Chapter 28 – Samuel
The air in the secure monitoring room is thick with the scent of stale coffee, smoke, and the quiet, vibrating energy of a hunt in full swing.
My eyes don’t leave the main screen. The image of the black sedan leaving the garage is frozen on the left monitor, while the right is a blur of cascading data, flashing red indicators, and scanning algorithms. Kaplan’s fingers move across his keyboard with mechanical speed, his face illuminated by the harsh blue glow.
“I need a name, Kaplan,” I say, my voice a flat, dangerous quiet that cuts through the hum of the servers. “I don’t care what firewalls you have to burn. Give me a name.”
“Working, Boss. The facial recognition is cross-referencing the municipal traffic cameras, social media archives, and international modeling registries,” Kaplan mutters, not looking up. “The resolution from the garage feed was low, but we’re enhancing the facial landmarks now.”
My phone vibrates on the metal table. I snatch it up before the first ring ends.
“Talk to me,” I command.
“Samuel,” my lead field agent reports, his voice crackling over the encrypted line.
“We found the sedan. Abandoned in an alleyway three miles east of the office, near the old industrial district. Plates are cold, registered to a stolen vehicle out of the mainland. No signs of struggle inside, but the back seat smells faintly of chemical anesthetics. He swapped cars, Samuel. He planned this transition.”
A muscle in my jaw twitches. My grip on the phone tightens until the casing groans.
“He knew we’d track the plate. He’s running a tight timeline.
Sweep the area around the vehicle. Look for secondary traffic cameras, dashcams, transit buses—anything that passed that alleyway between 4:45 and 5:15 p.m. I want to know what vehicle they got into next. ”
“Understood. We are on it.”
I disconnect the call and toss the phone back onto the table. I pace the length of the room, my mind working like a chess grandmaster trying to anticipate a madman’s next move.
He isn’t a professional operator; if he were, he wouldn’t have walked directly into her office where his face would be captured on high-definition interior cameras. He’s driven by obsession, which makes him incredibly dangerous, but also prone to leaving a trail.
“Got him,” Kaplan suddenly barks, sitting upright.
I’m at his shoulder in a single, silent stride.
On the screen, the grainy image of the man from the garage is replaced by a crisp, professional headshot. He’s smiling, his eyes bright, his posture relaxed. It’s the face of a man who makes his living in front of a camera.
“Daniel Hwang,” Kaplan reads aloud, pulling up a rapid stream of personal files, medical records, and travel history.
“Thirty-two years old. Former high-end fashion model. He worked closely with Ashley’s previous creative agency about three years ago.
There are dozens of shared campaign credits between them. ”
I stare at the smiling face on the screen. The anger inside me solidifies into a block of black ice. “What else?”
“He’s been off the grid for the last eighteen months,” Kaplan says, pulling up financial records.
“No credit card activity under his real name, no active leases, no social media presence since he abruptly walked away from a contract in Milan. But look at this—six months ago, a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands purchased a secluded, private estate just outside the city limits. The primary contact on the encrypted purchase agreement matches an alias Daniel used during his early European tours.”
“He’s been planning this,” I whisper, the realization clicking into place. “He didn’t just snap. He built a cage for her, and he’s been waiting for the right moment to lock the door.”
“I’m pulling up the coordinates of that estate now,” Kaplan says, his voice rising with anticipation. “It’s an old colonial-style compound, heavily forested, completely isolated.”
I turn away from the monitors, the cold weight of the hunt settling deep into my bones. The pieces are finally on the board. He has my wife, but he has also just handed me his location.
“Assemble the team,” I order, my voice dropping into a register of absolute, lethal certainty. “We move now.”
I reach for my vest, my mind already executing the breach, when my phone buzzes again. I snatch it up, expecting my lead field agent with another lead.
“Mr. Rusnak?”
It’s the nanny. Her voice is strained, drowned out by the sound of muffled, ragged sobbing in the background.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice instantly dropping into a quiet, focused register.
