Chapter 39

Wolves Know Wolves

Adrian woke to the smell of vodka, cigarette smoke, and disinfectant.

Which usually meant Russians.

His eyes opened slowly beneath dim industrial lighting while pain tore sharply through his side the second consciousness fully returned. Bandages wrapped tightly across his ribs and abdomen now, fresh stitches pulling every time he breathed too deeply.

Alive.

Unfortunately.

A rough male voice spoke nearby in Russian.

“There he is.”

Adrian turned his head carefully.

Big mistake.

Pain exploded instantly behind his eyes.

“Easy,” the voice muttered. “You look like roadkill already.”

The room slowly sharpened into focus around him.

Not a hospital exactly.

Too crude.

Too hidden.

Concrete walls.

Steel tables.

Old heating pipes rattling overhead.

Underground clinic.

Eastern European style.

Which meant—

“Mikhailov,” Adrian rasped.

A broad man in his late fifties leaned back against the far counter smoking cigarettes beside surgical equipment. Thick silver beard. Broken nose. Expensive wool coat despite the underground setting.

Sergei Mikhailov.

Former Russian syndicate enforcer.

Current black-market logistics king somewhere between Philadelphia and New York.

And one of the only men Adrian trusted slightly more than landmines.

“Still breathing,” Sergei observed calmly. “Disappointing for several people.”

Adrian tried sitting upright.

Pain punished the attempt immediately.

Sergei shook his head once. “You lost enough blood to qualify as medically dramatic. Stay still.”

Memory crashed back sharply afterward.

Snowstorm.

Truck crash.

Valentina crying beside the surgical table.

Adrian looked around instantly.

“Where is she?”

The tension in his voice clearly amused Sergei.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Sergei.”

“She’s alive.”

Relief hit embarrassingly hard.

Adrian closed his eyes briefly before forcing them open again.

“Where?”

“Upstairs yelling at three armed men because they refused to give her coffee.” Sergei took another drag from his cigarette. “I like her.”

That sounded dangerous.

Adrian leaned back carefully against the cot again while painkillers and exhaustion dragged heavily through his bloodstream.

“How long?”

“Thirty-one hours since surgery.”

Too long unconscious.

His instincts hated that immediately.

Sergei noticed.

“Relax. Nobody sold you yet.”

“Comforting.”

“It was meant to be.”

Heavy footsteps echoed from somewhere upstairs above the clinic ceiling.

Voices.

Russian.

Armed security.

Adrian’s jaw tightened faintly.

“You brought syndicate men here.”

Sergei looked genuinely offended. “I am syndicate men.”

Fair.

The old Russian crushed his cigarette into a metal tray nearby before speaking again.

“You caused problems, Volkov.”

“That’s been true since childhood.”

“Luca Moretti placed open contracts across three states.” Sergei’s expression darkened slightly. “Ten million for the girl. Fifteen for you alive.”

Adrian went still.

Alive.

That mattered.

Luca didn’t want him dead quickly.

No surprise there.

Sergei watched him carefully.

“Whatever you stole from Moretti scared him badly.”

“The ledger.”

The older man laughed once beneath his breath. “Of course there’s a ledger. There’s always a ledger.”

Adrian rubbed one hand slowly across his face.

Painkillers dulled the edges of pain but not the exhaustion underneath it.

“How compromised are we?”

Sergei’s amusement disappeared instantly.

“Federal people started asking questions yesterday.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “And some very dangerous Russians are suddenly interested in your survival.”

Cold moved sharply through Adrian’s chest.

Not Russians.

Former contractors.

Mercenaries.

His old world finally catching up.

Sergei read the realization immediately.

“Ah,” he murmured. “Now you look worried.”

Adrian stared toward the ceiling silently.

Because he understood exactly what this meant.

Once mercenary networks got involved, rules disappeared entirely.

No jurisdiction.

No negotiations.

Just money and violence.

The clinic door upstairs slammed open suddenly.

Then Valentina’s voice echoed downward sharply.

“If he dies because your men bought expired antibiotics, I swear to God I’ll dismantle every criminal organization between here and Moscow personally.”

Silence followed.

Then one nervous Russian voice quietly answered:

“She scares people.”

Sergei smiled openly this time.

“Yes,” he said proudly. “Excellent woman.”

Adrian couldn’t stop the faint breath of laughter escaping him.

Pain punished that immediately too.

A minute later, Valentina appeared at the bottom of the clinic stairs wearing one of Adrian’s black sweaters and carrying two paper coffee cups.

She stopped instantly the second she saw him awake.

Relief flashed visibly across her face before hardening immediately into anger.

“There he is.”

Adrian sank deeper into the cot automatically.

Danger.

Valentina crossed the room fast and shoved one coffee toward him harder than necessary.

“You almost died.”

“Good morning.”

“That’s your opening sentence?”

Adrian accepted the coffee carefully despite the pain pulling sharply through his ribs.

Valentina looked exhausted.

Dark circles beneath her eyes.

Hair tied back messily.

Still beautiful enough to ruin lives apparently.

Sergei observed both of them quietly before muttering something in Russian Adrian absolutely did not appreciate.

Valentina narrowed her eyes. “What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Lie.”

Sergei grinned openly now. “I said you look at each other like people planning mutual destruction romantically.”

Valentina blinked once.

Then unexpectedly laughed.

God.

That sound hit Adrian harder than surgery.

Sergei pushed away from the counter afterward and grabbed another cigarette.

“Get dressed when your organs stop leaking,” he muttered toward Adrian. “We have business tonight.”

Adrian’s attention sharpened immediately. “What business?”

“Russian syndicate meeting.”

Absolutely not.

“No.”

Sergei raised one thick eyebrow. “That sounded adorable.”

“I’m not bringing her near syndicate negotiations.”

Valentina crossed her arms instantly. “Interesting. I don’t remember asking permission.”

Adrian ignored that. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Everything is dangerous now,” she shot back sharply.

True.

Hated.

Still true.

Sergei watched the argument with obvious amusement before finally interrupting.

“Moretti is bleeding financially,” he said calmly. “Several captains already switching loyalty quietly. Russians smell weakness.”

Valentina’s expression sharpened instantly.

Strategic mode.

Dangerous mode.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning if someone controls the remaining shipping routes first,” Sergei replied, “they control what survives after Luca falls.”

The room settled into heavy silence.

Adrian understood immediately.

Power vacuum.

The most violent phase always came after empires started collapsing.

Valentina stepped closer slowly. “And the Russians want to negotiate.”

Sergei smiled around cigarette smoke.

“No, little wolf.” His eyes shifted toward Adrian knowingly. “The Russians want to see whether Adrian Volkov still remembers how wolves recognize each other.”

Cold settled sharply into Adrian’s chest.

Because he knew exactly what Sergei meant.

Mercenary ties.

Old debts.

Old violence.

The part of Adrian he buried beneath Valentina’s touch and church safe houses and impossible hope.

Sergei looked between them quietly.

Then finally said the words Adrian dreaded most.

“If you want to destroy Luca Moretti completely, you’ll need monsters worse than him.”

Silence followed.

Heavy silence.

Because everybody in the room understood the terrible truth underneath it.

Adrian used to be one of them.