Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Grigori

Storming the building, the last thing I expect is to walk into a damn free-for-all. Perez and his goons are already at it with another faction. Chaos, the kind I usually like, but not when I”ve got bigger fish to fry.

”Grigori, report,” Lana”s voice crackles through the intercom, sharp, cutting through the noise.

”Walked into a damn party,” I grunt, stepping aside as a stray bullet embeds itself into the wall where my head was seconds ago. ”Perez is busy tearing his own place apart.”

”Get out of there, let them thin their own ranks,” she orders. Makes sense. Why dirty our hands more than we need to?

Directing the men with a jerk of my head, we pull back, skirting the edges of the melee. Every man for himself in there, and while it”s tempting to jump in, Lana”s right. We”ve got a different mission.

The chaos behind us, my focus narrows to the task at hand. ”Holding position. Let me know when to move in,” I say, eyes scanning for any opportunity, any weakness we can exploit.

Lana”s voice is a steady beacon. ”Stay safe. We need you back in one piece.”

A smirk tugs at my lips. ”Was planning on it.” Because when this is over, I”ve got a certain someone who owes me a rematch. And I intend to collect.

Positioned just outside the chaos, we find ourselves in the dimly lit corridor of what looks like a dilapidated warehouse turned into Perez”s makeshift fortress. The sounds of gunfire and shouts from within suggest we”ve stumbled upon a power struggle, factions within tearing each other apart. It was too easy getting in, and that gnaws at me. A setup? Or just dumb luck on our part?

”I”ve got a bad feeling about this,” I mutter, eyes scanning for any sign of Julia in the pandemonium.

”Stay here with the others,” I tell Luca, my decision made. The chaos inside could work to our advantage. ”I”m going in to find Julia. It”s too risky for all of us to storm in. We might spook them, and Julia”s life is non-negotiable.”

Luca grabs my arm, his concern blatant. ”No, you cannot go there alone!”

”If something goes sideways, I”ll buzz you all in through the intercom. It”s better one of us sneaks in now while they”re distracted,” I argue, shaking off his grip. ”It”s our best shot at getting her out without turning this into a bloodbath.”

Luca”s frown deepens, the lines of his face hardening. ”And what will Lana say about this?”

Before I can retort, Lana”s voice cuts through the intercom, clear and commanding. ”Guys, what”s the situation?”

Locking eyes with Luca, my gaze tells him everything he needs to know—keep this between us. Lana doesn”t need to know the plan”s finer details; she wouldn”t approve of me going solo. Understanding flickers in Luca”s eyes, a silent vow of secrecy. ”We”re waiting,” he says.

”Be safe,” he adds, a rare slip into vulnerability.

”Always am,” I shoot back with a half-grin. Then, turning away, I blend into the shadows, moving with the silent grace of a predator. The chaos inside masks my entrance, the uproar a perfect cover for a ghost like me.

Inside, the warehouse is a labyrinth, vast and dimly lit, with corridors branching off like veins. Julia could be anywhere, but experience narrows down the possibilities. There”s one spot I zero in on immediately—a secluded room in the back, fortified and guarded. It”s the place I”d choose if I were Perez, a spot secure enough to hold someone valuable, out of the immediate chaos but easily defended.

With no time to waste, I slip through the shadows, avoiding the ongoing conflict, my steps silent, my presence unnoticed. This part of the warehouse, away from the main fight, is quieter.

The door to the room I”m aiming for is exactly where I expected, heavy and reinforced, with two guards stationed outside. Typical Perez—paranoid to the core but predictably so.

Approaching the guards is all about timing and precision. They”re tense, eyes scanning the dimly lit corridor, but their focus is outward, expecting threats from the chaos, not from the shadows behind them. Big mistake.

The first guard barely registers the silent threat before I”m on him. My arm snakes around his neck in a chokehold, cutting off his air. It”s quick, efficient, leaving him no chance to sound an alarm. As he slumps to the ground, unconscious, I”m already moving to the second guard.

This one turns at the last moment a flicker of realization in his eyes before my fist connects with his jaw. The crack is satisfying. He stumbles back, dazed, and that”s all the opening I need. A second hit, harder this time, and he”s down, joining his buddy on the floor.

No noise, no mess. Just two guards taken out cleanly .I don”t pause to check their condition; there”s no need.

Slipping inside, the sight that greets me is worse than I imagined. Julia”s there, looking every bit the captive she is—famished, dehydrated, the remnants of dried blood painting a grim picture on her face. She”s tied to a chair, her body slumped in defeat. It”s a sight that fuels a cold fire in my veins.

Clicking the intercom, I keep my voice low, controlled. ”Found Julia. Get a couple of guys in here, now.” Luca”s quick acknowledgment crackles through, relief and readiness mingling in his response.

Approaching Julia, I gently grasp her jaw, turning her face towards me. ”Poor Julia, what have they done to you?”

Her eyes flutter open slowly, confusion and then recognition flitting across her gaze. ”Grig...ori?” Her voice is a hoarse whisper, strained from disuse and thirst.

”Yeah, it”s me. We”re getting you out of here,” I assure her, working quickly to untie the ropes binding her to the chair.

”Thought... I was dreaming,” she murmurs, a weak attempt at humor that doesn”t quite mask the pain in her eyes.

