A week later, the call comes at four-thirty in the morning, jolting me from the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in months. Sabrina stirs beside me as I reach for the secure phone on my nightstand, but she doesn’t wake. The soft curve of her back rises and falls in the rhythm I’ve come to find more comforting than any prayer.
I keep my voice low as I slip out of bed and pad toward the hallway. “What is it?”
Maksim’s voice carries the electric tension of a hunter who’s finally cornered his prey. “We found him. Vadim, at a confirmed location with minimal security, and he’s not alone.”
I close the bedroom door silently behind me and make my way to my office. “Details.”
“He’s in a safehouse outside Fresno. It’s a rural property and isolated, with only two guards that we can identify from surveillance. He’s been there for three days.”
“Who’s with him?”
“Blonde woman, mid-thirties, who matches the physical description of Irina. It could be her, or another escort, but a woman is definitely there.”
My pulse accelerates as I settle behind my desk and open my laptop. In seconds, I’m studying dozens of surveillance photos taken from various angles of a modest ranch house surrounded by farmland, perfect for privacy and terrible for escape routes. “How reliable is this intelligence?”
“Rock solid. We’ve had eyes on the property for forty-eight hours. Vadim arrived Tuesday evening, and the woman came Wednesday morning. They follow the same routine every day, and guards rotate shifts at six and midnight. There are minimal foot patrols and no electronic surveillance we can detect.”
I study the images, looking for anything that feels wrong or too convenient. After fifteen years in this business, I’ve learned to trust my instincts about when something feels like a trap, but this appears genuine. Vadim looks comfortable, unaware, and completely vulnerable. I lean back in my chair, already planning the approach. “It’s perfect.”
Maksim’s voice sharpens with suspicion. “Too perfect?”
“No. Just perfect.” I continue examining the surveillance photos. “He’s gotten comfortable. Sloppy. He thinks he’s untouchable because he’s been playing games instead of engaging directly.”
“So we move?”
The question remains unanswered while I consider every angle. This is exactly the opportunity I’ve been waiting for, getting Vadim isolated, exposed, with minimal security, and nowhere to run. If Irina is really there, I can get answers about Yaraslov’s death while ensuring neither of them can ever threaten my family again.
I check the time on my phone. “We move fast and clean. I want a four-man team, full tactical gear, and two escape routes planned.”
“When?”
“Dawn. We hit them when they’re least alert and most likely to make mistakes.” I glance at the clock.
“I’ll have the team ready in thirty minutes.”
After we end the call, I sit in the darkness of my office, staring at the ultrasound photo of my daughter that’s become my North Star through all of this planning. In six hours, this could all be over. Vadim will be dead, Irina neutralized, and the last threat to my family’s safety eliminated forever.
I should wake Sabrina and tell her what’s happening. I promised her no more secrets, and this certainly qualifies as something she deserves to know about, but the thought of watching fear replace the peace that’s finally settled over her features makes my chest tighten with protective instincts I can’t ignore.
She’s been sleeping better lately, eating regularly, laughing at terrible movies, and making plans for the nursery with an enthusiasm that lights up entire rooms. Yesterday, she told me about a dream where our daughter took her first steps in a garden behind a house with yellow shutters and a wraparound porch.
“It felt so real,” she said, resting her hand on her belly. “Like I was seeing our actual future instead of just hoping for it.”
I can give her that future. I can give her the yellow shutters and the garden and the absolute certainty no one from my old life will ever threaten the family we’re building together. First, I have to close this final chapter.
When I return to the bedroom, she’s exactly where I left her, in a deep sleep. I watch her for a long moment, memorizing the peaceful expression on her face and the way her hand curves protectively over our daughter.
If my plan works, she’ll wake in a few hours to a world where Vadim Morozov no longer exists, and the last shadow from my past has been permanently eliminated, with our future stretching ahead without any remaining threats or complications.
I press a soft kiss to her temple and whisper, “I love you. Both of you. This is for us.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m seated in the passenger seat of our armored SUV as we speed through the pre-dawn darkness toward Fresno. The tactical gear feels familiar against my skin, but heavier somehow, as though weighed down by the knowledge of what I’m leaving behind and fighting to protect.
