Page 122 of Stolen Empire
I recognize the voice of Oleg Moroz, the nephew who thinks himself clever.
"That won't change how this ends."
I fire three rounds into the pallets without answering.
Wood explodes in splinters, and I hear cursing as the men behind them scramble.
My soldiers advance on either side like the well-oiled machine they are.
They've done this work before in places just like this one.
"You should've stayed out of family business," Oleg calls again.
His voice carries the edge of desperation now.
"Do you even know who she is?"
The question lands wrong in my gut, but I push forward.
A Radich soldier breaks cover on the right, swinging an automatic rifle toward where my brother Sergei has taken position.
I put two bullets in the man's chest before he can pull the trigger and the body hits the concrete floor with a sound like dropped meat.
"She's Ekaterina Morozova!"
Oleg's voice cracks across the warehouse.
"Daughter of Lyovik Morozov, the man your father made a pact with twenty-five years ago."
I know the history because every man in the Vetrov organization knows the history.
Lyovik Morozov was an enemy who provided intelligence and weapons during the territorial wars of the nineties in hopes to build some sort of bridge.
When Morozov died in 2003, the pact died with him.
No children were mentioned in the agreement.
No heir ever appeared.
If what he's saying is true and not just a ploy to draw me out and get me to make mistakes, then the entire game just shifted. I creep forward, wanting to analyze this and ask questions, but it doesn’t matter if she's Ekaterina or Katya.
She's the reason I came here, and I need to clear these men and find which office they have her locked in.
I advance toward the left side where a row of offices lines the warehouse wall.
Their windows are dark, but one door stands closed while the others hang open.
That has to be it.
A Radich soldier moves to block my path, and I drop him with a single shot to the chest.
Sergei and my other man pour fire into the remaining positions, forcing the Radich’s to keep their heads down.
Oleg appears from behind a forklift with his gun raised.
But I fire first and the shot catches Oleg in the throat, and he goes down clutching at the wound as blood pours between his fingers.
Another Radich soldier breaks from cover to drag Oleg back, and I kill him too.
