Page 63 of The Enforcer's Vow
"Please don't hurt him," she whispers, and the request tears at something in my chest that I thought was long dead. Even now, after everything she's learned, her first instinct is to protect the man who sold her to his enemies. She is too pure for this world, but I cannot honor that request. I can only nod.
I lean forward and press my lips to her forehead, feeling the warmth of her skin and the slight dampness of perspiration. For a moment, I allow myself to breathe her in, to memorize the scent of her hair and the way she feels under my touch. WhenI pull back, I don't make promises I cannot keep, because the truth is that Damir's fate was sealed the moment he authorized her abduction.
"Rest," I tell her, rising from my crouch and feeling my knees protest the movement. "Grisha will stay with you."
I'm already reaching for my phone as I move toward the study door, my mind shifting into operational mode. The emotional weight of what just happened between us must be compartmentalized, filed away until after the immediate threat is neutralized. The call connects on the second ring, and Grisha's voice comes through clear and professional.
"Grisha."
"Move to the house immediately. Full security detail. No one gets past the gates, and I want eyes on every approach road." I pause in the doorway, glancing back at Zoya one last time. "She's not to leave the estate for any reason."
"Understood, Boss. How long should we maintain the lockdown?"
"Until I tell you otherwise."
I end the call and immediately dial Rolan. He answers before the first ring finishes, and I can hear voices in the background—he's already mobilizing resources based on the message I sent him an hour ago.
"It's time," I announce, and I hear him sigh.
"I've been expecting this call. How many crews do you want deployed?"
I walk down the hallway toward the armory with more weight in my chest than is humanly possible to carry, but I bear it like a good soldier. The house feels different now, charged with the electricity of impending violence. "Every crew we have. I want the warehouse in Khamovniki hit first—that's where Damir's been conducting most of his meetings with Karpin operatives. The textile factory in Butovo is their secondary communicationshub. The shipping yard near Domodedovo handles their weapons transfers."
"That's a lot of ground to cover in one night, Brother. We'll be spreading ourselves thin across the city."
"Then we move fast and we move hard." I reach the armory door and input the security code, listening to the electronic locks disengage with their familiar mechanical whisper. "Coordinate with Vadim and Renat. I want teams at each location within the hour, and I want them armed for war. No half-measures tonight."
"What about backup protocols?"
The armory door swings open, revealing my personal arsenal mounted on the walls in precise rows. I select a Makarov pistol and check the chamber, then grab additional magazines and secure them in my jacket. The weapon feels comfortable in my hand, familiar and deadly. "I'll take point on the warehouse. You handle logistics and coordination from the command center."
"Maksim." Rolan's voice carries a note of warning that I've heard before, usually when he thinks I'm about to do something reckless. "This isn't just about finding Damir anymore. The Karpins know we're coming for them. They'll be ready, and they'll have kill teams waiting at every location we've identified."
"Good." I holster the pistol and reach for a tactical vest, checking the Kevlar panels before strapping it on. "I want them to see me coming. I want them to know that touching what's mine carries a price they can't afford to pay."
"And if it's a trap?"
"Then we spring it and we make them regret setting it." I adjust the vest and test the range of motion, ensuring that my draw won't be impeded. "Damir made his choice when he put a target on her back. Now he lives with the consequences."
Rolan is quiet for a moment, and I can hear him processing the implications. "I'll have the crews ready in thirty minutes."
"Make it twenty."
I end the call and take one final look around the armory. Everything is in order, weapons cleaned and maintained, ammunition stocked and ready. Tonight, we hunt the man who betrayed us all, and tomorrow, Moscow will know that the Bratva protects its own.
The study door is closed when I pass it again on my way to the front entrance, but I can hear Zoya moving inside. She's probably cleaning up the scattered papers, trying to make sense of the evidence, attempting to reconcile the brother she loved with the man who sold her to his enemies. I don't stop to check on her because Grisha will be here soon, and she'll be safe behind the walls of my estate.
The front door opens as I reach the foyer, and Grisha steps inside with three other men, all of them armed and alert. His face is grim but ready, and I can see the understanding in his eyes. He knows what tonight means.
"She's in the bedroom," I tell him. "No one gets near her, and no one leaves the estate without my direct authorization."
"Understood, Boss."
I pull on my coat and check my watch. Twenty-two minutes until the crews mobilize, enough time to drive to the first location and survey the terrain. The night air is sharp against my face as I step outside, carrying the scent of snow and the promise of violence.
Moscow hums with its usual energy, millions of people going about their lives unaware that war is about to break loose in their streets. I slide into the driver's seat of my car and start the engine, feeling the familiar weight of the pistol against my ribs.
Damir Mirov has been planning this for years, using his sister as bait, selling out the Bratva and aligning himself with our enemies. But he made one crucial mistake in his calculations.
