Page 165 of Stolen Empire
The cold air rushes in, carrying the bite of winter.
One of the men approaches the driver's side, and I can see his AR presented proudly over his chest in plain view.
"Dimitri Vetrov?" he asks in a gruff voice.
His breath crystalizes in the air and blows away in the breeze.
"Yes. We have an appointment with Artemy Morozov."
The man backs away and nods to his partner, who says something else into his radio.
The gate swings open, and I drive through without hesitation.
In the rearview mirror, I watch the gate close behind us as Gavriil's vehicle follows.
The driveway winds through the trees, revealing more of the property with each turn.
The country home comes into view gradually, a two-story structure with a wide porch and armed guards positioned at strategic points around the perimeter.
The stone is weathered but solid, the building clearly old but well maintained.
This is a place where power resides.
I park the SUV in the courtyard, positioning it carefully.
Gavriil pulls up beside me and stops, his engine cutting off moments after mine.
I step out into the cold, and Katya follows.
My eyes sweep the perimeter, counting guards, assessing exits, skimming for potential threats.
Old habits that will never die.
"Stay by the vehicles," I tell Gavriil quietly as I move past him.
"Don’t engage unless they move first. If something goes wrong, we get her out of here."
I keep my tone so low I hope Katya doesn't hear because I don’t want her being afraid.
He nods without speaking, understanding the gravity of the moment.
He and his men position themselves near the vehicles, but not in a threatening way.
They're here as backup, but ideally their presence will be nothing more than a show of respect for the Morozov family.
Katya walks up beside me, and I watch her take a breath and center herself.
Her face is calm, her posture straight.
She looks every inch the strong woman who has survived impossible circumstances.
Exactly the defiant and hardened woman I met in that barn when she tried to steal my horse.
"Ready?" I ask and she nods.
So we move toward the house.
The front door opens, and a man steps out onto the porch.
