38. Maxim
38
MAXIM
T he room is cold, dimly lit by the overhead fluorescent lights.
A large table stretches before me, covered in maps, blueprints, and photos of Vito Lombardi’s compound. The tension is palpable, the air heavy with the gravity of what’s to come.
Dmitri leans over the table, his finger tracing the perimeter of the compound on the map. Ivan stands to his left, flipping through a dossier filled with detailed intelligence.
“Before he died, we got a lot of intel from Lombardi’s man,” I say. “Dmitri, what’s the entry point?”
“Here,” Dmitri says, tapping the blueprint. “The west gate. It’s the least guarded. Won’t be easy though. Lot of alarms.”
“Doesn’t have to be easy,” I reply, my voice flat. “It just has to work.”
Ivan smirks, leaning back against the wall. “That’s the spirit. Go in hard, make some noise, and let the message spread. Everyone in our world will know who’s in charge now.”
Dmitri nods, his expression grim. “Are you sure about this? Taking him on at his compound. It’ll be secure.”
“It’ll also send a message to anyone else who thinks they can take us on in the future. Hit his home. Burn it to the ground.” I smile coldly. “Ideally with him inside it.”
Ivan chuckles darkly. “Well, I’d hate to be in his shoes right now. Not with you coming for him.”
Dmitri hands me a file, his tone turning sharp and professional. “We’ve got three teams. One for the perimeter, one for extraction, and ours for the main assault. If anyone gets in our way, they’re gone.”
“We?” I reply. “You’re retired.”
“Who’ll bail you out when you fuck up,” he says with a wink. “I’m coming. But what are we doing about the security system?”
“Leave that to me.”
I flip through the file, my mind absorbing every detail: the layout of the compound, the rotation schedules of Vito’s guards, the location of potential weak points. My focus is absolute, every decision calculated.
But beneath the surface, my thoughts drift to Veronica. I picture her at the bookstore, surrounded by shelves of books, her laughter filling the space as she chats with customers.
The thought steadies me and twists the knife in my chest at the same time.
“If we get pinned down, fallback route?” I ask.
Dmitri points to an alley near the compound’s northern side. “Here. It’s narrow, but it’s defensible. The extraction team will be ready to cover us.”
I nod, my fingers drumming against the edge of the table. “Good.”
Ivan gives me a sidelong glance, his smirk fading. “You ready for this, boss?”
I meet his gaze, my voice steel. “I was born ready for this.”
But as the words leave my mouth, a small part of me wonders if that’s true. I’ve spent my life preparing for battles like this, for moments where violence and power collide. But this time, it feels different. This time, I’m not fighting for control or survival.
This time, I’m fighting for her. I may not get to have a life with her, but I can make sure nothing threatens her ever again.
Dmitri straightens, rolling up the map and slipping it into a tube. “We hit at midnight. Until then, rest up. We’ll need every ounce of strength we’ve got.”
The night air is crisp, a biting cold that seeps through my tactical gear, but I welcome it. It keeps me sharp.
The Lombardi compound sprawls ahead, a fortress of steel and stone, perched on the hill like a goddamn castle.
Spotlights sweep the perimeter, cutting through the darkness in predictable arcs. Guards pace the length of the walls, their hands resting on their weapons, confident in their defenses.
They should be. Lombardi didn’t build his empire on arrogance—he built it on paranoia. And paranoia makes men dangerous.
I crouch low behind the thick underbrush, my team fanned out in a perfect formation. Dimitri is beside me, his face hard and expressionless. His eyes sweep over the estate. He taps his earpiece.
“Perimeter team, report.”
A soft crackle before Ivan’s voice comes through. “North team in position. Two guards at the side entrance, rotating every five minutes. No external cameras on this side, but motion detectors on the fence.”
I glance at Dmitri. He nods. We already knew about the motion sensors.
Alexei, from the south perimeter team, speaks next. “South entrance is locked tight. Three guards. Internal cameras active.”
Good. I like a challenge.
I exhale slowly, fingers tightening around my silenced pistol. We’ve planned this operation down to the second, but even the best-laid plans fall apart once the first bullet flies. The key is controlling the aftermath.
