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Chapter 33: First Strike

Chapter 33: First Strike

The information from Pavel’s contact led them to an old industrial district on the southern edge of the city. Most of the warehouses there were officially abandoned, their windows dark and their loading bays chained shut. In reality, several of them still moved product under the Orlov name. The area smelled of damp concrete, old oil, and the faint metallic scent that always clung to places used for things that were never meant to be found.

Dmitri stood in the back of the van with Anya and four of his men, reviewing the layout one final time on a tablet. The target was a mid-sized warehouse used for temporary storage before shipments were broken down and moved across the city. According to the contact, Pavel had been seen near the building two nights earlier.

"We go in quiet," Dmitri said. His voice was calm, but there was no softness in it. "I want at least one of them alive. Preferably someone who has spoken to Pavel directly."

Anya checked the fit of her gloves, flexing her fingers once. "And if they resist?"

"Then they made their choice." He glanced at her. "Stay close to me. No unnecessary risks."

She met his eyes in the dim light of the van. "I wasn’t planning on taking any."

A faint flicker of something almost like approval passed through his expression before it settled back into focus. "Good."

The team moved as soon as the street looked clear. Dmitri took point, Anya close behind him, the others spreading out to cover the sides. The night air was cold and carried the damp weight of recent rain. Their footsteps stayed light against the cracked pavement as they approached the side entrance. One of the men disabled the simple lock within seconds, working quickly and without noise.

Inside, the warehouse was only dimly lit by a few hanging industrial lights. Stacks of wooden and plastic crates created narrow pathways across the floor. The air was cooler here, and the faint sound of voices carried from deeper inside the building.

Dmitri lifted a hand. The team froze immediately.

Anya’s pulse remained steady, but her senses sharpened. She could hear the scrape of a chair leg, the low murmur of conversation, and the soft flick of a lighter. Two men, maybe three. Dmitri glanced at her once, a silent check, then moved forward.

They closed the distance quickly and without hesitation.

The first man barely had time to stand before Dmitri was on him. The struggle was short and controlled. Anya took the second man as he reached for a weapon, driving him back hard against a stack of crates. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. Within less than a minute, both men were on the ground. One was unconscious. The other remained awake, blood running from a cut above his eyebrow, breathing hard as Dmitri pressed a knee firmly into his chest.

"Name," Dmitri said.

The man spat blood to the side and gave a rough, humorless sound. "You already know who I work for."

"That wasn’t the question."

Anya stepped closer, her voice cooler than she expected it to sound. "Pavel. Where is he?"

The man’s eyes flicked toward her, then back to Dmitri. Something ugly twisted across his expression. "So the rumors are true. The Thorn’s woman has teeth now."

Dmitri’s hand tightened in the man’s jacket. "Answer her."

For a moment it looked as if the man might stay silent out of spite. Then the pressure on his chest increased, and the defiance in his eyes began to crack under the weight of it.

"He came through here two nights ago," he forced out. "Didn’t stay long. Said he needed a place to disappear for a while. He looked nervous. More than usual."

"Where?" Anya asked.

The man hesitated again. Dmitri leaned down slightly, his voice dropping into something quieter and far more dangerous.

"You can walk out of here with a message for your people," he said, "or not at all. Choose carefully."

Silence stretched between them. Finally the man exhaled in a sharp, defeated breath.

"There’s a safe house near the old rail yard. East side. That’s all I know. He didn’t give details. Just said he had somewhere to lay low."

Dmitri studied him for a second longer, then stood. "Secure him. Keep him conscious."

As the men moved to restrain the Orlov captain, Anya felt Dmitri’s hand brush lightly against the small of her back. The contact was brief, but it grounded her more than she expected.

The first real piece of the trail had just opened.

They didn’t return straight to the mansion.

Instead, Dmitri ordered the van to take a longer route through the southern districts while he made a series of short, clipped calls. Anya sat beside him in silence at first, watching the city pass by in fragments of streetlight and shadow. The captured Orlov captain was in the second vehicle, already being transported to a secure location for further questioning.

After a while, Dmitri ended his last call and set the phone down.

"You’re quiet," he said.

"I’m thinking about how close Pavel got," Anya replied. "He sat in meetings. He handled money. He watched us. And none of us saw it coming until it was already done."

Dmitri’s hand settled on her knee, his thumb moving in a slow, absent pattern. "People reveal themselves eventually. He just did it by running."

She looked down at his hand, then up at his face. The sharp focus was still there, but beneath it she could see the familiar undercurrent of possession, of control reasserting itself after being challenged.

"Do you think the Orlovs are actually protecting him?" she asked.

"I think they are using him," Dmitri answered. "There’s a difference. If he has information, they’ll keep him alive only as long as he’s useful. After that, he becomes a liability."

Anya was silent for a moment. "And us?"

He glanced at her. "What about us?"

"How do we make sure no one else gets that close again?"

Dmitri’s hand tightened slightly on her knee. "By remembering that trust is a limited resource. And by dealing with this cleanly enough that others think twice."

When they finally reached the mansion, the night had fully settled over the grounds. Dmitri dismissed the others with a few short instructions and guided Anya toward their private wing. The moment the door closed behind them, some of the rigid tension in his shoulders eased, though it did not disappear completely.

He turned to her in the low light.

"You did well tonight," he said.

Anya held his gaze. "I didn’t hesitate."

"I noticed." There was something heavier in his voice now. "You stayed sharp. You didn’t let the situation pull you out of position."

She stepped closer. "I learned from watching you."

A faint shift moved through his expression. He reached up and cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing slowly along her cheekbone. The gesture was more deliberate than his earlier movements, less about control and more about contact.

When he kissed her, it carried less violence than need. Anya responded without holding back, her fingers curling into the front of his shirt as he pressed her gently back against the wall. For a while they stayed like that, close, breathing each other in, the weight of the night settling around them in the quiet room.

Eventually Dmitri rested his forehead against hers.

"The rail yard," he said quietly. "We move on it tomorrow."

Anya nodded, her hands still resting against his chest. "Together."

A faint flicker of something softer moved through his eyes.

"Together," he agreed.

Outside, Moscow continued on as if nothing had changed. But the first real crack in Pavel’s escape had already been made.

And Dmitri had no intention of letting it close again.