“It’s Ethan, sir. He won’t stop crying. He keeps asking for his mommy, and when I told him she was still working, he started asking for you. He’s worked himself up so much he’s hyperventilating. I can’t get him to calm down. He just wants his daddy.”
Hearing my son’s broken cries through the speaker shreds the icy armor I’ve spent the last hour building. I look at the map on the screen. I look at Kaplan, who’s waiting for my command to move.
Ashley is out there. But Ethan is here, terrified, feeling the sudden, unexplained absence of both of his parents.
I close my eyes for a single, heavy second, balancing the two halves of my soul.
“Kaplan,” I say, lowering the phone. “Hold the team. Keep the engines running and monitor the estate’s perimeter. Give me thirty minutes.”
Kaplan looks up, startled. “Sir? We have the location. Every second—”
“I know what every second means,” I cut him off, my voice brooking no argument. “But my son needs me. Stand down for thirty. I’ll be back.”
I don’t wait for his reply. I sprint out of the server room, the heavy metal door clattering shut behind me. Within seconds, I’m in my SUV, the engine roaring to life as I pull out of the garage and into the night traffic.
I drive with a controlled aggression, threading through the city streets, my eyes darting to the dashboard clock. 8:45 p.m.
The drive home is a blur of passing headlights and the drumming of my own heartbeat against my ribs. I have to compartmentalize. I have to lock the predator away before I walk through my front door. I cannot let Ethan see the violence that’s currently clawing to get out of me.
When I park and storm into the penthouse, the silence of the foyer is broken by the distant, wet gasps of my son’s crying. I drop my keys on the console and head straight for his room, stripping off my heavy outer jacket as I go, forcing my breathing to slow down.
I’m his father first. I have to be the anchor he needs before I go to war.
I push the door to his bedroom open. The only light comes from a small nightlight shaped like a star, casting soft shadows across the walls.
Ethan is curled into a tight ball in the center of his bed, his small shoulders shaking as he clutches his stuffed toy.
The nanny is kneeling beside him, her face full of helpless worry.
She looks up at me, letting out a quiet sigh of relief.
“I’ve got him,” I murmur.
She nods quickly and slips out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.
I walk over to the bed and sit on the edge of the mattress. The wood groans slightly under my weight. I reach out, my hand—which only minutes ago was checking the safety on a firearm—resting gently on his back.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, keeping my voice low, warm, and steady.
Ethan jerks at the sound of my voice. He spins around, his face red, his eyelashes wet with tears. “Daddy!” he gasps, scrambling across the sheets and throwing his small arms around my neck. He clings to me with a desperate, surprising strength, his face buried in my shoulder.
“I’m here,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him, pulling him close against my chest. “I’m right here.”
“Where’s Mommy?” he sobs, his chest heaving. “She didn’t come home. And you weren’t here. I thought…I thought you both left.”
The pain of his words slices straight through me, deeper than any physical wound could.
The urge to run out the door, to find Daniel and end this immediately, screams in my ear.
Every second I sit here is a second Ashley is in danger.
But as I feel the frantic beat of my son’s heart against mine, I force the urgency down. I bury it deep.
“We would never leave you, Ethan,” I say, my voice an absolute rock.
I pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, cupping his face in my hands.
I wipe a tear from his cheek with my thumb.
“Mommy had a very important project tonight. You know how hard she works. She’s safe, and she’s going to be home soon. ”
“Really?” His voice cracks, his wide, trusting eyes searching mine for any sign of a lie.
“Really,” I promise, holding his gaze. “I’m going to go help her finish up, and then we’re both going to be right here when you wake up in the morning. Okay?”
He sniffs, the frantic edge of his panic finally beginning to recede, anchored by the absolute certainty in my voice. “Okay.”
“Now, lay back down,” I say, pulling the covers up to his chin. I sit beside him, stroking his hair, humoring him as he slowly relaxes into the pillows.
