Page 45 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“Nothing here, sir,” the soldiers report again and again as we kick down doors and scour corners for signs of life.

“Keep moving,” I tell them. “She’s here somewhere.”

Soon, we reach a flight of stairs at the end of the hall. I point up, and we keep on flowing to the next level.

The sounds afar have quieted down. No doubt most of the security is dead now.

But that just means we’re running out of time. Backup will be here soon—local boys or subsidiary cartels looking to curry favor with the man in charge.

Cut off the head of the snake, get what you came for, and get out—those were my father’s final orders as I boarded the plane for Mexico.

And just before I left, he’d added:But, son… don’t forget: a dead snake’s venom can still kill you.

I step past Igor and take the lead once we’re on the second floor.

We’re walking down a broad corridor lined with pretentious oil paintings when I hear movement coming from one of the rooms down the hall.

I turn to Cillian.

“Take your team to the third floor,” I order him. “We’ve got this.”

Cillian nods and takes the rest of his men with him as he heads further upstairs. I continue to move down the hall with the rest of my men.

One door after the next reveals nothing but empty rooms. All devoid of life.

I stop outside the only door that’s locked. The handle merely rattles, and when I kick it, it doesn’t budge.

Reinforced.

That usually means there’s something valuable on the other side.

I raise my gun and start firing right through the wood. It chips apart, splintering until it’s nothing but broken shards swinging loosely on its hinges.

The moment I step into the locked room, the two guards hiding in there open fire.

I dive behind a large white sofa that’s in tatters now and fire back.

I’m not the only one. My men have entered the room behind me.

Within seconds, both guards are dead and the gunfire all but stops.

Armed guards hiding behind a reinforced door confirm my theory that there was something valuable hidden in here.

The question is… what is that something?

“You gonna come out and face me like a fucking man?” I growl. “Or will I have to flush you out like a rat?”

A few seconds of silence.

The shuffling of feet.

Then, a man emerges from behind a large antique cabinet.

Even in the face of certain death, the son of a bitch holds himself pridefully. There isn’t a trace of fear in his carefully arranged expression as he faces me.

I do notice he’s holding a gun in his right hand, but it hangs at his side, seemingly forgotten.

He knows damn well that he’ll be dead long before he has the time to aim it at my face.

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