Chapter Sixteen #2
Roselia leaned forward, studying the glowing map. "They need a location large enough to house an armed strike team, but insulated enough to hide the heat signatures of their vehicles. Industrial warehouses are too obvious. The Bratva is already sweeping them."
Tamara shifted against the pillows, her silver eyes scanning the blue holographic projection.
For twenty-seven years, she had survived the darkest, most forgotten corners of this city.
She had hidden from traffickers, gang enforcers, and corrupt police.
She knew the underbelly of Moscow better than the syndicate bosses who ruled it from their penthouses.
"Not warehouses," Tamara murmured, leaning closer to the map. She reached out, her small finger tapping a specific, dark sector on the eastern edge of the city limits. "Here."
Raisa and Roselia both looked at her, instantly giving her their attention.
"The old Soviet water treatment facilities," Tamara explained, her voice steadying as the tactical focus grounded her.
"When the winter hit its lowest temperatures, the older orphans would hide in the access tunnels.
They are massive. They have thick, reinforced concrete walls that block thermal imaging, and the access roads are unmonitored because the city condemned them a decade ago. "
Raisa’s eyes widened. "The concrete would mask the heat signatures of their transport vans."
"And the acoustics," Tamara added. "If they... if they needed to keep someone quiet, the sound does not escape the lower levels."
Roselia pulled the tablet closer, rapidly cross-referencing the municipal zoning grids. "She is absolutely right. There are four primary abandoned facilities that match this exact structural profile within the radius."
Raisa’s fingers flew across the screen, dropping sharp, red digital markers on the four locations. The old meatpacking runoff plant in the north, the eastern water treatment facility, a condemned rail yard, and a decommissioned military bunker in the southern forest.
"Four locations," Raisa breathed, looking at Tamara with unadulterated awe. "Tamara, you are a genius."
Tamara flushed slightly, lowering her eyes. "I just know where monsters like to hide."
"Well, you just handed us the keys to their cages," Roselia declared, a beautiful smile spreading across her face.
***
Down in the war room, the atmosphere had devolved into aggressive, frustrated shouting.
"We are wasting time!" Sasha bellowed, slamming his fist against the steel table. "We are searching thousands of warehouses! They could have her anywhere!"
"My satellites are sweeping the grid as fast as the algorithms allow, Sasha," Lorenzo countered smoothly, maintaining his unyielding calm. "Panic will not expedite the processing power."
Sergei stood near the monitors, his chest heaving with contained, agonizing stress. Maxim sat silently in the corner, his eyes closed, retreating into his own dark mind.
The steel doors of the war room hissed open.
Raisa and Roselia strode into the room, carrying the encrypted tablet. They did not wait for a pause in the argument. Raisa walked directly to the central terminal, plugging the tablet into the main mainframe.
The digital wall monitors instantly shifted from chaotic, scrolling data to a crisp, clear map of Moscow, highlighted with four glowing red targets.
The men fell silent, stunned by the sudden, targeted intelligence.
"You can stop sweeping the warehouses," Raisa announced, standing tall and crossing her arms. "They are not above ground. They are using the condemned municipal facilities to mask their thermal signatures. There are four locations that fit their logistical requirements."
Sasha stared at the map, his brilliant tactical mind instantly recognizing the flawless logic of the coordinates. He looked at his sister, his eyes wide. "How did you find this? Groza’s network didn't even flag these zones."
"Groza’s network looks at the city from the top down," Roselia answered smoothly, stepping up beside her husband. "Tamara looked at it from the bottom up. She survived those streets. She knows where the predators hide. She gave us the coordinates."
Sasha’s breath hitched. An overwhelming wave of pride and desperate love for his wife crashed through his chest. Even battered and confined to a medical bed, she was protecting this family.
Sergei stepped forward, his eyes locked onto the four red targets, the hollowed-out king suddenly flooding with violent purpose.
"Four targets," Sergei rumbled, his voice dropping to a demonic register.
"We hit them all simultaneously," Lorenzo commanded, taking immediate control of the tactical distribution.
"We do not give them time to communicate or move her.
Sasha, you take the eastern facility. Dmitri, the northern plant.
Enzo, you and Groza take the military bunker. Marco and I will take the rail yard."
The men moved instantly, grabbing tactical vests, checking weaponry, and loading fresh magazines with synchronized, ruthless efficiency. The war room hummed with the promise of apocalyptic violence.
Raisa stepped forward, reaching for a sleek, suppressed submachine gun resting on the armory rack.
"I will take the secondary breach at the rail yard with you and Lorenzo," Raisa stated, checking the action on the weapon.
A large hand clamped firmly over the barrel of the gun, pushing it gently but immovably downward.
Raisa looked up. Marco was standing in front of her. His dark eyes were soft, but his jaw was set with unyielding resolve.
"You are not coming, Raisa," Marco said, his voice quiet but echoing with undeniable finality in the chaotic room.
Raisa’s eyes flashed with instant fury. "My mother is out there, Marco! I am not sitting in this house while you wage a war!"
"You have a head wound, Raisa," Sasha interjected, stepping up beside Marco.
The Bratva heir looked down at his sister, his expression devoid of his usual mocking banter.
It was replaced by a fierce, desperate pleading.
"You took a blow to the skull. If you lose focus in a firefight for a fraction of a second, you will die. "
"I am perfectly fine!" Raisa argued, trying to pull the weapon from Marco’s grip.
"Raisa, listen to me," Marco interrupted, his tone hardening with stoic command. He let go of the weapon, instead reaching up to cup her face in his hands. He forced her to look directly into his eyes.
"This estate has been breached once," Marco said, his voice a low, intense whisper meant only for her. "We are pulling every hitter out of this house to hit these four targets. The perimeter will be light."
Marco leaned closer, his thumb brushing over the white bandage on her temple.
"Tamara is upstairs. She is injured, she is terrified, and she just lost the only mother figure she has ever known.
She needs a protector. She needs a guard that I know absolutely will not fail.
There is no one on this earth more lethal than you, moya zvezda. "
Sasha took a step closer, placing his hand on his sister’s shoulder.
"Please, Raisa," Sasha whispered, the Butcher of Moscow begging his little sister. "Stay here. Protect my wife. Do not let anything else into this house."
Raisa looked at Sasha’s desperate, pleading eyes, and then up at Marco’s unwavering trust. The furious, blinding need for revenge warred with the undeniable truth of her duty. She thought of Tamara, sitting alone in the quiet suite in tears.
Raisa let out a ragged, frustrated breath. She slowly lowered the submachine gun, slamming it back onto the armory rack with a sharp clack.
"Fine," Raisa hissed, her voice trembling with restrained adrenaline. She looked at Marco, her sea-green eyes burning with fierce love. "You bring my mother back. And you come back to me. Both of you."
"I swear it," Marco vowed, pressing a hard, fierce kiss to her lips before turning toward the armory doors.
Raisa watched the men of the Falco and Voronin empires storm out of the war room, a unified, unstoppable force of nature, before turning on her heel and marching upstairs to stand guard over the angel of their house.