this much about his activities.
“He believes height gives him an absolute tactical advantage. Stupid and sick, I know, but it’s a power play—making his victims feel small while he looks down on them.”
“Pull the blueprints,” Igor commands, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me.
The digital map dissolves and is replaced by the architectural schematics of the dockside warehouse. My eyes trace the structural lines, climbing past the sprawling, empty main storage floor until they hit the top corner.
There it is.
A reinforced office space dangling right above the main floor.
“Windowless. A single access point,” I breathe out, pointing at the glowing blue lines of the upper room.
“That’s it. If Simon is alive, that’s where he’ll be.
” I barely recognize my voice because of how tight it is as I lock eyes with Igor.
“Serrano likes his leverage contained, but he needs it visible to feel in control. He wants to look down and know exactly what he holds over you. Bastard.”
A tear rolls down my cheek despite my effort to keep it contained.
When Igor sees the tears in my eyes, he reaches out and rests his heavy hand on the nape of my neck. He gives a gentle squeeze for a fraction of a second, like a silent reassurance to anchor me, before he pulls away.
“Get the cars,” Igor orders his men, his eyes hard and teeth gritted. “We move now.”
The room erupts into hurried Russian conversations and a blur of motion.
Within minutes, we’re crammed in the vehicles, tearing through the rain-slicked city streets.
I ride in the back of the armored SUV, shoulder-to-shoulder with Igor. The interior is bathed in the harsh, tactical green glow of a rugged tablet resting on my lap. The engine releases an aggressive growl that matches the heavy silence between us.
“The area is a tight one, but he has blind spots,” I whisper, tapping the building layout on the screen and tracing a line for Igor. “Here, by the ventilation shafts, and along the eastern blind alley. The security cameras can’t tilt low enough to cover the recess.”
Igor studies the glowing lines. I can’t tell what he’s thinking when his expression looks like it’s carved from stone.
“Audrey,” he whispers darkly.
I look into his eyes. “Yeah?”
He doesn’t look afraid; he looks hungry. Hungry for blood. He checks the slide of his weapon, the metallic click sharp and final in the enclosed space.
“I’m going to bring your brother back.”
I manage a smile. My heart does a small skip at his need to verbally reassure me.
I touch his face gently. “I know.”
To be honest, I don’t know. Serrano is unpredictable, and I’m scared of what he might have already put Simon through. Still, I put on a brave face.
When the SUV kills its lights and rolls to a halt in the shadows of the decaying industrial district, the air shifts. It’s freezing, smelling of salt water and rust.
I step out into the damp night air, flanked by a dozen heavily armed bratva soldiers. We approach the towering, dark silhouette of the warehouse.
“Not the loading dock.” I grab the arm of the point man before he can advance toward the wide bay doors. “What do you think? He’s obviously expecting a frontal assault. He’ll have his heaviest concentration of guards covering the main floor entries.”
I point toward a rusted, unassuming metal door buried behind a stack of rotting wooden pallets. “Do you see that? There. The side service entrance. It’s a maintenance access line. He won’t waste men on a door that isn’t even on the main grid maps.”
The point man nods, then signals two guys to quietly break the lock. The door gives way with a muted click.
Before they can rush the interior, I pull Igor back slightly and press my hand against the hard plate of his tactical vest. “Wait. The stairs. If it’s Serrano, he always places a secondary shooter on the catwalk overlooking the stairwells.
You know, like in the movies? There’s going to be a fallback sniper to catch anyone breaching the lower level. ”
Igor’s eyes darken with understanding. He looks over his shoulder at Sergei. “We’ll split. Team Two, take the fire escape on the west side. Clear the high ground first. And no one touches those stairs until the catwalk is dark.”
The men move quickly, blending into the upper skeletal structures of the building.
Igor turns to me, and his massive frame towers over me in the dim light of the doorway. The calm authority radiating off him is grounding.
“You stay back.” He brushes a warm hand against my frozen cheeks. “You’re my eyes out here. Keep us moving.”
“I’m in your ear,” I promise, adjusting my headset. “Don’t let him get to the roof.”
“He won’t even make it halfway there,” Igor says. He racks his weapons, turns, and leads his team into the throat of the warehouse, disappearing into the dark.
I pull up the tablet, dragging my fingers across the screen as the live comm audio crackles to life in my ear. “Ruslan, you and your team are clear for five meters. Please move.”
I hear the sound of heavy boots before the signals cut.
Dimitri’s voice comes through seconds later. He’s working with the tech operatives. “We’ve isolated the power grid.”
