19. Maksim #2
The safe house is exactly where Yuri said it would be—a three-story brick building in a warehouse district near the waterfront. Most of the surrounding buildings are abandoned. There are broken windows covered in graffiti.
The perfect place to hide.
We park three blocks away and approach on foot. We’re radio silent, using hand signals only. We move through the shadows like ghosts.
Dmitri takes point with the first team—six men who will breach the front entrance. Pavel leads the second team around back to cover the rear exit. I’m with Nikolai and three others, positioned to provide support and cut off any escape routes.
The building is dark except for a light on the third floor.
Someone’s home. Dmitri makes a signal. There’s one guard outside the front entrance, smoking a cigarette, and he’s armed.
We wait until he turns away, then Dmitri moves quickly and silently.
The guard doesn’t even have time to reach for his weapon before Dmitri’s blade opens his throat.
The body drops without a sound, and Dmitri drags it into the shadows before he signals the all-clear.
The team moves to the entrance. One of them picks the lock, then they’re inside.
I follow with Nikolai, moving through the dark hallway. The building smells like mold and decay. Our footsteps are silent on the dirty floor. We clear the first floor. Empty. The second floor is also empty.
Then we hear voices from above in Russian and we freeze, straining. I can hear two men, maybe three. Dmitri carefully leads the team up the stairs with each step measured to avoid creaking.
At the top of the stairs, there’s a hallway with three doors. Light spills from under the middle door. The voices are coming from there.
Dmitri positions his team. On his signal, they breach.
The door explodes inward with a crash of splintering wood.
“Hands up! On the ground now!”
There’s shouting and heavy footsteps. Then gunfire erupts.
The sound is deafening in the enclosed space. Muzzle flashes light up the hallway like strobes. I instinctively start to move, my gun up, and my body running on instinct and years of training. My ribs scream in protest, but I ignore them.
The room is chaos. There are two men—Corsicans by the look of them, dark-haired and muscular—returning fire from behind overturned furniture. One of our men is down, blood spreading across his chest.
I aim and fire two shots. The first Corsican goes down, bullet holes appearing in his chest.
The second one swings his weapon toward me, but Pavel is faster. Three shots and the man drops.
Then there’s silence except for the ringing in my ears.
Dmitri’s team clears the room. “Two hostiles down. One of ours wounded. Where’s—”
“Here.”
The voice comes from the corner of the room.
Alexander Morozov steps out from behind a door, his hands raised. He’s wearing dark clothes, his burn-scarred hand visible without gloves. His blue eyes assess the situation with eerie calm.
“I surrender,” he says. “Don’t shoot.”
But his foot shifts slightly, and I see it—a gun on the floor, partially hidden by debris. He’s going for it.
I fire.
The bullet catches him in the left thigh and he goes down with a shout, his hand grabbing at the wound as blood pours between his fingers.
“Clear!” Dmitri shouts. “Building is secure!”
I walk toward Alexander, my gun trained on him. He’s on the ground and breathing hard, his face twisted with pain.
“Hello, Alexander,” I growl.
He looks up at me. Even wounded, there’s no fear in his eyes. He looks almost…amused?
“Maksim.” His voice is strained. “Come to kill me?”
“I should.” I press the barrel of my gun to his forehead, trying to steady my breathing. “For what you did to my son and Len. For Aria living in fear. All of it.”
“Then do it.” He actually smiles, blood staining his teeth. “Pull the trigger. Be the monster everyone knows you are.”
My finger tightens on the trigger. It would be so easy to let out one shot and watch him crumple to the ground.
But I hear Nikolai behind me. “Maksim. Don’t.”
“He tried to kill Daniel.” My voice is shaking with rage. “He poisoned my seven-year-old son. He killed Len!”
“And he’ll pay for that, but not like this.” Nikolai moves beside me. “We do this properly. Council hearing. Execution according to Bratva law. If you kill him now, you rob us of justice.”
Alexander laughs, but it’s a wet, pained sound. “You still believe in justice? You’re even more naive than I thought.”
“Shut up,” I snarl.
But Alexander doesn’t stop. “You think you’ve won?” Blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth. “You think capturing me solves anything? You’re so fucking stupid, Maksim. You always were. Too loyal. Too trusting. Too blind to see what was right in front of you.”
