Chapter 23
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Julia
We're almost to the car when Aleksandr's voice slices through the air behind us.
“Maybe you won’t put a bullet in this one’s head, cousin !”
My body locks up for a fraction of a second. It can't be true.
I know about Vera, at least the fragmented details Akim fed me, pieced together with what I’ve pried from Max himself.
My soldier, the protector of innocents…he couldn’t have been the one to pull that trigger.
But when my gaze snaps to Maksim, any trace of light has bled from his eyes, leaving behind something empty and vast.
I say nothing, just slide into the car beside him.
The air inside crackles, thick with unspoken words.
Even if I tried to form the questions burning my tongue, they’d die in my throat.
All his desperate warnings for me to be careful, the walls he built against loving anyone—it all stems from that.
Being forced to kill the only person who offered a shred of comfort in this hell, and the thought alone is a physical ache. It must have shattered him.
"Maksim," I whisper, reaching for him. His entire body goes rigid at the near contact.
I don't dare push further, not when he looks like this, coiled tightly with ghosts. When he’s ready—if he ever is—I just pray he doesn't shove me away in his self-destructive need to pay for others' sins.
?
The house ahead is swallowed by ivy, looking ancient and imposing. Three men in sharp suits stand guard at the entrance, the bulge of weapons beneath their jackets unmistakable.
"Your boss is expecting us," Max's voice is chillingly detached, devoid of the emotion that should follow Aleksandr's barb. But I guess in that house, you learn early how to bury feelings deep and fast.
A curt nod from one of the guards, and we're led inside, down a hall and into an office. Dark wood furniture is swallowed by shadows, appearing almost black in the dim light.
In the center, behind a massive desk, sits a man around fifty. His hair is short, receding slightly, contrasting with startlingly light green eyes. His beige suit stretches across a frame that rarely sees exercise, and dark circles smudge beneath his eyes, a sign his nights are spent awake.
"Give me one reason I shouldn't put a bullet in each of your skulls right now." Our host's voice aims for boredom, but there's an undercurrent beneath it…curiosity, maybe suspicion, sharp and dangerous.
My mind races for escape routes, my hand inching toward my weapon. How the hell do we get out of this if it's a trap?
"Maybe the simple fact that you want your daughter back," Maksim counters, his voice flat ice.
At his words, Vlad slams his fists on the desk, surging to his feet.
"How dare you mention her? You, your kind, are the reason for everything she's suffered!
" Color floods his face, his mouth twisting in a snarl of revulsion.
But beneath the rage, I see it—a desperate flicker of hope, a heartbroken man clinging to the slimmest possibility regarding his child.
Maksim turns slightly, his gaze sweeping the room almost casually before his eyes meet mine. The message is clear: Run if this goes south.
I want to scream at him. If he thinks I'm leaving him behind, he's insane. I don't give a damn what he's done, how many demons cling to his soul. Too many people have abandoned him. I need to show him that someone can choose him. Stay for him, even when running is the only sane option.
"She's alive," Maksim states, cutting through the tension. "And if you want her back, we're going to need to come to an understanding."
On the drive over, Akim had confirmed it: Vlad's daughter, Andrea, is alive, held in the house of one of Ivan's associates.
A fresh wave of guilt washes over me, thinking of her, of all the others whose trails went cold.
It claws at my insides. That's why we have to dismantle Rastovski's entire empire.
The network, the auctions, the hidden accounts…
Ivan's failing health has only fed his paranoia, making him more erratic, more dangerous.
The next instant is chaos. Vlad whips a pistol from behind his back, the crack echoing as he fires. Max grunts, staggering as blood blossoms on his arm. Instinct takes over—my pistol is up, sight trained on Vlad—but before I squeeze the trigger, Maksim yells, "Gun down, Julia!"
Has he lost his mind? I'm not letting this bastard turn us into target practice out of some misplaced vengeance. Weapon still raised, I advance on Vlad, hissing through clenched teeth, "You used to call her Dulci. Because she always stole the caramels from the kitchen."
My words hit him like a physical blow. Something cracks in his rigid mask. His eyes film over and the hand holding the pistol lowers, trembling slightly.
I rush to Maksim's side. The wound looks superficial, but the sight of his blood ignites a primal urge in me to paint the walls red with Vlad's.
"Were you…imprisoned with her?" Vlad asks, his voice breaking on the last word.
Was I? In a way. Trapped in the same hell but spared the specific horrors she endured.
"Partially," I answer, the word weak, choked with shame for every girl like Andrea I couldn't save, every time I looked away.
I know the brutal math and the fact that we can't save them all.
I know how many girls we do manage to pull out from that hell.
But it's never enough. It feels like playing Russian roulette with their lives, waiting until we have the power to burn it all down.
"Julia saved her life two years ago," Maksim says, his tone still carefully neutral, but I don't miss the undercurrent of fierce pride.