A second later, the mechanical hum of the building dies. The external floodlights blink out, plunging the dockside structure into a pitch-black darkness that’s orchestrated for our advantage.
With my heart hammering loudly against my ribs, I stare at the thermal feed on my tablet.
“Igor...” I whisper softly. The line is quiet, but only for a few seconds, before I hear his familiar grunt.
“The primary grid is down, but keep your eyes up.” I speak quietly into my headset.
“Serrano’s interior alarms won’t trigger on a total blackout, but he’ll know we’re here the moment his feeds cut.
From now, you have less than two minutes. ”
“Understood.” Igor’s deep voice rumbles in my earpiece, entirely unfazed. “We’re moving.”
“Advance up the narrow stairwell on your left,” I tell them, my eyes tracking their glowing heat signatures as they ascend the spine of the building. “Remember, the corridor opens up directly to the reinforced office at the far end. There are no secondary exits.”
A heavy silence stretches over the comms, broken only by the sound of controlled breathing.
“Visual confirmed,” Sergei whispers. “Simon is inside the upper room. Three Mexicans stationed at the door, holding positions exactly as predicted.”
Knowing Sergei can see my brother causes a new wave of tears to spring to the corners of my eyes. But I hold my breath. We’re not done yet.
“Hold,” Igor commands. The thermal dots freeze.
For one terrifying second, I wonder if he’s going to order me inside. If he’s considered using my past connection to Serrano as bait to draw the bastard out into the open. It’s what a ruthless leader would do. It’s what Serrano would have done—thrown me under the bus without a second thought.
But Igor isn’t just any mafia boss; he’s my husband.
“We’re going in,” Igor growls.
Through the audio feed, there’s a sudden, violent burst of suppressed gunfire, followed by loud male voices and the heavy drop of what I immediately assume to be bodies hitting the floor.
I grip my chest, living vicariously through my husband as he barks orders in fluent Russian. When the noise grows too loud, I shift the headset off one ear, hoping it tones down the violence.
After a brief moment, the shouting ceases.
It’s a swift and controlled execution.
A hot wave of fierce pride washes over the cold knot in my stomach. Igor isn’t exposing me to Serrano’s sightline. He trusted my intel implicitly, and he used it to keep me entirely shielded.
Suddenly, a heavy metal door screeches open over the comms, and someone shouts loudly in Spanish.
I instantly recognize Serrano’s brittle voice, sharpened with venom.
“Back off! Step back, you Russian bastards, or I’ll paint this room with his brains!”
Through the live audio, I can hear the sound of boots scraping against the floor. Serrano is dragging someone out of the inner room, and I know it’s his captive.
My fingers dig into the edges of the tablet. “Simon,” I whisper under my breath.
“Look at him, Igor!” Serrano taunts, his laugh jagged and unhinged like a madman’s.
I’m not there, and the tablet only offers a limited view of what’s going on inside, but I can picture it perfectly: Serrano’s gun pressed hard against Simon’s temple, using him as a human shield, completely unaware that I’m listening to every single breath through the open comms line.
“You think you’re a god in this city? Untouchable? Invincible? I hate to break it to you, but you’re nothing! I’m here now. I run things now. You’re fucking chaff, just like Joaquin was. And I swear to God, if you move an inch, your boy dies.”
Igor doesn’t raise his voice.
When he speaks, his tone is a terrifying, flat line. “You have no cards left to play, Serrano. This is the end of the road for you. Look around.”
“I have the only card that matters!” Serrano screeches. “The boy!”
I watch the thermal feed intently.
Igor isn’t just talking; he’s stalling. His heat signature is shifting, inch by inch, sliding laterally along the concrete wall while Serrano focuses entirely on the men in front of him. Igor angles his body, waiting for the exact millisecond Serrano’s posture shifts enough to clear Simon’s head.
“There’s no way out of this for you.” Igor’s tone drops an octave, drawing Serrano’s attention right to him. “We both know you die tonight. The only question is how much it hurts.”
“You think you can—”
Bang!
A single, unsuppressed gunshot resounds through the comms, deafeningly loud.
My hand flies to my mouth, stifling a gasp, while my heart thrums in my ears as a heavy, wet thud follows, accompanied by the faint clatter of a dropped weapon.
“Let’s head back.” Igor’s voice cuts through the sudden silence, devoid of emotion but radiating absolute finality. “Sergei, throw him where no one will find him for the next few years.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and my shoulders sag in relief.
Serrano is dead.
Igor has ended this, securing my brother like he promised, proving what I already knew to my core.
No one harms Igor’s family.
No one threatens what belongs to him and lives to try it a second time.