Page 65 of Stricken

"They don't really teach us the things we're about to do."

Vlad's voice is gentle, even with a bit of humor this time he speaks. "You mean—breaking a bunch of laws and risking our lives?"

"Yes, that." I pause. "Do they teach it in Russian high schools?"

"Russian high-school education is well-regarded all around the world, but you overestimate it." He is quiet for a moment too. "Being a Solovey has its perks."

"I can see that."

He turns his head to look at me and although I'm concentrating on the road, I can feel his gaze on me, burning right into my cheek. "Honestly, I never thought I'd be sneaking around behind Tony's back," I say, simply because I need to release the sudden tension in the air.

"Welcome to the dark side, Nico," Vlad replies. "It's uglier than the boardrooms and fancy dinners, but just as necessary. At least you can't say anymore you don't know how this kind of business operates."

"Very true."

A little later, I pull off the highway and continue down a two-lane road snaking through the industrial part of the city. Vlad's on the phone again, but his gaze keeps on checking the GPS.

The man can surely multitask.

Minutes tick by as the drive goes on until we approach a set of warehouses lined up by the road. The second row of buildings is right behind. I swerve on the next turn and drive across an empty lot, wondering why I never knew about this property. Does it belong to Morelli or does it belong to La Alianza?

"It's right there," Vlad points at the hulking beast of corrugated metal further down, surrounded by a few dilapidated buildings. "We better park somewhere here."

I follow his suggestion. He seems to have practical knowledge when it comes to covert operations. I'm not going to ask how because I don't want to know.

Instead, I kill the engine and allow silence to descend. And in that silence, I can hear my heart hammer against my ribs.

"Are you okay?" Vlad asks, looking at me.

"I'm fine." No, I'm not fine. I'm far from it. But he is here, with me, which makes me feel just a tiny bit calmer.

"Good." Vlad unbuckles his seatbelt and pushes his door open. "Let's get this done. Don't forget the bolt cutters," he reminds me and there's enough conviction in his voice to move mountains.

I grab the bolt cutters from the back seat and climb out of the Audi. We move toward the nearest structure that serves as the cover. We hide ourselves in the shadows of the building right by the corner and scan the perimeter. I count three armed men patrolling the warehouse in question. There's a main entrance, all lit up like a Christmas tree and there are two side doors according to Hector's reports. Those are harder to spot.

Vlad's breath is warm against my ear as he whispers, "Look at their stances. Sloppy. Unprofessional."

I follow his gaze, noting the guards' slouched postures and the casual way they hold their weapons. One even pauses to light a cigarette, leaving his sector unwatched for precious seconds.

"They're not expecting trouble," Vlad continues. "Amateurs. Likely local muscle, not cartel-trained. Perhaps La Alianza doesn't want to get involved further. Maybe your cousin's deal with them was only to steal the shipment for him, not to ensure it's safe."

His observations should reassure me, but instead, they twist my gut further. If these men work for Salvatore, it's further proof of his inexperience–and his betrayal.

"Ready for some fireworks?" Vlad asks, producing a small bag of sparklers from the pocket of his jacket.

I nod, unable to trust my voice. We crouch low, creeping through the scrub brush toward the building's blind spot. The atmosphere of the night is heavy with unease, every step weighed down with the fear of setting off some undetected alarm.

Vlad's hands are steady as he arranges the sparklers, producing a crude time-delay with some twine and a lighter. The plan is simple: create a distraction, slip inside during the chaos, find the shipment, and verify it's truly the stolen coke.

Once finished with his task, Vlad quietly motions for us to move to the opposite side of the warehouse where he spied another blind spot. He repeats the steps with the same deadly precision while I study the lines of his face. The bolt cutters remain in my hand at all times.

"Now we wait," he murmurs when done, settling back on his haunches.

"Wait for what?" I ask.

"For the right moment," he explains. "Best if one of them is taking a piss. Less manpower. More confusion."

The minutes crawl by, each second an eternity. Finally, one of the men disappears into the bushes. A lighter dances and clicks between Vlad's deft fingers.

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