Chapter 26
Yarik
T he drone footage streams across my phone screen in grainy black and white, showing the warehouse district from above like a tactical map.
Valentin operates the controls with steady hands while I scan each building for any sign of movement or vehicles that shouldn’t be there.
The device hovers silently above the industrial complex, its camera capturing details that would be impossible to see from ground level.
I point to a dark sedan parked behind a warehouse three buildings east of where we found Sarah’s phone. “There. Run the plates on that vehicle.”
Valentin adjusts the drone’s camera angle, zooming in on the license plate until the numbers become clear against the metal bumper. He relays them to our contact at the DMV, speaking in rapid Russian to ensure privacy, and within minutes, we have our answer.
He looks up from his phone, meeting my gaze with grim certainty. “The vehicle is registered to Roman Sokolov, which is the same alias we’ve been tracking in connection with the financial irregularities.”
The pieces click together in my mind with sudden, terrible clarity.
Roman Sokolov, the man who approached me weeks ago wanting to do business in that neutral café with his practiced charm and barely concealed ambition, is also Alex, Sarah’s abusive ex-boyfriend, who terrorized her for years before she fled to Greenwich.
He’s the same person, operating under multiple identities and using my organization to locate the woman he lost.
I check my weapon and signal to the twelve men positioned around us in strategic formation. “He’s been inside our network for months, but not to get to me. Sarah wasn’t a random target. This was always about getting her back, and he used me to find her.”
Valentin nods grimly as he pockets his phone and checks his own gear. “If Roman is Alex, he’s been using our business connections to track Sarah’s movements. He probably never cared about the financial operations. That was just his way of getting close to her.”
I start moving toward the target warehouse, my team falling into formation behind me. “Now he has the woman he’s been obsessing over, but that can’t stand.”
We approach the building, using shadows cast by abandoned vehicles and industrial equipment for cover. The warehouse sits in darkness except for a single light visible through a high window. No guards are posted outside, and I see no signs of movement in the surrounding area.
It’s too quiet, and too easy. Every instinct I have screams this is a setup.
I signal Valentin to take four men around to the back entrance while I lead the frontal assault.
If this is a trap, we’ll hit them from multiple directions and minimize their advantages.
If Roman has prepared an ambush, we’ll turn his preparations against him.
The warehouse door stands slightly ajar, just like at the first location. I push it open slowly, weapon raised and scanning for threats in the dim interior. The unpleasant scent of blood and cordite hits me immediately. It’s recent and sharp, mixing with the industrial odors of rust and motor oil.
Inside, my boots echo against concrete as I move deeper into the space, each footstep announcing my presence despite my attempts at stealth.
A single overhead light creates a maze of potential hiding spots.
The metallic scent grows stronger as I approach a small office area built into one corner of the warehouse.
That’s where I find him.
Roman Sokolov lies on the floor in a pool of blood that’s still spreading slowly across the concrete, his chest torn open by what looks like a close-range gunshot.
His face, now slack in death, is the same one as the man who sat across me from weeks ago, offering something that sounded too good to be true.
He’s the scumbag who tried to negotiate a business partnership while trying to use me to hunt down the woman who escaped him.
I kneel beside the body, noting the single bullet wound and lack of any defensive injuries on his hands or arms. Someone he trusted shot him at close range, execution-style.
I hope it was Sarah, but if it were, she’d likely still be here.
With a grimace, I dip my pinkie into a splotch of blood, finding it’s still fresh and warm, which means Sarah was here recently, but now she’s gone again.
I wipe my finger on a clean spot on his sweater before standing.
Valentin appears from the back entrance, weapon drawn, his team spreading out to secure the perimeter of the warehouse. He takes in the scene with professional detachment, cataloging details that might prove important later, before meeting my gaze.
He holsters his weapon and gestures toward the exit.
“There’s no sign of Sarah or any other occupants, except for some dead guy by the back door.