”No dream, Julia. But soon you”ll be out of this nightmare,” I reply, finally freeing her from the chair. Her body sways, weak from her ordeal, and I catch her before she can collapse.

”Can”t believe... you came,” she says, a small, pained smile flickering across her lips.

”Always,” I say, hoisting her up with more gentleness than I”m known for. ”Let”s go home.”

The moment my backup arrives, it”s a sight for sore eyes. Luca”s leading them, his expression tight but controlled. The men, armed to the teeth, look ready for war, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any immediate threat.

”Good job,” Luca grunts, stepping forward to assess Julia”s condition. He leans in, ”Julia, can you hear me?”

She”s too weak to respond, her head lolling against my shoulder. Without missing a beat, the men step in, carefully lifting her from my arms to carry her out to safety.

”Found Julia. Bringing her in now,” I speak into the intercom.

Lana”s response is immediate, ”Thank god. Be careful coming back.”

”I”ll be right out,” I promise as they shuffle Julia out.

But something gnaws at me—the fight we stumbled upon wasn”t random. Curiosity and caution mix in my gut. I can”t leave, not yet. Not with questions unanswered.

As Luca and the men disappear with Julia, I turn back, slipping into the shadows once more. The warehouse, with its ongoing conflict, holds answers I intend to find. What is this fight? And more importantly, who stands to gain from it?

Silent as a ghost, I move deeper inside.

Dust and the stench of blood are heavy in the air of the warehouse. As I navigate through its bones, the distant sounds of conflict grow louder. The structure groans under the weight of its own decay, the walls whispering secrets of countless deals gone wrong, betrayals, and bloodshed.

Emotions churn within me—a storm of duty, curiosity, and an unsettling sense of anticipation. The closer I get, the clearer the noises become: grunts of effort, the smack of flesh on flesh, the clatter of weapons.

Reaching the source of the commotion, I find a door, its bottom edge glowing with the promise of answers. The light spills out. My hand on the handle, I pause, every instinct honed from years in the shadows screaming for caution. The door creaks, betraying my presence as I push it ajar and slip through.

The scene that unfolds is one I couldn”t have anticipated. Perez”s goons are locked in battle not with another gang, not with law enforcement, but with Roman. My friend. The man who had stepped across a line I hadn”t expected him to cross. And yet, here he is, a whirlwind of fury, taking on Perez”s men single-handedly.

He”s downed a couple already. But the odds are against him—three still stand, circling, eager to take down the lone wolf among them.

I freeze, every muscle tensed, every sense alert.

Hand on the door, heart pounding like a damn drum solo in my chest. This is it, isn”t it? The moment that could flip loyalty on its head. I see Roman in there, fighting like the devil himself, and Perez”s goons closing in. Would stepping in be betraying Lana? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Suddenly Roman notices me. Our eyes lock across the chaos. Then, time snaps like a rubber band, back into action. One of Perez”s men lunges, a gun aimed straight for Roman”s chest.

No thinking. No hesitating. Just moving.

I burst through the door, every fiber in my body tuned to the singular goal of saving Roman. I step into the fray.

I quickly assess the situation, leveraging the element of surprise. It”s like a dance I”ve practiced a thousand times in my mind, but never wanted to perform. Roman ducks as the goon fires, the bullet searing through the air where his head had been moments before.

In mere seconds, I”m upon them. My hand shoots out, snatching the gun from the assailant”s grasp before he can correct his aim. Using his momentum against him, I twist his arm, forcing him down with a thud that echoes off the warehouse walls. His scream is cut short as I land a precise blow to his temple, silencing him.

Roman, meanwhile, is not idle. He takes advantage of their shock to disarm another goon, cracking an elbow into his opponent”s face. Blood sprays—an unfortunate reminder of our violent ballet.

The third one makes his move, a desperate grab for a gun on the floor.

His intentions are clear, deadly. Roman”s back is turned, his focus on a fallen foe.

No thoughts, just a primal surge of protection. I lunge forward, inserting myself into the line of fire just as the goon”s finger tightens on the trigger. The sound is deafening.

Before the gun can bark again, my foot connects with the goon”s wrist, sending the weapon skittering across the floor. A follow-up kick lands squarely in his gut, doubling him over with a whoosh of expelled breath.

Roman pivots, his keen senses picking up on the struggle. We”ve fought side by side enough times for him to read my next move without a word. His hand finds the back of his assailant”s head, driving it down just as my rising knee meets it halfway. The goon collapses like a puppet with cut strings.

I”m breathing hard now; each breath is a blade within me. Roman stands amidst the fallen foes, sweat and blood mingling on his brow. He staggers slightly before regaining balance, his eyes fixed on me with a mix of gratitude and something darker, a reflection of the path he”s chosen.

”You okay?” I ask, my voice rough, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins like fire.

”Yeah, thanks to you,” Roman replies, steadying himself on the debris-littered floor. He”s looking at me with that intense gaze, reading me like one of those books he never has time for anymore.

It”s then I notice the warmth spreading down my side, a sticky presence that’s starting to seep through my clothes. Instinctively, my hand reaches down, touching the wetness that”s pooling at my side. Blood. My blood. It”s only now that the pain registers, a delayed reaction to the bullet I took without realizing.