Chapter 24 – Timofey
Two days later, the confirmation arrives.
Anton Petrov has entered the city.
There’s no secrecy to his arrival. He’s not hiding. He’s not lowkey. It’s like he wants us to know he’s here, and he’s not afraid.
Multiple sources confirm it within minutes. Independent channels. Surveillance overlaps. Movement logs. All pointing to the same conclusion.
He’s here.
And now everything we’ve built over the past weeks stops being preparation.
It becomes reality.
I don’t waste time reacting outwardly. There’s no point. Fear, anger, anticipation—none of it helps now.
We need a foolproof plan.
I gather my most trusted men in the main strategy room of the mansion.
Dimitri, Konstantin, Sebastian, Mike, and Lukyan are here too.
The space has already become something between a war room and a command center—maps layered across tables, monitors running continuous feeds, encrypted communications open on standby.
They all know why we’re here.
I step to the head of the table.
“Anton is in the city,” I say simply.
No reactions. None needed.
I place a hand on the map spread out before us, eyes scanning the marked zones we’ve been tracking for weeks. Safehouses. Transit points. Possible movement corridors.
“This is no longer surveillance,” I continue. “It’s containment. We don’t chase him anymore.” My gaze lifts slightly. “We control where he can move.”
Lukyan raises his hand. It’s subtle. Controlled. But it cuts through the silence immediately.
“I’ve been monitoring Matteo’s laptop connection,” he says. “It’s still linked to fragments of Anton’s network.”
My attention sharpens instantly. “Go on.”
Lukyan exhales once, slow.
“It’s been inconsistent, but there’s a pattern forming,” he continues. “And it’s not defensive.”
That alone tightens something in my chest.
“What is it?” I ask.
He hesitates—just long enough to make the room feel heavier. Then he shakes his head slightly, like he still doesn’t fully like the conclusion.
“The information suggests Anton is planning something bold,” Lukyan says. “Rather than hiding or operating indirectly…he’s preparing a direct strike on your estate.”
The room shifts. Barely noticeable, but there. The air gets thinner. Sharper. Mike straightens slightly in his chair.
I don’t move.
Because there’s only one reason Anton would abandon subtlety at this stage. As if he can tell my thoughts, Lukyan meets my eyes.
“It’s not just an attack,” he says. “It’s extraction. The pattern suggests he intends to breach the estate, isolate her, and remove Valeria from your protection entirely.”
My jaw tightens slightly at that.
“Kidnapping,” Mike says flatly.
Lukyan nods once. “Yes.”
The word sits in the room like a loaded weapon.
I exhale slowly through my nose.
“No,” I say quietly.
All eyes shift to me.
“That doesn’t happen inside my estate,” I continue. “Not once. Not ever.”
“What do we do?” Misha asks.
That opens the room. Voices layered over each other, each man bringing his angle, his concern, his instinct shaped by years of anticipating violence.
“Relocate her,” one of the senior guards says immediately. “Move Valeria tonight. A secondary safehouse. Somewhere off-grid.”
“That’s reactionary,” Lukyan cuts in sharply. “If Anton already has internal mapping, relocation only creates movement visibility.”
Mike leans forward slightly. “He’ll anticipate a move. He’ll track patterns, not positions.”
Another voice joins in. “Then we harden the estate. Lockdown protocols. Full perimeter reinforcement.”
“Lockdown still makes her a target inside a fixed point,” someone else argues. “If he gets in, we’re trapped defending instead of controlling.”
“I’m not leaving the estate.”
Every head turns toward the doorway.
Valeria walks in with steady steps, head held high. She’s dressed in a black, flowing dress that makes her seem like she’s floating.
Whispers start almost at once. She doesn’t react to it. Doesn’t even slow down. She walks straight to the head of the table and stops beside me. Close enough that I can feel her presence settle into the space without needing to announce itself.
I don’t stop her.
She places both hands lightly on the edge of the table, eyes moving across the room once—acknowledging everyone there—before she speaks.
“Anton will keep coming,” she says calmly. “No matter where I go. Running doesn’t change that. It only delays it.”
Murmurs rise immediately at that.
One of the men shifts forward. “That’s exactly why you should relocate,” he says. “You’re the primary target—”
Valeria cuts him off without raising her voice. “And I will still be the primary target somewhere else,” she replies. “Just in a weaker position. Less control. More exposure during movement.”
Silence flickers again.
Her gaze shifts—just slightly—to me, then back to the room.
“We don’t give Anton distance,” she says. “We give him the situation he thinks he’s going to win.” A beat. “And we wait for him. Here.”
The room reacts instantly.
“No,” someone says sharply. “That’s not strategy; that’s exposure.”
“We can’t invite an attack—” another voice starts.
“We’re not inviting anything,” Valeria says, still calm, but firmer now. “We already know he’s coming. So let’s use that opportunity wisely. And prepare. I’m not leaving.”
A ripple moves through the room again.
“Miss Valeria,” someone says carefully, like they’re trying to step around a live wire.
“I’m not leaving,” she repeats, sharper this time. No apology left in it. She turns slightly toward the table, voice steady as she lays it out. “If Anton wants to come here, then we make sure he comes into something he cannot control. And I’ll fight too.”
That lands harder than the rest.
A few of the men shift immediately, disapproval breaking through the discipline in the room. Misha’s expression tightens.
Lukyan watches her more carefully now. “I’ve seen her kill,” he says. “I’m on her side on this one.”
Mike exhales under his breath, like he’s weighing inevitability against risk.
I don’t speak immediately.
I study her instead.
Really study her.
The way she stands. The way she doesn’t retreat from the weight of the room pushing back against her. The way her voice doesn’t rise to prove anything—it simply holds.
It reminds me of something I’ve only heard in fragments. Stories. Accounts. People speaking about the way her father led when the Petrov name still meant something.
The same refusal to bend under pressure.
The same instinct to face danger head-on instead of circling it.
Fierce leadership doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it just…shows up. Standing in front of you, demanding to be taken seriously.
Silence stretches. Long enough for it to become a decision-making space instead of a disagreement.
Finally, I speak.
“We fortify the estate,” I say.
The room shifts again, but this time toward acceptance.
“We prepare for breach points,” I continue. “Layered response teams. Internal fallback positions. No blind spots.”
My gaze stays on the map as I speak. Not looking at anyone else now. Just building it out as I go.
“And we stop thinking of this as defense,” I add. “We turn it into a controlled engagement zone.”
My eyes lift slightly.
“If Anton comes for Valeria,” I say, voice lower now, “he walks into a battlefield that was built for him before he arrived.”
The room goes quiet again.
Then everyone nods.