He looked Greek maybe, and his identification said he was Yeorgi Demitrios.
Best guess is he was working with Roman and was another loose end to tie up.
There are tire tracks outside leading away from the building from what looks like a heavy vehicle, possibly an SUV. ”
I stand, working through everything we’ve found. “Someone killed Roman and took Sarah. The question is who, and where did they go?”
Valentin examines the blood spatter on the nearby wall, noting the angle and distribution. “It could be Roman’s associates, cutting their losses when they realized we were closing in.”
I examine the blood spatter pattern on the wall behind the body more carefully, noting how the droplets spread in a tight cone from the impact point. “Or someone else entirely. This was an execution, not a struggle. Roman knew his killer and trusted them enough to let them get close.”
Before Valentin can respond, shouts erupt from outside the warehouse. My men have found something, or someone. We rush toward the sound, weapons ready, our boots slipping slightly on the oil-stained concrete.
Near the back of the building, two of my men have cornered a figure in dark clothing, who was attempting to pour gasoline around the foundation. The acrid smell of accelerant fills the air, making my eyes water, and I see additional containers stacked nearby in preparation for a major fire.
I approach the would-be arsonist, noting the expensive suit beneath the dark jacket and the Nikitin family crest on his cufflinks that catches the light from our flashlights.
This is a professional cleaner with direct ties to the family.
The man looks up at me with defiant fear, clearly recognizing who I am despite never having met me personally.
His hand moves toward something in his jacket, but one of my men grabs his wrist before he can complete the motion.
I step closer, keeping my voice deadly calm despite my growing rage. “Search him thoroughly before you bring him inside where we can…talk privately.” I turn and walk back toward the warehouse, using the closest door, with Valentin on my heels.
Moments later, they drag him into the warehouse and force him to his knees beside me.
Sweat beads on his forehead despite the cool night air.
He knows what’s coming. I crouch down to his level, keeping my voice calm and conversational despite wanting to tear him apart with my bare hands.
“You’re going to tell me where they took Sarah Clark. ”
He shakes his head frantically, words tumbling out in accented English that betrays his nervousness. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just supposed to clean up the mess and burn everything down.”
I gesture toward Roman’s corpse with deliberate casualness, letting him see the pool of blood still spreading slowly across the floor. “What mess? This mess? Or the mess of taking an innocent woman?”
He grits his teeth, seeming to be trying to retain control. “I don’t know about any woman. I was told to burn the building and destroy any evidence of what happened here.”
I pull out my knife, testing the blade’s sharpness against my thumb with slow deliberation. A thin line of blood appears, bright red against my skin, and the man’s eyes widen with terror as he realizes I’m not bluffing.
“Let me explain something to you,” I continue in the same reasonable tone, wiping the blood from my thumb onto his jacket. “The woman who was here is important to me. If something happens to her because you’re being uncooperative, I’m going to take my time making you pay for it.”
His resolve cracks immediately, fear overriding whatever loyalty he might have felt to his employers.
That must be why he’s a cleaner and not a foot soldier.
He doesn’t have the temperament to fight.
“Katya Nikitina ordered the cleanup. She said there would be two bodies and evidence that needed to disappear before morning.”
Hearing her name just confirms my worst suspicions about the woman I’m supposed to marry. “Where did she take Sarah?”
He’s dripping sweat now and pauses for a moment as though evaluating who poses the bigger risk to his ability to keep breathing—me now, or Katya in the future.
He chooses wisely. “The old Nikitin compound upstate. She said she was taking care of loose ends before the wedding to make sure nothing could interfere with her plans.”
Katya, my supposed fiancée, orchestrated this entire scenario from the beginning. It wouldn’t surprise me if she helped Roman too, using his obsession with Sarah to eliminate threats to her plans, then killed him and his henchman when he was no longer useful to her scheme.
I lean closer, letting him see the fury I’ve been holding back throughout this conversation. “What does she plan to do with Sarah?”