Page 59 of Rafi

We move deeper into the tunnel, which seems to narrow at every turn, dust floating up from the ground with every step we take.

We’re about halfway through the tunnel when the earth starts to shudder beneath our feet, and the distant sound of crumbling stone echoes through the narrow passage. I glance back just in time to see the entrance collapse, a wall of rock and dust sealing off any hope of retreat.

I cough, lifting my shirt to my mouth to fight off the plume of dust that rises in the suffocating air.

“Shit!” Mason swears, his voice bouncing off the walls. He turns back, but it’s no use—the tunnel behind us is gone, hidden behind a wall of rock.

“Don’t,” Jacklyn commands, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. “Or the whole structure could collapse. We move forward; there’s no other way. We need to move quickly.”

She doesn’t say what I think we’re all thinking, that if we don’t move quick enough, there could be another explosion and we may be buried here in this dark tomb.

Tension hangs heavy in the air as we press on, the tunnel narrowing slightly as we go. We walk through the darkness, our only light the scattered lines from flashlights, inhaling the stale air as we make our way closer to the compound. My heart pounds in my chest, each step bringing a growing sense of unease. The further we go, the more the air feels thicker, making it harder to breathe.

Rafi taps his comms to communicate with our men, but I know he doesn’t get a line, because even in my comms, I can only hear the static noise of a distant crackle.

“You think that was a message?” Scar dares to ask the question we’re all wondering.

“They’re expecting us,” Jacklyn says, her voice taut, every word clipped with barely restrained tension. She turns sharply, sweeping the flashlight at waist height—not aimed at anyone in particular, but enough to cast fleeting light across her face. The beam catches the hard set of her jaw and the fierce determination etched into her expression, her anger pressed into a thin, unyielding line.

“I want you all to know,” she says, her voice steady despite the weight of her words, “no matter what happens here tonight, there’s no one else I’d rather stand with—no one else I’d rather face this with, even if it means dying.”

All I can think is;this woman…this unbelievable badass. I want to be just like her when I grow up.

Her eyes swing to Lucky, whose lips are parted, as though to refute her fear that anyone here will die tonight, but no words come out. Her eyes soften, and she tilts her head in adoration, before she addresses him, not giving a damn about her audience. “You are…the single best thing that ever happened to me, Lucky Gatti. I want you to know that.”

He finally finds his voice. “Jacklyn…”

But she turns and surges forward, the final few steps out of the tunnel, even as the faint sound of voices reaches us. There’s no time to think, no time to assess – Jacklyn is fearsome as she crosses the final few feet of the tunnel, and we press on behind her. We all know we’re walking into an ambush; we all know this is probably the end of the line for us, but defeat is not an option. Failure is not an option. And I for one will be damned if I go down not swinging. I intend to take down as many of the bastards as I possibly can, starting with my uncle Igor.

34

RAFI

The tunnel narrows as we approach its end, the oppressive air pressing against my lungs. The faint glow of a single overhead bulb spills through the opening ahead, throwing long shadows against the damp stone walls. My steps falter, dread twisting in my gut like a knife, as the figures waiting for us come into view.

Daniel Russo stands front and center, his presence radiating a predatory menace. His smirk is a razor-sharp slash across his face, his cold, calculating eyes gleaming with the kind of malice that makes my skin crawl. His posture is relaxed, his suit immaculate, but the smug tilt of his chin and the way his gaze sweeps over us says everything—he’s already convinced he’s won. His eyes land on Jacklyn as she steps forward, and he straightens slightly, his expression shifting into something almost triumphant.

Beside him is Igor Aslanov, standing with an air of unshakable confidence. He’s the embodiment of danger, and the air seems to shift, thickening with the weight of his presence.

“Well, well,” Daniel drawls, his voice smooth and laced with mockery. “Look what the crypt dragged in.”

His gaze lingers on Jacklyn, predatory and invasive, and before anyone can react, Lucky is already moving. His growl rumbles low and feral, a warning from the depths of his chest. The sound reverberates in the narrow space, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

“Oh, I can see she’s been claimed,” Daniel says with a mocking chuckle, his tone dripping with disdain. “By a lone wolf, no less.”

Lucky lunges, his movement a blur of fury, but the guards are ready. Four of them intercept him, wrestling him back with brute force. He thrashes against them, his snarl echoing off the walls, but it’s no use. No matter how skilled or strong Lucky is, he’s outnumbered.

“Any more insolence,” Daniel sneers, brushing an invisible speck off his sleeve, “and I won’t hesitate to use force. The mechanical type, if you catch my drift.”

The threat hangs in the air like a guillotine, silencing even Lucky’s growls. But the tension doesn’t ease—it only shifts, coiling tighter as Igor steps forward. His movement is deliberate, his eyes locking onto Tayana with a predator’s focus. She freezes, her body going rigid as he closes the distance between them, stopping just inches away.

“Kotyonok,” Igor purrs, his voice disturbingly affectionate, the Russian endearment sending a chill down my spine. “You are finally here.”

His hand rises, and before any of us can stop him, the back of his fingers brush down Tayana’s cheek in a slow, deliberate caress. It’s a gesture meant to own, to dominate. Tayana flinches, her face draining of color, but she doesn’t pull away. She’s frozen, her fear locking her in place.

“It’s been so long, Tayana,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with mock nostalgia, as though she’s some long-lost lover, not his niece.

Her voice is barely a whisper, trembling under the weight of her terror. “How did you find me?”

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