Page 104 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

“Go!”

I slip out the door, my hands still stinging from the zip ties. The hallway is momentarily clear as the guards take cover around the corner. I move quickly but quietly, heading for the stairs.

I make it only a few feet before a guard spots me. He’s young, probably no older than twenty-five, with a shaved head and a tattoo creeping up his neck.

“Stop,” he shouts, raising his weapon.

I freeze, raising my hands. The guard grabs my arm roughly and drags me back toward the guest suite. Casey is still in the doorway, gun now pointed at the floor. The guard shoves me inside and keeps his weapon trained on both of us.

“What the hell is going on?” he demands in heavily accented English.

Neither of us answers. The guard backs toward the door, keeping his gun on us while he calls for backup on his radio. Within minutes, Nikolai returns, flanked by Alexei and another guard.

The cold civility Nikolai displayed earlier has vanished. His face is a mask of fury when he strides into the room. He takes the gun from the guard and aims it directly at Casey’s chest.

“I should have known better than to trust a man who would betray his woman for money.” Nikolai’s voice is soft, almost conversational, which makes it all the more terrifying. “You are a traitor twice over, Mr. Harris.”

Casey stands frozen, his face ashen. “Please?—”

“Begging is beneath even you.” Nikolai’s finger tightens on the trigger.

The room falls momentarily silent as I close my eyes, unable to watch.

Then chaos erupts as the main doors explode inward.

30

Damir

The RFID chip tracker pulses steadily in my hand as we approach the modernist mansion. The sleek structure rises from the landscape like a fortress—all glass, concrete, and sharp angles. My men move in formation around me, weapons ready, faces set in grim determination.

“Perimeter secured,” murmurs Viktor.

Within minutes, we’ve parked and headed toward the mansion on foot, splitting into groups. “East and west teams in position,” says Anton as we edge closer to the house.

I nod. “Move in. Remember, Elena is the priority. No one touches Nikolai. He’s mine.”

The mansion’s security system hums beneath my fingertips as I bypass the main circuit board. Complex, but with Nikolai’s signature flourishes—all expensive components arranged in familiar patterns.

“Just like his Moscow safe house,” I murmur to Viktor, who crouches beside me at the service entrance. “He never bothers changing his security codes. Always 0-5-1-7.”

“His birthday,” Viktor snorts. “Amateur mistake.”

Within four minutes, the system’s green light flashes, confirming deactivation. I tap my earpiece. “Security down. All teams prepare to breach on my mark.”

Three confirmation clicks sound in my ear. Team Alpha at the garage entrance. Team Beta at the terrace doors. My group at the main entrance.

“Three...” I position the shaped charge against the ornate front door’s lock mechanism. “Two...” The sweat beading on my neck feels cold in the night air. “One...”

The detonation is sharp but contained. The door blasts inward with a shower of splinters and glass, the custom Italian hinges ripping from the wall.

“Go, go, go,” I shout as we rush through the billowing dust. Six of my men pour through the doorway, rifles sweeping the marble foyer. From opposite sides of the house, I hear the synchronized crashes of the other teams entering.

“Clear!” calls Kotov from my right.

“Moving to second level,” reports Anton through the comm.

A guard appears at the top of the grand staircase, weapon raised but drops before he can fire, Viktor’s silenced shot catching him in the shoulder.

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