“I see you,” I say coldly, refusing to allow his words to penetrate my skin. “A traitor. A coward. A man who tried to murder children to save his own skin.”
“I’m a visionary.” Alexander’s eyes are bright with fever or fanaticism.
“I’ve been building this for fifteen years.
Do you really think I did it alone? The Corsicans are just part of it.
I have people embedded in other Bratva families, other organizations.
Brighton Beach. Bay Ridge. Even in Nikolai’s inner circle.
” He smirks at my brother who stiffens. “People who’ve been planning this for years and waiting for the signal. ”
Nikolai crouches beside him, his face carved into stone. “Names.” he says harshly. “Give me names.”
Alexander spits blood. “Why? I’m dead anyway. So why would I give you anything?”
“Because we can make your death quick,” Nikolai says. “Or we can make it last days. Your choice.”
Alexander considers this, his blue eyes calculating. Then he smiles again.
“No. I don’t think so. See, I’ve planned for this too. If I die, my people know to activate contingencies. Dead man’s switches, in other words. Your families, your operations—all of it burns.”
“You’re lying,” I blurt out, but doubt creeps in.
Alexander tilts his head to the side, almost serpentine.
“Am I? Are you willing to bet Aria’s life on that?
Daniel’s? That baby she’s carrying?” Alexander’s smile widens.
“I know everything about you, Maksim. I’ve been watching for years.
I know where your son sleeps. I know where Aria walks when she needs air.
I know every guard rotation, entrance, and weakness in your security. ”
My finger twitches on my gun. I want to put a bullet in his brain. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
But Nikolai’s hand is on my arm. “He’s baiting you,” he murmurs. “He’s trying to make you kill him so his people think we murdered him without trial. It’ll make him a martyr.”
“Ah, Nikolai,” Alexander says to my brother almost fondly. “You always were smarter than your brother. That’s why I knew you’d be harder to kill. Maksim was supposed to be the easy one.”
“Take him,” Nikolai orders, his face pinched with anger. “Get him medical attention. We need him alive.”
Dmitri and Pavel move to lift Alexander. He groans as they haul him up, blood still pouring from his thigh.
I lower my gun but don’t holster it. I need to know I can end him if necessary.
“This isn’t over,” Alexander says as they drag him toward the door.
He’s looking directly at me. “You think you’ve won?
You’ve won nothing. My people are still out there.
My plans are still in motion. Kill me, and you’ll never know who they are.
You’ll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, wondering who’s going to strike next. ”
“We’ll find them,” Nikolai vows. “We’ll dismantle your entire network.”
“Will you?” Alexander laughs again, and it’s a wet, terrible sound. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
They take him away, leaving blood smears on the floor.
I stand in the ruined room, my gun still in my hand, and I realize something: Alexander’s right.
This isn’t over.
Capturing him is just the beginning.
We transport Alexander to the compound’s medical facility under heavy guard. Dr. Petrov removes the bullet from his thigh and patches him up enough to keep him alive for the council hearing, but not enough to make him comfortable.
Then we lock him in a secure cell in the basement with reinforced walls. There are armed guards around the clock and cameras monitoring his every move.
Nikolai calls an emergency meeting of the Bratva council. Representatives from every major family on the East Coast will attend and they’ll convene in three days.
That’s when Alexander’s crimes will be laid out publicly and he’ll be judged and executed properly according to Bratva law.
But as I watch the monitors showing Alexander in his cell—he’s lying on the cot and staring at the ceiling with that calculating expression—I can’t shake the feeling that he’s still planning something.
Even captured and facing certain death, Alexander Morozov has one more move to make and I’m uncertain of what it might be.
Three days until the council hearing. Three days to dismantle whatever contingencies he’s put in place. Three days to protect my family from whatever final trap he’s laid.
I head upstairs to where Aria and Daniel are sleeping.
I need to see them and hold them. I need to remind myself what I’m fighting for.
Alexander’s right about another thing. This isn’t over, but he’s wrong about the ending.
He thinks he’s won because he has contingencies, and he’s planned for every outcome.
But he didn’t plan for one thing: a father who will burn the world to protect his family.
And that’s exactly what I’m prepared to do.