Chapter 24 – Mike
The moment the vehicles leave, something in my gut twists the wrong way.
I stand there for a few seconds longer than necessary, staring at the empty stretch of road beyond the safe house gate.
It doesn’t feel right.
Everything about the exchange had been controlled—too controlled. Professional. Clean.
But something about it keeps scratching at the back of my mind like a loose thread.
Ellie stepping into that vehicle.
The agents.
The timing.
I turn abruptly and head back inside.
The security room is dim, lit only by the glow of monitors lining the wall. I drop into the chair and pull up the perimeter camera feeds.
If there’s one thing I trust in this world, it’s data.
The footage rewinds smoothly.
The convoy appears again—three dark SUVs rolling to a stop outside the gate.
I slow the playback and zoom in.
Plate numbers.
Clear enough.
Good.
I extract the frames and run the numbers through the system, linking into a series of private registries I’ve used for years.
The results come back in under two minutes.
My jaw tightens.
Falsified.
Every single plate.
I run them again, checking different databases.
Same result.
No legitimate registration.
No federal authorization markers.
Nothing.
Cold realization spreads through my chest.
“Son of a bitch.”
I grab my phone and dial Timofey.
He answers immediately.
“Mike?”
“Did you confirm the feds were actually feds?” I ask.
There’s a pause. “Why?”
I stare at the screen in front of me, the fake plate numbers glowing back at me like a warning.
“Their plates are false,” I say slowly. Silence drops on the line. “And they already have Ellie.”
For half a second, there’s nothing but breathing on the other end.
Then Timofey swears. “Fuck.” I hear him moving suddenly, papers shifting, keyboards clacking. “I’ll call you back.”
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone slowly, my chest tightening with a rising fury.
We didn’t hand Ellie to the government.
We handed her directly to Katerina.
Fuck. I’m so stupid.
Within ten minutes, Timofey and Dimitri confirm my worst fears—the so-called feds aren’t federal at all. They’re Katerina’s operatives, moving with surgical precision.
I don’t hesitate. Every instinct honed over years of running an empire kicks in.
I activate every remaining loyalist cell within the Rusnak network.
Every safe house, every operative, every hidden asset I’ve built over decades is now dedicated to one purpose: getting Ellie back.
Pride, empire, protocol—none of it matters anymore.
Through intercepted communications, we trace her path. She’s being moved to a transit hub near a private airstrip, fast. The syndicate isn’t giving her a moment to breathe. They’re trying to move her out of the country.
I slam my fist against the console. “She’s not leaving this country,” I growl. “Not on my watch.”
Timofey’s voice is calm but urgent through the comm. “We’ve got eyes on the hub, Mike. We can intercept, but it’s heavily guarded.”
“I don’t care how heavily guarded,” I snap. “Nothing is stopping me from getting her back.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go in.”
We roll out, tires crunching over gravel, engines growling. The convoy is on the edge of the airstrip, armored SUVs flanking a black transport van. I feel the old adrenaline ignite, that cold, sharp clarity that only comes with stakes like this.
I hit the brakes, sliding our SUV sideways, smashing a guard vehicle into the ditch.
Bullets tear through the air, pinging off metal, cracking windshields.
Timofey moves like a shadow, taking out two armed men on the flank with precision shots that drop them instantly.
Konstantin rams another SUV head-on, sending it rolling into a stack of crates.
I swing the door open, boots hitting gravel, gun raised. The world narrows to targets: three men with assault rifles, aiming for the lead van. I fire, bullets tearing through tires and metal. One operative dives for cover, but I’m already moving—low, fast, adrenaline burning every nerve.
I kick open the van’s rear door, smoke and dust filling the air. A man steps out with his rifle, firing wildly. I roll to the side, sliding under the hood of our SUV as rounds explode around me. Timofey shouts instructions, coordinating positions, but all I can see is the van—I need Ellie.
I spring to my feet, kicking a man into the hood of our vehicle, spinning him into a pile of crates. He groans, unmoving. Another tries to flank me. I grab his arm mid-swing, twisting it, forcing him to drop his weapon. His eyes widen in terror.
