Page 51 of Rafi

But the real puzzle isn’t Aslanov—it’s Tayana. She knows something, something she’s too terrified to share. It’s in the way her hands tremble when his name comes up, in the way she flinches at shadows that don’t exist. Her fear is raw and real, not just a reaction to the danger we’re all in but something personal. Something from her past life.

And whatever that something is, it’s a key I need to unlock. Because without it, we’re flying blind. And blind men don’t survive the kind of games that men like Aslanov insist on playing.

The war room feels colder tonight, the tension seeping into every corner. The long table is scattered with maps, surveillance photos, and files. The overhead lights cast harshshadows, making the faces around the room look harder, more determined.

Kanyan De Scarzi, our Enforcer, leans over the table, his massive frame dwarfing the others. His finger traces a map of the city as he tells us that obviously, Igor Aslanov is no longer located at the Imperial. “He’s not just poking at us,” he says, his voice gravelly. “He’s testing how fast we bleed.”

Across from him, Ryder types furiously at a laptop, pulling up satellite images before he settles back in his chair, letting the images come into focus, searching for any leads in real time. I’m pissed off enough at Leo to have him sit this one out, plus Lucky insisted we use his man.

“We can bleed all he wants and there’ll still be more where we came from,” Mason Ironside mutters. “He’s not getting a damn inch.”

The sound of Jacklyn Vicci’s voice cuts through the room. “Daniel Russo’s now involved in this, which means we have a fight on our hands. One that’s going to get bloody.” It sounds like a promise more than anything else, one I know she’ll keep. She stands near Lucky, her arms crossed and her gaze hard.

Beside me, Tayana stands silent. Her arms are wrapped around herself, and her eyes dart between the speakers like she’s waiting for the walls to cave in. Her fear isn’t loud, but it’s palpable, like a weight pressing down on the room.

“Seattle’s patched in,” Mason announces, gesturing to the speakerphone in the center of the table.

A crackle of static fills the room before The Jekyll’s voice comes through, cold and clinical, as he launches straight into what he has for us. The Jekyll is a master at gathering information, and he never - if ever – gets it wrong. His sources are air-tight.

“I don’t think Aslanov is your man,” he starts, and we all look at each other in confusion before he continues again.

The Jekyll’s words seem to hit Tayana like a physical blow. She tenses beside me, her breath hitching. I glance down, catching the way her fingers dig into her arms, like she’s holding herself together by sheer will.

“For one, he doesn’t invest in anything outside of Russia, no matter what anyone may tell you. If he’s in the city, it’s because he’s after someone or something specific.” He looks pointedly at Tayana, who’s still holding her breath. “What you need to know about Igor Aslanov is that he doesn’t just kill; he dismantles – if that were his intention for us, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, because the man goes in all guns blazing.”

“If we’re not dealing with Aslanov, then who?” Kanyan asks, his voice steady.

“I’ve been in contact with some of the cartels,” The Jekyll says. “The guns the Russians used in the Chapel attack were very specific. They can only be purchased from one supplier. Caleph reached out and asked a few questions. Apparently, someone negotiated a pretty high price for them, on the condition that they not be supplied to anyone else.”

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of his words hanging over us.

“So you’re telling me, the guns used to attack us at my wedding, could only have come from one place?” Brando's face twists in disgust, as if he's struggling to swallow the bitterness of a bad pill.

“Tell me you have a name,” Scar says, stepping up to the screen.

“I do,” The Jekyll admits. “Coupled with the images of that logo Rafi sent earlier, the attack at the wedding and the one at the shelter were by the same group.”

A collective “Who?” rises like a chant from almost everyone in the room, even as we hold our breath.

“Teskin. Vasili Teskin.”

Tayana’s reaction is immediate—a sharp intake of breath, her hand reaching out to clutch at the air. All eyes turn her way. The color has drained from her face and she sways like she’s about to faint.

“You can’t be serious,” she whispers, her voice trembling. Her fear cuts through me, sharp and unrelenting. This is personal for her, something deeper than I can see.

I step closer, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “Tayana, I need to know what you’re not telling me. If you know something, I need every piece of information you have so we can dismantle it.”

Her eyes meet mine, wide and glassy. For a moment, I think she’ll finally break, finally tell me what’s haunting her. But she shakes her head, retreating into herself.

“Tayana,” I press, my tone softening. “What does the name Teskin mean to you?”

Her lips tremble, and I see the tears she’s fighting to hold back. “You don’t understand,” she whispers. “If Teskin is involved, this is so much worse than you can imagine. He won’t stop until the sky is raining blood.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and unshakable. Every instinct screams at me to keep pushing her. She knows something crucial, something that could change everything. But the war room waits, and the clock is ticking.

She turns around, but I catch her arm before she can leave. She startles at the contact, her wide eyes snapping to mine. Everyone in the room is watching us, including The Jekyll, who watches the interaction carefully, as though he knows something he’s not willing to give up.

“You’re staying close to me,” I say, my voice firm. “No arguments.”

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