Chapter 20
Dmitry
Ilya hadn’t wasted time.
Three minutes after I ended the call, my phone lit up with a secure file transfer and a set of coordinates tied to a river property along the Volga bend. Then came the breakdown, delivered in his usual calm, clinical tone.
Andrey’s SUV had triggered the city grid when he blew through a red light near the east corridor. The plates were fake, like I’d assumed, but Ilya was a fucking genuine hacker and found it again twelve minutes later when it was caught on a forestry service camera.
Only Ilya could dismantle a man’s escape route in a matter of minutes.
He sent me still images of the structure, which was all concrete and glass built low against black water. There weren’t any neighbors, and the street access branched off from a private road that curved through trees.
I recognized the place the second it came into view on the satellite pull. One of Andrey’s retreats that was off-the-books and built for “private negotiations”.
I called Ilya back as soon as the image locked in. “He’s there?” I asked.
“Last known stop. Assuming he didn’t go on foot to another location, that’s where you’ll find him,” Ilya replied, voice level as ever. I could hear keys moving in the background, quiet and rhythmic.
After we disconnected the call, the drive felt endless and too short at the same time. My bullet wound burned from the earlier round that had passed through my shoulder, and every turn of the wheel sent heat down my arm. The pain didn’t matter. Zoya did.
The access road narrowed to packed dirt long before the river came into view. It wound between the birch and pine. There were no streetlights or houses. It was completely isolated. And because of that, I didn’t drive the car all the way in.
Half a kilometer from the structure, I eased off the road into a shallow cut between the trees and killed the engine. I let the darkness swallow the vehicle whole.
From there, I jogged on foot and zigzagged between the trees.
The house wasn’t close to the road. That had always been the point.
After leaving the dirt access path, it was a solid stretch on foot through uneven ground and brush before the river came into view.
Far enough that no passing vehicle would hear a shot.
It was a hike in. Intentional and private.
Glock at my hip, suppressed and loaded. A backup tucked into the small of my back, and a knife strapped at my ankle. This would be tight, fast, and personal.
I kept my boots on soft earth instead of gravel, stepping over roots and low brush, controlling every sound.
Ahead, the river house sat low against the water, concrete and glass pressed into the bank as if it had grown there.
Lights burned inside, casting pale rectangles across the yard.
Beyond that, nothing but dark water and black trees.
Andrey loved places like this… quiet and remote.
I moved parallel to the structure first, not straight toward it. I mapped sight lines from the windows, tracked reflections in the glass, and counted potential exit points. A narrow dock extended into the river, a side door was near the rear, and one main entry faced the drive.
One guard stood near the side entrance, a cigarette ember flaring and fading between his fingers. He leaned against the wall as if this were routine. Like I wasn’t going to light him up and lay him out.
He pushed off the wall and brought the cigarette to his mouth, back to me as he looked out over the property.
I closed the distance and wrapped an arm around his throat, driving my knife up under his ribs in one efficient motion.
His breath burst hot against my forearm, and he jerked twice against me before he went limp.
I lowered him carefully and stepped over his body.
I didn’t know how many men were inside, but it didn’t matter. I was going to kill all of them tonight.
Andrey didn’t survive this long by being careless. The windows were reinforced, and exterior cameras were mounted high along the corners of the structure, angled to overlap coverage and eliminate blind spots.
Motion lights lined the approach from the dock and the tree line, positioned to snap on with sudden movement. The front entrance was steel. Side access required a coded keycard.
He trusted hardware. If I’d had more time, I would’ve researched every weakness in it. But I didn’t. So I studied what was around me and moved with that.
I stayed in the trees longer than I wanted to, watching the rotation of each camera head. They weren’t static and moved in a slow, mechanical sweep, overlapping coverage but not perfectly. No system ever was.
Twelve seconds per sweep. Three seconds where the far corner of the west side dipped into shadow before the lens came back around.
That was my window.
I moved only when the camera turned away, keeping tight to the earth and the natural depressions in the ground.