I signal Ivan, and he slips forward, hugging the darkness. He reaches into his pouch and pulls out a small handheld scrambler. A custom job like the signal replicator.
“It better fucking work,” Dmitri mutters.
“Should do for the amount we paid,” I reply.
“Why didn’t Peter do this years ago?”
“Tech didn’t exist for one. Two, he was happy with his half of the city. Lacked ambition, that man. Watch. He’s almost there.”
Lombardi’s security runs on a closed system—no outside hacking. That means taking apart from the inside.
Ivan has moved fast, crouching beside a junction box embedded in the ground. One cut wire could send the entire estate into lockdown, but he knows what he’s doing. With steady fingers, he attaches a bypass chip to the panel.
“Three seconds,” he murmurs.
We wait.
A soft beep . The floodlights flicker. Barely noticeable, but enough to tell me the system is temporarily fooled. The motion sensors along the fence? Dead for the next sixty seconds. That’s all we need.
I motion to Dmitri. “Go.”
We sprint forward, keeping low. The fence is tall—twelve feet, topped with razor wire. A problem for most. Not for us.
Dmitri goes first, moving like a ghost. He hooks a grappling line, scales it in seconds, and lands soundlessly on the other side. I follow, the wire cutting into my gloves as I climb.
The moment my boots hit the ground, I draw my knife. The first real test is ahead.
Two guards patrol the pathway leading to the back entrance. Their routes overlap every ninety seconds, a brief window where they separate. That’s our moment.
Dmitri watches the first guard approach. A big man, broad shoulders, his rifle loose in his grip. He’s bored. Complacent. A fatal mistake.
Dmitri strikes fast. One hand claps over the man’s mouth while the other buries a blade deep into his ribs. A gurgle, then nothing. Dmitri lowers him gently, his eyes already on me.
I move for the second guard. He’s barely five feet away when he turns, his cigarette glowing red in the dark. He doesn’t have time to react.
I grab him from behind, my arm locking around his throat in a perfect chokehold. He struggles, thrashing, but my grip is iron. Fifteen seconds, then he goes limp.
We drag the bodies into the shadows.
Viktor speaks in my earpiece. “South team, status?”
A soft click. “Moving in.”
The service door looms ahead. A keypad blinks red beside it. Locked.
Dmitri gestures, and I step forward, pulling a device from my belt. It’s the signal replicator, sent by Mrs. Bukowski. Lombardi’s guards use keycards with advanced tech inside. We’ve already cloned one using the replicator. One of a kind. Cost a fortune but it’s the reason why this will work.
I hope.
A quick scan, a held breath— beep —and the door unlocks.
I sigh as Dmitri slaps my shoulder. “Good work,” he hisses in my ear.
Inside, the hallway is dark, the air heavy with the scent of polished wood and gun oil. This is where the real challenge begins.
Cameras line the ceilings, sleek and hidden. They don’t move, which means they’re motion-triggered. We need to blind them.
I pull out a dart gun and fire. The projectile hits dead center on the camera’s casing, releasing an electromagnetic pulse that fries the circuit. It won’t look suspicious—just a technical malfunction. We do this for every camera we pass.
A guard rounds the corner. He doesn’t see me. I grab him, slamming him into the wall. My knife slides under his ribs, up into his heart. A clean kill.
Another guard steps out from a side room, spotting the body. He reaches for his radio. Too slow. I fire my silenced pistol. The bullet punches through his skull, and he drops.
Three more patrol the hallway ahead. I crouch in the shadows, waiting.
The first passes. I take him down with a chokehold, his body falling limp in seconds.
The second hears a noise. He turns, rifle raised. I fire twice. Chest. Head.
The third panics. He runs. I hurl my knife—it spins through the air, burying itself deep in his spine. He crashes to the floor.
I retrieve my weapon, stepping over the bodies.
Dmitri’s voice crackles in my earpiece. “Leave some for the rest of us.”
I glance at my watch. “Set the charges.”
“Blowing the doors in five.”
I sprint back to the main corridor, meeting up with the team.
Five.
We brace.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Boom.