Maksim checks his weapon for the third time, his expression grim in the green glow of the dashboard lights. “You’re sure about not telling her?”
I adjust my body armor and double-check my sidearm. “I’m sure. This will be over before she wakes up. There’s no reason to burden her with worry about something she can’t control.”
He sets down his weapon and looks at me directly. “This feels rushed, Nikandr. We could wait, gather more intelligence, and make sure this isn’t exactly what it looks like.”
“Which is?”
He turns in his seat to face me fully. “Too convenient. Too clean. Too fucking perfect. When has Vadim ever made himself this vulnerable? When has he ever operated with minimal security?”
I pause in my equipment check, considering his concerns while watching the dark landscape roll past our windows. “Maybe he’s gotten overconfident. Maybe he thinks I’m too distracted by domestic life to pose a real threat anymore.”
His voice carries the frustration of someone who’s been ignored too many times. “Or maybe he wants you to think that. Don’t let your eagerness to end this make you reckless.”
I glare at him. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting we take another day to verify the intelligence and make sure this isn’t bait designed to draw you out.”
I resume checking my gear with deliberate precision, using the familiar motions to center my thoughts. “We don’t have another day. Every hour we wait is another hour he could disappear again, and another hour my family remains under threat.”
The edge in his voice sharpens as he gestures toward the road ahead. “Your family will remain under threat if you get yourself killed rushing into a trap.”
I look at him more carefully in the dim light. Maksim has been my second-in-command for over a decade, and I’ve learned to trust his instincts about tactical situations, but this time, his caution feels like an obstacle rather than wisdom. “I hear what you’re saying, but I disagree with your assessment.”
He picks up his weapon again, but his attention remains focused on me. “And Sabrina? You’re really going to leave without telling her where you’re going?”
“She’ll understand when I explain it afterward.”
“Will she? From my view, it looks like you’re breaking the promise you made her about no more secrets.”
His words are uncomfortable, making me defensive. The familiar countryside sliding past our windows suddenly feels like a countdown, with each mile taking me farther from the woman I love and closer to a confrontation that could end everything. “This isn’t about keeping secrets. It’s about protecting her from unnecessary worry.”
His professional demeanor finally cracks. “That’s exactly what keeping secrets is about. You told her you were done with this life, that you were walking away clean, and you promised to tell her when you went after Vadim. Yet here you are, suiting up for what could be your last mission, and she doesn’t even know you’re gone.”
I check my sidearm one final time and holster it. “When she wakes up, it will be over. Vadim will be dead, the threat will be eliminated, and we can start our new life without any shadows from the past.”
He lets out a sound of frustration. “What if this is a setup, and you don’t come back?”
The question tries to force me to think about things I don’t want to consider. Through the windshield, I see the first faint traces of dawn beginning to lighten the eastern horizon and allow it to distract me. “Nothing will go wrong.”
“You can’t guarantee that, and you know it.” He stares at me with growing concern. “You’re making a mistake, Nikandr. Not just tactically, but personally. She deserves to know.”
I glance at him and then away. “She deserves to wake up free. I’ll tell her everything when I get back, and it’s a done deal with nothing left to worry about.”
Maksim stares at me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “You’re not thinking clearly. It’s personal, and that makes you dangerous to yourself and everyone on this team.”
I scowl at him. “My personal investment doesn’t compromise my judgment.”
He leans back in his seat with resignation heavy in his voice. “Doesn’t it? It seems like you’re so desperate to be the hero who saves his family that you’re willing to take risks you’d never accept from any of your men.”
The accusation stings because there’s truth in it. I am desperate to end this, to eliminate the last threat standing between my family and the peaceful future we’ve planned together, but desperation doesn’t necessarily mean recklessness. Rather than punch him for his blunt assessment, I keep my tone calm. “I know what I’m doing.”
Maksim turns his attention back to the road ahead. “I hope you’re right because if you’re wrong, a lot of people are going to pay the price for your certainty.”