When I reached the blind angle along the rear corner, I pressed flat against the side of the house and waited for the next sweep.
One camera covered the back entry too closely to slip past cleanly.
I drew my gun, suppressor screwed tightly in the barrel, and took out the camera with a single round to the housing.
The lens cracked, and the circuit board sparked.
I had little time before they realized it was out and came to investigate.
I circled to the rear door and checked the frame. Reinforced with an electronic lock and keypad entry, likely tied to an internal alarm if forced.
I was mapping the entry in my head, calculating angles and timing, when the door suddenly cracked open from the inside. One of Andrey’s men stepped out, a cigarette already between his fingers, shoulders relaxed like he thought the river and the dark were protection enough.
The door hadn’t even closed behind him when I moved.
I caught him before he could even register movement and locked an arm around his throat from behind, cutting off air and sound in the same motion. He thrashed instantly, boots scraping against earth as the cigarette fell from his fingers.
I drove him backward into the exterior wall, using my weight to pin him there. His elbow slammed into my side once, twice, but panic makes men sloppy. I shifted my grip higher and wrenched hard.
There was a sharp, sickening pop beneath my forearm as his neck gave.
His body went slack almost immediately, knees folding.
I held him upright for a beat longer to make sure there was no reflex and no last-second noise then lowered him carefully to the ground, dragging him into the shadow beside the doorway before slipping inside.
The air was cool and sterile, the design industrial and minimalistic which screamed this wasn’t a home but a staged location. Footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway ahead, and voices were low and muffled.
I wasn’t going to fire blindly. Zoya was somewhere inside this house, and I needed to keep her safe.
The first interior guard rounded the corner with his phone in hand, distracted for half a second too long. His eyes widened when he saw me raise my gun and shoot. The round took him clean through the eye.
I didn’t know how many men Andrey had called in, and as much as I wanted to light up this fucking place, the person who meant the most to me was somewhere within these walls.
I rounded the corner, keeping my body pressed to the wall just as a second man emerged from a room, bloody gauze and medical supplies in hand. A physician no doubt was called in because Zoya had shot Andrey.
Good girl.
He was no different from the twisted men he patched up, so that meant he was getting taken out, too. I put him down with a shot to the chest, right through the heart, before he could take his next breath.
The doctor dropped hard, supplies scattering across the concrete. The shot was suppressed but not silent. In a tight structure like this, the sound still cracked and echoed down the corridor, and somewhere deeper in the house, voices stopped.
Then sharp, irritated curses rang out. I didn’t hesitate as I stepped over the doctor’s body and moved fast down the hallway. A door opened ahead of me, and a man stepped out, gun already half-raised, eyes scanning toward the fallen doctor. He saw the blood first, then turned his attention to me.
I fired once, and the round took him high through the face. He shouted a surprised sound and slammed against the wall hard, the impact reverberating loudly as his body slid down the wall.
From the far end of the hall, Andrey’s voice rang out, sharp now, no more controlled calm. “Kakogo khrena zdes’ proiskhodit?” What the hell is going on here?
The structure was relatively secure but not a fortress. It was built like a negotiation chamber. Clean lines, long sight lines, glass overlooking water, and minimal cover. Which meant once I committed, shit was going to hit the fan. I rounded the last corner and saw him.
Andrey stood near the main room, shirt open, fresh bandaging wrapped around his side, but blood already seeping through. One of his remaining men stood near him, gun drawn, eyes wide. Fuck, he couldn’t be more than twenty-five and clearly minimally trained for how scared shitless he looked.
This time there was no illusion of stealth. The guard fired first, and the shot cracked through the room, deafening in the enclosed space. His aim was off, and the bullet slammed into a lamp, glass shattering, and the smell of gunpowder wafting instantly through the air.
I dropped to one knee and returned fire, controlled and tight. My round caught him in the upper chest, and the young man staggered backward into a table before sliding down, taking the piece of furniture with him. He left a thick smear of blood behind him.