Page 45 of The Russian's Innocent Prey
“Drew,” I called, not taking my eyes off the screen. “I need you to dig deeper into Petro Kozak’s network before you head back to Russia.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Drew’s voice came from behind me, and I turned to see him standing in the doorway. “Rafael made me permanent. Seems he likes having someone who can break codes as well as bones.”
He moved to peer over my shoulder at the frozen images. “Also, check the red folder on your desk. Already done.”
The folder was thick, filled with intelligence that painted a picture I didn’t like. Petro Kozak wasn’t just a traditional crime boss—he was a fanatic. A man who’d convinced himself that every murder was an act of divine justice, every death a cleansing of the wicked through Saint Michael’s vengeance.
“He has a daughter,” Drew continued, settling into a chair. “Mila Kozak. Acts like a ghost—no photographs, no confirmed sightings, no official records. But the intelligence suggests she’s his primary weapon. Trained from birth to be the perfect assassin.”
I studied the grainy footage again, comparing it to Trev’s photograph. “Timeline matches for both hits. Skills match. But without a clear face shot, we can’t be certain it’s the same person.”
“It’s her,” Trev said with certainty. “I looked into those eyes yesterday while she tried to kill me. I’d recognize them anywhere.”
I studied the grainy footage again, looking for details I might have missed. “You think she’s the one who attacked Anya’s car?”
Drew shrugged. “Timeline matches. Skills match. But I was focused on getting the car back to the mansion, not getting a positive ID on the shooter.”
Maxim leaned forward, his expression grim. “If Petro’s using his daughter as an assassin, that changes the game. Family loyalty runs deeper than professional obligation. She won’t break, won’t negotiate, won’t stop until her father tells her to.”
“Or until she’s dead,” I added quietly.
Trev shifted in his chair, wincing as the movement pulled at his wounded shoulder. “Petro believes he’s fighting a holy war. The psychological profile suggests he sees himself as a moral crusader, using his daughter as an instrument of divine vengeance. Every target is a sinner that needs cleansing.”
The pieces were starting to form a picture, but it was one I didn’t want to see. A fanatic with nothing to lose, using his own child as a weapon in a war that had already lasted too long.
“So, how do we find a ghost?” Maxim asked.
Trev’s smile was sharp, predatory. “We don’t find the ghost. We make the ghost find us.” He gestured toward the frozen image on my screen. “She’s been watching, learning our patterns, our weaknesses. But she’s also been making mistakes. The hesitation at my shooting, the ritual prayers that givetargets time to react—these aren’t the actions of a perfect killing machine.”
“You think she can be turned?”
“I think she’s nineteen years old and has never known anything but her father’s version of righteousness.” Trev’s voice was thoughtful. “That kind of conditioning can be broken, given the right pressure points.”
I stared at the girl’s face on my screen, trying to reconcile the cold professionalism I saw there with Trev’s assessment. She looked like she could cut your throat while reciting scripture, but there was something else in those pale eyes. Something that might have been doubt.
“It’s risky,” I said finally. “Using ourselves as bait.”
“Everything we do is risky,” Maxim pointed out. “The question is whether we take the initiative or wait for her to pick us off one by one.”
Drew pulled up another file on his tablet. “I’ve been tracking Petro’s movements. He’s been consolidating power, calling in old debts, preparing for something big. This isn’t just about revenge anymore—he’s planning a war.”
The room fell silent as we absorbed the implications. A war meant civilian casualties. It meant dragging innocent people into a conflict that should have died with Taras Kozak twenty-seven years ago.
I thought about Anya, sleeping peacefully in our bed this morning, her face soft with dreams that didn’t include bullets and blood. I thought about the life she’d built for herself, the business she’d created from nothing, the future she deserved.
“Then we end it,” I said, closing the laptop with a sharp click. “Before it starts.”
Trev nodded slowly. “Hunt the ghost first. Take away Petro’s primary weapon, and he becomes just another aging crime boss with delusions of grandeur.”
“And if the ghost can’t be turned?” Maxim’s question hung in the air like smoke.
I met his eyes, seeing my own resolve reflected back at me. “Then we put her down like any other rabid animal.”
The words tasted like ash in my mouth, but they were true. I’d killed before—men, women, anyone who threatened what I considered mine. Mila Kozak’s age and parentage wouldn’t save her if she came for my family again.
Because that’s what this was about now. Not just survival or revenge or settling old debts. This was about protecting the people I loved from a war that should have ended before it began.
And I’d burn the world down before I let anyone take them from me.
