Page 50 of The Enforcer's Vow
But how can I stand by and let them destroy him? He's my brother, the only family I have left.
And what does it mean for me if Maksim doesn't come? Am I destined to die in this room, another casualty in a war I never understood?
The camera blinks, and I turn away from it. I walk to the wall and press my palms against the cold concrete. Whatever happens next, I won't give these men the satisfaction of seeing me break. I turn around and stare directly into the camera lens. If they want to watch me, they'll see someone who refuses to be broken.
20
MAKSIM
Grisha's message appears on my phone while I'm reviewing surveillance reports at my desk. It appears briefly before the screen goes dark, and I glance at it long enough to see his name, but not long enough to really let it register. A few seconds later, it hits my brain what the first few words said. I swipe to unlock the phone and my heart leaps into my throat.
Grisha: 7:43 PM: She's gone. A black van took her outside the pharmacy on Sokolnicheskaya.
I read the message twice before the words fully register. Zoya has been taken, and the professional nature of the operation tells me everything I need to know about who's responsible.
I call Grisha immediately, and he answers before the first ring finishes. "How long has she been missing?"
"Three hours, maybe four. I found witnesses who saw the grab happen. There were two men, professional work. They knew exactly where to find her."
The coldness that settles in my chest is familiar, the same feeling I get before walking into a situation where people are going to die. "Karpin?"
"Has to be. A van was stolen this morning from a lot in Izmailovo, and the license plates were swapped out with clean ones."
I end the call and speed-dial Rolan, who answers on the second ring with his usual clipped greeting. "I need every available man," I growl as I start moving toward the door to my office. "Zoya's been taken."
"How many do you need?"
"All of them."
There's a pause on the other end, and I can hear him considering the implications of pulling every soldier from their current assignments. "Maksim?—"
"All of them, Rolan. This isn't a request."
He doesn't argue because he knows that tone in my voice, and now that Zoya isn't just an asset—she's my wife—it means she's family. This is no different than if Renat or Misha were taken. We have to get her back and he knows it.
Within twenty minutes, I have fifteen soldiers assembling at the estate while Grisha arrives with his laptop and surveillance equipment. We spread city maps across the dining room table, and I can feel the familiar focus settling over my men as they prepare for violence.
"Start with traffic cameras," I order Grisha. "Follow the van from the pharmacy, and I want to know where it went."
His fingers move across the keyboard at lightning speed, pulling up feeds from across the city. "Got it. They headed east on Sokolnicheskaya, then south toward the industrial district."
I study the map while he works, noting the shift in territory as the route moves deeper into areas controlled by Karpin interests. The industrial district is perfect for holding someone without interference—abandoned warehouses, empty lots, and minimal police presence.
"Pull footage from every camera along that route," I tell him. "I want to know exactly where they took her."
The next hour passes in focused preparation as my men check weapons and vehicles while Grisha tracks the van through the city's surveillance network. The digital trail leads us through twelve different camera feeds before ending at a warehouse complex near the river, where the van enters the compound and doesn't emerge.
"There." Grisha points to his screen, showing me the final footage. "The van enters the compound at 4:20 and doesn't come out."
I lean over his shoulder to study the warehouse complex. The building is old and rundown, surrounded by a chain-link fence that's seen better days. Two other vehicles sit in the parking lot, both registered to shell companies that trace back to Karpin interests through a maze of paperwork designed to hide ownership.
"How many men inside?" I ask.
"Unknown, but the building has multiple exits and good sight lines. They'll see us coming long before we reach the main entrance."
"Then we go fast and hard before they can react."
I load two magazines and check my rifle to make sure it's fully loaded and ready. Around me, my men do the same with the quiet professionalism of soldiers who have worked together for years. These are men I trust with my life, men who understand how to move as a unit when violence is necessary.
