Page 93 of The Pakhan's Captive
He holds me, and I hold him, until the moon climbs higher in the sky. His presence is a shield, a fortress. I realize, as I drift toward sleep in the circle of his arms, that Viktor destroyed my past, but Razvan is the foundation of my future.
29
RAZVAN
The first explosion doesn’t just shake the house; it rips the morning into jagged, bloody pieces. I am in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee I’ll never drink, when the perimeter alarms begin to scream.
It’s a breach. A fucking breach! In my estate!
I look at the security monitors in the hallway as they flick to life, showing black SUVs smashing through the main gates. Men in gear spill out, moving with a sharpness that tells me these aren’t just street soldiers.
“Dmitri! Lyosha!” I roar, my voice echoing over the sudden chatter of submachine guns echoing from the gardens. “Lockdown! Get to the secondary positions!”
I don’t wait for an answer. My heart is a frantic hammer against my ribs. I sprint up the stairs, my boots skidding on the polished wood. If a single bullet touches Lena or Theo, I will burn this entire country to the ground. I burst into the nursery, my breath coming in ragged hitches. Lena is already up, clutching a robe around her, her eyes wide with terror.
“Razvan, what’s happening?” she gasps.
“Get in the safe room,” I say, grabbing her shoulders and steering her toward the hidden door behind the bookshelf. “Do not open it for anyone but me or Mike. Not for anyone.”
I move to the bed and scoop Theo up. He’s heavy with sleep, his small head falling onto my shoulder. He blinks, confused by the sirens. I press a hard, desperate kiss to his forehead, smelling the baby shampoo and the innocence I’m about to defend with every drop of my blood.
“Be safe, son,” I choke out. “I love you. More than anything.”
I hand him to Lena. She takes him, her knuckles white as she pulls him to her chest. I start to back away, reaching for the heavy steel lever of the safe room door. As the door begins to hiss shut, I hear it—a tiny, muffled sound that stops my heart in its tracks.
“Dad? Dad, don’t go.”
The word hits me harder than any bullet could. He’s never called me that. He’s always called me Superman. Hearing it now, when I might be stepping into my own grave, shatters me. I swallow the lump in my throat, lock the door, and turn toward the hallway. I draw my custom Sig Sauer, my hands finally steady.
I see the first intruder reach the landing—a man in a balaclava. I don’t think. I fire. The bullet catches him in the throat, spray-painting the white wallpaper crimson. Another emerges from the shadows, and I lunge forward, slamming my shoulder into his chest. We hit the floor, rolling. He’s strong, trying to get a knife to my ribs, but I slam my forehead into his nose, hearing the crunch of cartilage. I shove my barrel under his chin and pull the trigger.
The recoil jars my arm, but I’m already up. A bullet grazes my shoulder, tearing through the silk of my shirt and biting into the muscle. I hiss, diving behind a marble pedestal as glass shatters above me. I return fire, picking off two more men as they try to rush the stairs.
The hallway is a war zone. Smoke is beginning to pour through the vents, and the sound of glass shattering downstairs tells me they’ve breached the main floor. My men are the best in Russia, but they weren’t prepared for this level of insanity. Viktor has brought mercenaries, men with nothing to lose and no loyalty to the code.
“Razvan!” Mike yells, appearing from the smoke near the landing. He’s covered in soot, his tactical vest shredded. “They’re through the kitchen and the ballroom. There’s too many of them!”
I look at Mike, my brother in everything but blood. I see the sweat on his brow and the grim set of his jaw. And then, through the smoke, I see Viktor. My uncle is standing at the bottom of the grand staircase, a rifle in his hand, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He looks up at the landing, his face twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated hate.
He walks into the foyer like he owns the air itself. He looks at the carnage around him, then looks up at the landing where I’m standing, blood dripping from my shoulder.
“Why, Uncle?” I roar over the sound of a fresh explosion downstairs. “Why burn it all down?”
Viktor laughs, a jagged, hollow sound. “Burn it? I’m cleaning it, Razvan! I should have been Pakhan forty years ago! I watched my brother take the seat I earned, and then I watched you giveour legacy to that Sokolova whore! You think you can judge me? I am the Volkov line! I’d rather rule a graveyard than serve in your palace!”
“You killed my father!” I scream, stepping out from the pedestal, my gun leveled at his heart.
“He was a weak man! Just like her father!” Viktor screams back, gesturing wildly to his men.
“You’re a dead man, Viktor!” My voice booms over the gunfire. “You’re a traitor to your own blood! You’ve been acting like family, sitting at my table, while you were stabbing me in the back the whole time? You killed my father for a chair you’ll never sit in!”
Viktor stops at the base of the stairs, a jagged, hollow laugh ripping from his throat. He looks at me with a sickening glint of triumph in his eyes.
“You want a traitor, Razvan? You want to talk about stabs in the back?” Viktor gestures wildly with his rifle toward the man standing a few feet away from me. “The real traitor is the man that stands at your right hand! Mike!”
The world goes silent. I look across the smoke-filled corridor at Mike. He freezes. He doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t even look surprised. He just looks at me with a profound, heartbreaking sadness.
“Mike?” I whisper.