Konstantin yells over the chaos, “Mike, they’ve probably got her in the van!”
I spin, rifle raised, and open fire, shattering the rear windows. Glass sprays like rain, bullets ricocheting off metal. The driver swerves violently, trying to escape, but I leap onto the roof, gun steady, landing with an impact that sends sparks flying as my boots skid over the metal.
When I look in the van, it’s empty. Not a single sign of Ellie.
My heart hammers. I spin on the nearest operative, gun pressed into his temple. “Where is she?” I growl, my voice low and lethal.
The man swallows hard, sweat dripping from his brow. “Y-you…you’ve got it wrong. She’s not here. This van—it’s just a distraction. She’s…she’s already airborne.”
I tighten my grip, the cold fury in me coiling like a spring. “Airborne?” I echo, the word tasting like fire.
He nods frantically. “Plane…she’s on a plane. Moving now. They—they’re taking her out of the country.”
I release a breath, slam the operative to the ground, and sprint to our SUV. Engines roar around me, smoke and gunfire filling the air, but nothing else matters. Ellie is in the sky, and every second counts if I’m going to reach her.
I slam the car into gear. “We go. Now,” I growl to Timofey and Konstantin.
The airstrip is only minutes away, but it feels like hours. Tires screech over cracked asphalt as we barrel toward the hangars, dodging abandoned crates and flaming debris from the ambush. Gunfire still echoes behind us, but I don’t look back. Ellie is airborne. That’s all that matters.
Timofey’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Mike, calm down!”
I nearly throw my phone at him. Instead, it buzzes—unknown number. Normally, I wouldn’t answer. But now…now, I do.
“Hello, Mike.”
I freeze. That voice. I don’t know how, but I know it. Katerina.
“If you hurt her, I swear, I will kill you. I will—”
“Relax. Your Ellie is safe. Untouched. Not a scratch. I assure you, she isn’t a hostage. She’s…a collaborator in the making, not a pawn in a game you think you control.”
I tighten my grip on the wheel.
“I’ve been watching her,” she continues, almost conversational, almost gentle.
“She’s a genius; she’s an evolution. She sees the world in vectors and vectors alone, in patterns no one else can even sense.
That intelligence, Mike…it’s rare. Too rare to waste.
And I want her to use it. Fully. Freely. ”
I blink, my knuckles white.
“She could be a prodigy the world fears for her intellect,” Katerina says, voice smooth, almost proud. “She could reshape entire systems—markets, logistics, even the shadow networks you think you control. Elegantly, invisibly, untouchable. And I don’t want to cage her. I want her to rise.”
My chest tightens.
“And she will understand,” Katerina presses on, voice now sharper, almost challenging.
“She will see that this is opportunity, legacy, and influence on a scale she’s only dreamed of before being dragged into your…
chaos. She can be immortal in her field, Mike.
The world will remember her name long after the rest of us are forgotten.
Your name is a prison, and I want her to break free. ”
The words land like a blow. I realize something terrifying. Ellie might actually consider it. Intellectual legacy. Global scale. Recognition. Everything she ever wanted before I pulled her into my world.
The call ends abruptly just as we reach the airstrip. I slam the car door open before it even stops and rush forward. But the strip is empty. Ellie is gone.
My eyes catch something on the tarmac: a single folder.
There’s no way they forgot or lost it. It was left deliberately behind.
I snatch it up and flip it open. Inside, a flight manifest. Destination: Romania.
This is a taunt. Katerina knows it’s territory the Rusnaks abandoned long ago. A place I cannot—or should not—go.
Timofey takes the manifest from me, whistling low. “Well, she’s moved fast,” he mutters, eyes narrowing.
Konstantin looks at me, tension etched into his face. “What’s next?”
I let my jaw tighten. “I’ll go to war,” I say, voice low, cold. “Anywhere. Everywhere. I will bring my wife home—no matter the cost.”