Chapter 12 – Mike
I blink at the text from Sergei, my heart skipping a beat. It came in while I was asleep over an hour ago. One of my biggest warehouses—one of the few whose location is tightly controlled—was breached. I sit up abruptly, sheets falling to my waist, a cold wash of adrenaline running through me.
“Mike…are you okay?”
I turn to see Ellie blinking awake, her eyes wide, worry etched across her face. For a second, her concern pierces through the fog of urgency.
I lean down and brush my lips against hers. “Sergei just texted me. One of my warehouses was raided overnight. I have to go.”
Her hands reach out instinctively, gripping mine. “Do you…do you need me to—?”
“No,” I cut in gently but firmly. “Stay here. Just…stay safe. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I slip from the bed and head to the bathroom, running cold water over my face.
Ever since Ellie mentioned Sergei, I’ve been walking a fine line—part of me doesn’t want to pry too deep, afraid of uncovering something I don’t want to see.
Sergei has been with me for years. I trust him.
I’ve depended on him more than anyone else in my life.
But I cannot ignore Ellie’s instincts. She’s smart, calculated. If she’s seeing something off, there’s a reason for it. I cannot dismiss her.
As soon as I’m ready to leave, Ellie comes to stand beside me, wearing a simple robe, her hair still rumpled from her sleep. She watches me, silent but perceptive. I reach out and brush a strand of hair from her face.
“I’ll be back soon,” I promise again.
Her lips twitch into a small, worried smile. “Be careful.”
“I always am,” I mutter, but even as I say it, the knot in my stomach tightens.
Almost an hour later, after one more quick kiss and a promise to return soon, I slip into my car. The city is waking, but I’m focused only on the warehouse. On Sergei. On the potential betrayal—or worse—the confirmation that Ellie’s instincts are right.
The drive is tense. My mind moves in multiple directions at once, weighing possibilities, planning contingencies, rehearsing outcomes. Trust is my greatest asset and my most dangerous vulnerability. And now, both are under threat.
By the time I arrive at 1401, the morning sun has begun to illuminate the damage.
Guards are already cordoning off the area, talking in low, urgent tones.
I step out, my presence commanding immediate attention.
Sergei approaches, face controlled, unreadable—but something in his posture, a subtle stiffness, makes me narrow my eyes.
“What happened?” I ask, voice low, sharp.
“I’m still trying to find out,” he answers immediately.
“The intruders knew exactly what they were looking for. Nothing is left to chance—they didn’t just break in; they targeted inventory, bypassed cameras, and avoided any unnecessary noise that would alert the guards.
Whoever planned this…they understand our protocols better. Just like our guards.”
He shifts his gaze to the guards, hands clasped behind his back.
“We’ll need to reinforce the perimeter immediately.
I suggest doubling patrols on the east and west entrances, installing temporary motion sensors along blind spots, and auditing the access logs from the past month.
Any anomalies, no matter how small, must be reported directly to you first. Nothing is too minor. ”
I watch him carefully as he continues, his tone precise, almost rehearsed.
“We should also conduct random checks on all minor and major guards. Their schedules, their recent communications. If someone has been circumventing procedure, this will reveal it. It’s harsh, but necessary.
These types of raids rarely happen without internal knowledge.
I would recommend assigning a dedicated team to shadow key personnel discreetly.
Again, all findings to be reported to you immediately. ”
His voice carries concern, but I notice the careful way he redirects suspicion toward the guards—almost too effortlessly, too cleanly. Every word feels rehearsed. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.
We take a walk around the raised warehouse, the morning sun cutting harshly across the shattered windows and overturned crates. I take in the loss—damaged inventory, ruined shipments, broken machinery—but something about this feels personal. Like a message. My radar and intuition are on overdrive.
We spend the next few hours logging everything meticulously. By noon, Timofey arrives. He’s been briefed and is already carrying that air of controlled lethality he always does.
“Mike,” he says, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I heard the news. I brought extra manpower. Thought you might need backup.”
For the first time since arriving, I laugh and pull him to the side, away from the guards and workers.
“What’s got you laughing?” he asks, eyebrow raised.
I shake my head. “Nothing’s funny. I’m glad you’re here. I just…need you to stay here and monitor things while I return to the house.”
His smirk turns into a disbelieving grin. “You want me to stay here while you go play husband with Ellie?”
I step closer and smack him lightly on the chest. “I’m not going to ‘play husband.’ I want to check the surveillance logs. Sergei is in charge of them, and I haven’t done a full check in a while. Something feels off.”
He folds his arms, frowning. “Why? You suspect Sergei?”
I nod. “Yes. And I have reason to.”
“What reason?”
“Ellie said something that I can’t ignore. She’s smart—one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. If she senses something, I need to trust her instincts.”
Timofey’s brow furrows deeper. “Since when do you suspect him? This isn’t like you, Mike. Sergei’s been with us for years.”
I tell him everything Ellie has observed—the glances, the movements, the subtle interactions at the party. I include every detail, careful not to embellish but to highlight patterns.
Timofey exhales slowly and studies me. “And you trust Ellie’s judgment?”
“With my life,” I reply without hesitation.
He shakes his head slightly and sighs. “Okay…I get it. If you think something’s up, then I’ll hold the fort here. But don’t think I won’t come after you if I hear you’re doing domestic duties instead.”
“Shut up,” I laugh. “Just keep an eye on everything and report anything unusual immediately.”
He nods, half-amused, half-serious, and I turn toward the car that will take me back to the house. Every instinct in me screams that this isn’t just a warehouse raid. Someone is sending a message—and I intend to find out exactly who.
When I arrive at the house, I head straight to our suite, but Ellie isn’t there. The staff member I pass tells me she’s in the library. I don’t bother going to check. Not yet.