The rest of the drive passes in tense silence, broken only by radio checks from our support team and the steady hum of the engine. By the time we reach the staging area—a grove of eucalyptus trees half a mile from the target—the sky has lightened enough to reveal the property clearly through binoculars.
I survey the farmhouse one final time, noting the guard positions and confirming everything appears exactly as described in our intelligence reports. “Perimeter guards are exactly where they should be, rotating clockwise every twenty minutes, and currently on the north side.”
One of my men adjusts his scope as I ask, “What about interior movement?”
He answers a second later. “Minimal. A kitchen light came on five minutes ago. It’s probably someone making coffee or breakfast. The bedroom lights are still off.”
We wait until the guards complete their rotation, then move swiftly across the open ground toward the house. Everything proceeds exactly according to plan, with the guards neutralized silently, entry points secured, and the team in position for synchronized breach.
I whisper into my comm. “On my mark. Three, two, one—”
An instant later, the front door explodes inward under the force of the battering ram, and we flood into the house with practiced precision. Instead of finding a sleeping household caught off guard, we discover empty rooms and the lingering scent of recently extinguished cigarettes.
The call comes from the back team. “Clear.”
It echoes from upstairs. “Clear.”
I move through the main living area, noting details that clearly indicate recent occupation. There are coffee cups in the sink, still warm to the touch. Newspapers from yesterday are scattered across the coffee table. In the bedroom, women’s clothing is draped over a chair, blonde hair lingers on the pillow, and makeup is scattered across the dresser.
They were here recently, but now they’re gone.
Maksim’s voice comes through the comm, tight with anger. “It’s a setup.”
I’m about to protest they might have just slipped away right before we arrived through some means of obtaining advanced warning, but I hear the first gunshot. The bullet punches through the kitchen window and embeds itself in the wall six inches from my head. I drop to the floor and roll toward cover as automatic weapons fire erupts from multiple positions outside the house.
Someone shouts over the gunfire, “Marksmen in the tree line. At least four shooters.”
Another voice calls out desperately, “Back exit is compromised. They’ve got the rear covered too.”
I press myself against the kitchen island and assess our situation with the cold calculation that’s kept me alive through dozens of similar encounters. We’re pinned down in an unfamiliar structure, outnumbered by shooters who had time to prepare positions, and our planned escape routes are blocked, but we’re not helpless.
I key my comm. “Smoke grenades. Create a screen and move to the vehicles. Suppressive fire on my mark.”
The next few minutes blur together in the familiar chaos of combat. Smoke fills the house, automatic weapons chatter back and forth, and we move in coordinated bounds toward the vehicles. I’m halfway to the car when something hot and violent punches into my left side, spinning me around and dropping me to one knee.
Blood soaks through my shirt as I press my hand against the wound, but I can still move, still think, and still fight. Maksim appears beside me, hauling me upright and half-carrying me toward the car.
He shouts over the gunfire. “How bad?”
I manage to respond despite each breath sending fire through my ribs. “I’ll live.”
He gets me into the passenger seat, and we accelerate away from the property with bullets sparking off the armor plating. I watch the farmhouse disappear in the rearview mirror behind clouds of smoke and the dark shapes of pursuing vehicles.
Maksim glances at the blood spreading across my shirt. “Hospital?”
I struggle to apply pressure to the wound while fumbling for my phone. “No. The clinic on Maple Street. Dr. Lewis keeps irregular hours, but he’ll patch me up without questions.”
The world tilts and blurs around the edges as blood loss begins to affect my concentration. I need to call Sabrina, let her know I’m all right, and explain why I’ll be late getting home. My fingers feel thick and clumsy as I try to compose a text message.
Running late. Don’t worry. Everything fine. Love you.
I stare at the words on the screen, trying to decide if they convey the right message. Too casual? Not reassuring enough? Should I mention I’ll explain everything when I get home?
The phone slips from my numb fingers as darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision. The last thing I hear is Maksim calling my name, his voice sharp with concern that feels like it’s coming from very far away before everything goes black, and I’m falling into a place where there’s no pain, no blood, and no awareness of the promises I’ve broken or the woman who’s about to wake up to find me gone.