"If she hadn't been there, your daughter would be rotting in the ground right now.
" He lets that sink in. "In fact, she has ten whip scars across her back to prove it," he adds, venom dripping from each word, aimed not at Vlad but at himself.
I look at him then, the fury and self-loathing etched so clearly on his face it steals my breath. Before he can retreat further into himself, before I can think, my pinky hooks around his.
We've been a team since day one, and we'll be one until the last. Maybe these two years in that madhouse did break something in me, but I know it in my bones: nothing this man does could scare me enough to leave him.
Even if that's exactly what he wants. Every cold shoulder, every harsh word, it's all designed to make me run.
Too bad he doesn't understand he's not the only possessive one around here.
The moment I chose to stay, chose him over escaping with the children… I marked him as mine.
Even if he can't love me the way I crave, even if his demons drag him back into the abyss just as he claws toward the light, even when he convinces himself he doesn't deserve this…this connection we share.
"Just say what you need," Vlad whispers, the fight completely drained from his voice, leaving only weary resignation.
His gaze fixed on Vlad, but his fingers still locked with mine, Maksim lays out our proposal, our mission.
"You need money," the man says, looking like he's aged a decade right before our eyes.
"Not exactly," Maksim counters, "though money is always useful.
This is about your reach, your influence.
You're the only man with real power who dared to attack Ivan's territory seeking vengeance.
I guarantee you, Ivan noticed. But more importantly, I saw how your attack affected him: fear.
I've known that monster for over fifteen years, Vlad. I’ve never seen fear touch his eyes until now. "
Vlad seems adrift in his own grief, then his gaze sharpens. "Bring my daughter back," he says, his voice raw. "And you'll have everything. My money, my network, my soldiers. Whatever you need to tear that bastard down."
He can't be serious, can he? With all his resources, why hasn't he tried to get her back himself? As if sensing my unspoken questions, Vlad continues, the words heavy with shame.
"I don't want this life anymore," he confesses, his voice thick.
"I'm the reason she was taken. An enemy of mine back in Belgrade…
he fed information to the lowlifes who grabbed her and her friend.
Told them they were daughters of one of his soldiers who'd crossed him.
My wife…she faded away last year. Stopped eating, stopped leaving the house, just…
gave up. I didn't just lose Andrea that day.
I lost everything. My whole family, my soul.
I just want…I need a shred of light back in my life. "
The raw honesty is chilling. He means it. But the weight of his request is crushing. Infiltrating the home of one of Ivan's powerful associates, extracting a girl without triggering an all-out war?
"Okay," Maksim agrees, his voice dangerously calm. "But you need to maintain appearances. Stay in power, publicly at least. Ivan will investigate who's causing trouble. He can't suspect it's us."
For a fleeting second, I want to grab Maksim, shake him, ask if he's truly thought this through.
This isn't some distant operation that Ivan can ignore.
We'd be snatching one of his victims, practically from under his nose, just miles away. If he finds out… I slam the door on that thought. I can’t think of the consequences.
"Alright," Vlad agrees, exhaling a shaky breath. "Just promise me one thing. When Ivan dies, promise me he'll suffer. Every single second of it."
"There won't be an inch of skin left on his bones," Maksim vows, and the cold, final promise in his voice makes my own skin crawl.
As we're escorted back outside, my mind races. How the hell are we going to pull this off? The villa belonging to the monster holding Andrea is just over twelve miles from our house.
Max runs extractions like this all the time, but never this close to Ivan's proximity. Never this risky. He’s always been meticulous about avoiding suspicion.
"We go tomorrow night," Maksim decides, his jaw set. "Just us three – you, me, Akim. If things go sideways, Julia, your only job is to get Andrea out and contact Ilya. Understood?"
"You’ve never told me," I start, the question bubbling up again, "why doesn't Ilya just take Ivan out? He helps us with the kids, gets them to safety. As pakhan, surely he has the power."
Silence stretches between us for a few tense moments. A familiar sting of rejection surfaces, the thought that he still doesn't trust me enough, that there are parts of his world, his alliance with the head of the Moscow Bratva, kept locked away from me.
"Years ago," Maksim finally says, his voice low, gravelly, "someone took Ilya's sister. Ivan is the only one alive who knows where she's hidden. Every single week, until the day Ivan dies, he has to make a specific call. If he misses it, Ilya's sister vanishes. Permanently."
A sharp pang hits my chest. If it were one of the twins…
I know I’d burn the world down to get her back.
I can't fathom Ilya's agony. All that power, the resources of the Bratva at his command, yet utterly helpless, chained to the whims of a diseased old monster who preys on children and trafficks them like cattle.
The chime of an incoming message breaks the heavy silence. I watch the face of the man who somehow stole my heart and keeps it tucked beside his own.
His gaze lifts, meeting mine, dark and intense. "Change of plans," he says. "We have an auction tonight."