Instead, I make a beeline for the security room. The room hums with monitors, each screen showing a different section of the estate. I ignore them all for now, pulling up the surveillance logs from the warehouse.
I review them personally, and something catches my eye immediately. A small discrepancy. Almost imperceptible unless you’re looking for it. I am.
Thirty minutes before the raid, a security override had been initiated remotely. The credentials used belonged to someone within my immediate command structure.
I pause, letting the information sink in. Someone I trusted had access. Someone close enough to know the inner workings of our operation. My jaw tightens.
I start tracing the digital footprints, every movement, every logon, every access point. The override was clean, almost elegant, designed to leave as little trace as possible. But the timing, the method, it reeks of familiarity, of intimate knowledge of our routines.
“Who are you?” I mutter under my breath, leaning closer to the monitors. I can feel the heat rising in my chest, not anger at the intruders, not yet, but at the betrayal simmering beneath the surface.
I isolate the command sequence, pulling up the specific terminal that initiated the override. My pulse accelerates. Whoever did this knew exactly what to do, and only the people in my inner circle could do it with that level of precision.
I scroll through logs, comparing timestamps, cross-referencing access codes. Every piece of data narrows the field.
Eventually, it comes into focus. The access point traces back to Sergei’s office terminal.
I don’t react outwardly. No rage. No shouting. Nothing that would alert anyone watching that the hunter had found the scent.
Instead, I pick up my phone and send a simple message to Sergei:
Me: How’s it going?
Seconds later, the reply:
Sergei: We’re almost wrapping up. We’ve gathered evidence.
I type back, keeping my tone light, casual.
Me: Alright. Quick meeting when you’re back.
Sergei: Okay, Boss.
I silence the message thread and dial Timofey. His voice comes through immediately.
“Yeah?”
“Found something. I’ll tell you when you arrive,” I say, keeping it clipped. “Meanwhile, can you start digging through financial transfers and communication trails linked to Sergei’s accounts?”
A pause. Then: “On it.” He hangs up, and I feel a small measure of relief.
At least I’ve got backup I can trust implicitly.
This is why in the Rusnak family, we never turn our back on family.
They’re the only ones who will give you a hundred percent loyalty.
As big as our family is, there’s never been a record of betrayal.
I close the log, wipe every trace of my investigation from the system, and leave the security room. My steps are quiet as I head to the library.
It’s quiet when I enter, sunlight pooling across the shelves. Ellie is perched on the edge of a leather chair, lost in a book. The sight of her calms the edge of my mind that the warehouse raid and the potential betrayal had sharpened.
She looks up, and her voice has that teasing lilt that makes my chest tighten.
“Should I be offended that you’ve been back for hours and didn’t come see me?”
I chuckle, letting the sound roll low in my throat. I walk toward her, slipping the book from her hands and setting it aside. Without another word, I pull her into my arms, breathing in the faint scent of flowers in her hair. For a moment, nothing else exists.
“I…was told you were in the library,” I murmur against her temple. “I thought I’d leave you some peace and quiet.”
It’s a half-truth. I hate the lie in my throat, but I don’t want to tell her about Sergei just yet.
She presses closer, resting her head against my chest. “It’s okay. So…what about the warehouse? Did you find anything?”
I tighten my hold on her just a little. “We’re trying to figure out who did it. I don’t have the answers yet.”
She sighs and, with a fluid motion, pulls me onto the chair beside her. We sit in quiet for a moment, the only sound the faint rustle of pages from a book I set aside. My fingers brush against hers, deliberately, almost unconsciously.
Then I tilt my head, looking down at her. “Ellie…if you suspected betrayal at the highest level, from someone you trust implicitly…someone inside your closest circle. What would you do?”
She studies me for a long moment, her eyes sharp and calculating. Then, slowly, she begins to outline her plan.
“First,” she says, “you gather baseline data. Every communication, every movement, every minor decision anyone makes in that circle. Nothing is too small. I would start logging access codes, phone calls, email timestamps, even subtle changes in behavior.” She taps her finger against her lips thoughtfully.
“Patterns emerge over time. People slip up.”
I nod, absorbing every word.
“Second,” she continues, “you plant controlled misinformation. Little things that are believable but aren’t critical to operations. See what gets picked up, see what changes. The traitor will act on it.”
Her hands flex in her lap as she speaks.
“Third, bait operations. Not anything reckless—but small-scale, contained situations that require the inner circle to respond. Monitor who takes initiative, who communicates covertly, who deviates from protocol. Anyone trying to cover up a leak will reveal themselves in subtle ways. It’s about creating situations that make hidden motives visible without endangering others. ”
Her solution mirrors exactly what I’ve been piecing together in my mind. I nod, silently acknowledging the alignment. There’s a moment of wordless understanding between us, a rare quiet in the storm that surrounds our lives.
I kiss her hair. “The best decision I ever made in my life, Ellie, is marrying you.”
A deep blush covers her skin, and she buries her face in my neck. I just let her hide, my heart feeling warm.
Later, past midnight, Ellie is fast asleep in my arms. Her breathing is steady, her body warm and heavy against mine. I treasure these small moments before the world intrudes again.
My phone buzzes sharply on the bedside table. I snatch it up before it wakes her. It’s Timofey. I swipe to answer, my voice low.
“Yeah?”
“Mike…I traced the offshore transfers. They’re being routed through shell companies linked to an external faction, you know, the one you crushed years ago.”
A chill runs through me.
“I’ll tell you more in the morning when I come over. But Ellie was right. Sergei isn’t just leaking information,” Timofey says quietly. “He’s rebuilding an enemy…right under your nose.”