Against this fiery backdrop, I spot several silhouettes moving as Volkov men start repositioning. I raise my rifle and squeeze the trigger in a controlled burst.
Around me, my men follow suit.
One by one, the silhouettes drop. Each falling body brings a surge of savage satisfaction. These men came to my home, threatened my wife, and helped murder my brother.
They deserve nothing less than death.
But the Volkovs aren't going quietly. They start returning fire and cutting through our ranks. To my right, a man falls with a scream, blood spraying from his throat. On my left, another man's head snaps back, body crumpling in the thin layer of snow that's beginning to stick, his blood steaming in the cold.
By the time we reach the main entrance, only eight men remain with me.
Eight out of thirty.
The price of this direct assault is steep, but we're in.
"Move in!" I shout as I push inside. "Kill every Volkov you see!"
Inside, the heat is suffocating. Smoke sears my lungs with each breath. We push through the foyer, firing at two Volkov men aim at us from atop the grand staircase. A burst of gunfire dispatches them easily enough.
As we round the corner toward the west wing, the heat becomes nearly unbearable.
That's when I see her.
Lola Volkov stands in the middle of the hall with a gas can in her hand, spinning as she pours gas on the flames. Fire arcs through the air. Her laughter—high, breathless, and completely unhinge—echoes off the burning walls. Her clothes are singed black at the edges. Blonde hair whips around her face with every twirl.
When she spots me, her spinning stops abruptly. A deranged smile spreads across her soot-streaked face. The inferno glimmers in her green eyes as it licks up the walls. It frames her inside the long hallway and makes her look like a demon from hell reveling in the destruction she's causing.
She throws the gas can behind her carelessly into the flames behind her, sending a fireball flashing upwards. In the light, I spot Vassily's motionless body by her feet.
Her mouth opens to gloat, but I pull the trigger without giving her a chance to say a fucking thing. Whatever twisted poisonshe's about to spew dies in her throat and she crumples to the ground.
Her eyes widen in shock as I step past her without giving her another glance. She's still breathing. Ragged, wet sounds strain from her throat and her fingertips graze the cuff of my pants.
Smoke burns my throat as I move in deeper, but I don't care. The panic room is up ahead, and every second counts. The flames are climbing higher, devouring everything in their path. Hot embers start falling from the ceiling. Black smoke billows around me.
Lola claws at her throat, making a desperate sound behind me. She's trying to say something, but I keep walking. Whatever final words she wants to spit at me will have to go unheard.
My focus narrows to a single point: get to Indigo. Get to my wife and her sister and Svetlana. Nothing else matters.
I step around another burning section of wall, leaving Lola bleeding out on the floor behind me.
Fire extinguishers spray white foam that hisses futilely against the ravaging flames. The makeshift path won't last long in these flames. Maybe ninety seconds before the ceiling collapses on us.
I flip open the light switch cover hiding the keypad.
Only to find that the cover has melted from the heat.
No! No! NO!
I didn't come this fucking far just to fucking fail now!
My hands slam against the steel surface.
"Indigo!" My voice cracks from smoke inhalation. The metal burns at my palms but I don't stop banging. "Indigo, open the door."
One of my men grabs my shoulder, his eyes wide with panic behind the makeshift cloth covering his face.
"Pakhan, we need to go now! The whole place is coming down!"
