Page 158 of The Enemy Protector
“They can get their fucking kidneys, hearts and whatever else they’re plucking out of people somewhere else. I can’t cure the world, but I can clean up New York. If it rises, we shut it down again. We won’t miss it twice.”
“And the other families understand the rules,” Kirill adds.
I watch from across the street as Yuri enters the rundown two-story in Brighton Beach. Three guards with him, all armed. The house is a shithole—peeling paint, bars on the windows, exactly the kind of place you hide when you’re running out of options.
“That’s him,” Kirill confirms beside me, lowering his binoculars. “Positive ID.”
I check my watch. We’ve been sitting here for four hours waiting for this moment. The patience required for surveillance work used to be something I excelled at. Now every second feels like an eternity knowing Sofia is waiting for me to come home.
“How many inside?” I ask.
“Best estimate? Eight to ten. Plus the three that just went in.” Kirill pulls up the thermal imaging on his tablet. “Two on the ground floor, three upstairs. Could be more in the basement.”
I study the screen, mapping the layout in my head. Front entrance, back door, side window that leads to what looks like a kitchen. The thermal shows heat signatures clustered in what I assume is a living room.
We brought everything. Nothing being left to chance.
“We go in hard,” I say. “No warnings. No negotiations. I want everyone down except Yuri. He’s mine.”
Kirill nods once and starts texting the team. We’ve got twelve men positioned around the perimeter. All armed. All loyal. All waiting for my signal.
I check my weapon—Glock 19, full mag, one in the chamber. I have two backup mags in my jacket and a knife strapped to my ankle. It’s more than I need, but I’m not taking chances. Not tonight.
“Ready?” Kirill asks.
I am so fucking ready.
I key the radio. “All teams, prepare to move on my mark.” I wait five seconds, letting them get into position. “Three. Two. One. Go.”
The front door explodes inward as one of my guys kicks it open. I’m moving before the wood stops splintering, gun up, scanning for targets.
The first guard appears from the living room doorway. He gets his weapon halfway up before I put two rounds in his chest. He drops.
Gunfire erupts throughout the house. Shouts in Russian. The sound of wood splintering and glass breaking. Someone screaming.
I move through the chaos with Kirill at my back. Another guard comes at me from the left. I pivot and fire. He goes down clutching his throat.
“Upstairs!” Kirill shouts.
I’m already moving, taking the stairs three at a time. More gunfire from above. One of my men is engaged with two others.
I reach the top just as a guard emerges from a bedroom. He sees me and raises his weapon. I’m faster. I put a bullet between his eyes before he can pull the trigger. His body crumples backward into the room.
“Clear!” someone shouts from down the hall.
The sulfur scent mingles with the coppery smell of spilled blood. Familiar.
“Not clear,” I correct, moving toward the only closed door. “He’s in here.”
I don’t bother with subtlety. I kick the door hard enough that it slams open, the lock tearing from the frame.
Yuri is standing by the window, gun in hand, looking like he’s considering whether he can make the jump to the neighboring roof.
“Don’t,” I say, my weapon trained on his center mass.
He turns slowly, that smug smile still on his face even though he knows he’s fucked. “Sokolov. I should have known you’d come yourself.”
“Drop the gun.”