It takes ten minutes. Ten agonizing, vital minutes of watching his breathing slow, watching his eyelids grow heavy, until his grip on his toy loosens and he finally drifts off into a deep, exhausted sleep.
In the quiet of the room, the contrast of what I have to do next settles heavily on my shoulders. This is what is at stake. My son. My wife. The life I fought so hard to build. I cannot fail them.
I lean down, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead. “I love you, buddy,” I whisper. “I’ll bring her home.”
I stand up, the warmth of the father fading, replaced instantly by the icy resolve of the protector. I walk out of the room, closing the door behind me, and slip my heavy jacket back on as I head for the elevator.
The thirty minutes are up. It’s time to end this.
I pause in the living room, where the nanny is anxiously waiting by the kitchen counter. The toll of the evening is written all over her face, but she straightens as I approach.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice carrying the quiet weight of my gratitude. “Please watch over him tonight. Keep the doors locked. We’ll be back soon, and I’ll make sure you’re heavily compensated for the extra hours and the stress.”
She offers a gentle, reassuring smile, shaking her head slightly. “It’s okay, Mr. Rusnak. Really. You don’t have to worry about that. Ethan is an amazing boy. Just…take care. He loves you very much.”
“I will,” I reply, the promise hard as iron.
I give her a final nod, walk out of the penthouse, and step into the waiting elevator. The descent is silent, the transition from father to predator completing itself before the doors even slide open at the parking garage.
I drive back to the office building, the streets passing in a dark, silent blur. There’s no hesitation left in me. No fear. Only the cold, tactical execution of a mission.
When I pull up, the blacked-out SUVs are already lined up curbside, engines idling in a low, rumbling chorus. Kaplan, Lukyan, and the rest of the team stand by the vehicles, fully geared, their expressions grim and ready. The air around them is thick with anticipation.
I step out of my car, my heavy boots hitting the pavement. I don’t need to give a speech. They know what we are going to do. They know what’s at stake.
I look at Kaplan, who gives me a single, sharp nod—the coordinates are locked, the perimeter is mapped, and the target is acquired.
“Let’s go,” I say.
I climb into the lead SUV, the door slamming shut with a heavy, armored thud, and we tear into the night.
The city lights stretch into long, bleeding lines of gold and red against the window as we speed down the highway, heading toward the isolated edge of the map.
Inside the armored cabin, the silence is heavy, punctuated only by the low hum of the engine and the occasional static of the tactical comms.
I stare out at the passing dark, and for the first time tonight, my mind slips past the logistics, past the weapons checks and the building schematics.
The image of Ashley hits me. Not the broken version on the security feed, but the woman who challenged me, who laughed at my dry humor, who held our son with a fierce, quiet grace.
It hits me with the force of a physical blow: I love her.
It isn’t a new feeling, but rather a truth I’ve spent far too long trying to rationalize behind contracts, protocols, and the defensive walls I built to keep the world at bay.
I’ve loved her since the moment she refused to let my dark world swallow her whole.
She isn’t just my wife by signature or arrangement; she is the gravity that keeps me grounded.
And the thought of a world without her is a vacuum I will not survive.
A heavy hand suddenly drops onto my shoulder, steady and grounding.
I look over. My brother, Lukyan, is watching me, his eyes reflecting the passing streetlights. He doesn’t offer hollow platitudes, but his grip is firm, carrying the weight of a lifetime of shared battles.
“We’ll bring her home, Samuel,” Lukyan says, his voice low and unwavering. “Safe. I promise you.”
I look at him for a beat, letting the words settle into the raw spaces of my chest. The tension in my jaw doesn’t ease, but the chaotic rage inside me solidifies into something much more dangerous: absolute purpose.
I give him a single, sharp nod.
“I know,” I say.
I turn back to the window, watching the city lights begin to thin, replaced by the dense, towering shadows of the forested outskirts. The hunt is almost over.