The Queens warehouse looms in the dark, a rusty giant under a cloudy sky. I'm crouched behind a stack of crates, Anya beside me, her laptop glowing faint. My Glock's in my hand, backup knife in my boot. The air smells of oil and metal, and my shoulder's still sore from the Times Square chase. Romanov's got my gold, Nikolai's blood on his hands, and now we're hitting one of his hideouts. Anya says this place has data on the auction—our shot to find the 500 kilos he stole. But after the club setup, I'm ready for trouble.
Nikolai's words—trust no one—stick like a blade. Anya's been off, hesitating, hiding something. Dmitri's worse, calling Bratva meetings behind my back, acting like he's boss. Then there's Elena, Nikolai's daughter, asking questions she shouldn't. I told her to stay away, but she's got her dad's stubborn streak. I can't shake the feeling I'm being watched, and not just by Romanov's drones.
Anya's typing, hacking the warehouse's security. "Cameras are looped," she whispers. "No alarms, but there's heavy encryption on their servers. This is Romanov's, no doubt."
"Get us in," I say, checking the shadows. The auction's in two days, underground, and we need a location. Romanov's ex-GRU, a tech lord with mercenaries. He's not Bratva, but he's tearing us apart.
She nods, but her hands shake. "Vitya, if this goes bad"
"It won't," I cut her off. "Focus."
The side door clicks open, and we slip inside. The warehouse is huge, crates and forklifts everywhere, lit by flickering bulbs. Servers hum in a corner, screens glowing. Anya heads for them, plugging in her laptop. I guard the entrance, Glock ready. The place feels wrong, too quiet, like a trap waiting to spring.
"Got something," Anya says, voice low. "Files on the auction—buyers, times, security. It's a subway tunnel, locked down tight."
"Find the gold," I say, eyes on the door. My heart's steady, but I'm itching for a fight. Romanov's playing games, framing me, sending drones. I want him in my sights.
Then a shadow moves. I spin, Glock up, but it's gone. "Anya, hurry," I growl.
"I'm trying!" she snaps. "This encryption's military-grade."
A laugh echoes, cold and sharp. A guy steps out, lean, dressed in black, a knife spinning in his hand. His eyes are dead, like a shark's. "You're late, Kuznetsov," he says, voice smooth. "Name's Sergei. They call me the Ghost."
I aim my Glock. "Romanov's dog?"
He smirks. "I work for who pays. Right now, that's him. But you? You're a problem."
"Step back, or you're dead," I say, finger on the trigger.
He moves fast, too fast. His knife flashes, knocking my Glock away. I dive, pulling my own knife, and we clash. Blades spark, metal scraping. He's good, matching my Systema moves, dodging my slashes. We crash into crates, wood splintering. Anya screams, ducking as a server sparks.
"Vitya!" she yells, typing frantic.
I block Sergei's knife, kneeing his gut. He grunts but spins, cutting my arm. Blood drips, hot and wet. I tackle him, slamming him into a forklift. My knife's at his throat, but he laughs, slipping free like smoke. "You trust her?" he says, nodding at Anya. "Bad move."
"Shut up," I snarl, lunging. He dodges, vanishing into the shadows. I curse, grabbing my Glock from the floor. "Anya, we're gone!"
"Wait!" she says. "I got the auction details and it's tomorrow night, old subway line. But there's more. The gold"
Gunfire cuts her off. Romanov's mercenaries burst in, five guys with rifles. I dive behind a crate, firing back. Two drop, blood spraying. Anya's behind the servers, still typing. "I'm not done!" she shouts.
"Move!" I yell, tossing a crate at the mercs. It crashes, slowing them. I shoot another, but the last two flank us. Then a scream high, panicked. Elena. She's in the doorway, eyes wide, frozen. Nikolai's daughter, here, now.
"Elena, down!" I roar, sprinting for her. A merc aims, but I tackle her behind a forklift as bullets rip the air. She's shaking, clutching my jacket. "What are you doing here?" I hiss.
"I followed you," she says, voice trembling. "I want answers!"
"Not now!" I fire over the forklift, dropping a merc. The last one charges, but Sergei's back, slicing his throat from nowhere. He winks at me, then vanishes again. What the hell's his game?
Anya runs over, laptop clutched tight. "I got it all—auction, security, everything. Let's go!"
I grab Elena, dragging her toward the exit. Bullets chase us, sparking metal. We burst outside, diving behind a dumpster as drones buzz overhead. I shoot one down, sparks raining. Anya's jamming the others, her phone flashing. We sprint to my stolen bike, parked a block away. I shove Elena on, Anya behind her. "Hold tight," I say, gunning the engine.
We tear through Queens, weaving past warehouses, drones fading behind us. Elena's gripping my waist, Anya's cursing in my earpiece. I pull into an abandoned lot, killing the engine. My arm's bleeding, but I ignore it. "Talk," I say to Anya. "What about the gold?"
She hesitates, eyes darting. "Nikolai… he didn't lose it. He hid it. It's in a digital vault, blockchain stuff. Only the key's missing, and someone in the *Bratva* has it."
I stare, heart pounding. "A traitor?"
She nods, looking sick. "Someone close. Nikolai knew, Vitya. He was gonna tell you."
The words hit like a bullet. Nikolai hid the gold, and one of our own sold him out to Romanov. Dmitri's face flashes in my mind—he's been too quiet, too angry. Or is it Anya, hiding behind her laptop? I grab her arm. "You knew this and didn't tell me?"
"I wasn't sure!" she says, pulling free. "I found it tonight!"
Elena's watching, confused, scared. "What's going on?" she asks. "What's a digital vault?"
"Stay out of this," I snap, harsher than I mean. She flinches, but her eyes burn, just like Nikolai's. I turn back to Anya. "Who's the traitor?"
"I don't know," she says, voice small. "But the auction's our shot. The key might be there."
I nod, mind racing. Sergei's words—don't trust Anya—echo, but I push them down. I need her. Romanov's auction is tomorrow, and the gold's tied to a Bratva traitor. Dmitri's calling meetings, Elena's in my way, and Sergei's playing games. I check my Glock, blood sticky on my arm. "We hit that auction," I say. "No one else knows about the vault. Not yet."
Anya nods, but Elena grabs my sleeve. "I'm coming," she says, voice steady now. "He was my dad."
"No," I say. "You're going home."
"You can't stop me," she says, and I know she means it. Trouble, just like her dad.
My phone buzzes with another text from Ivan. Dmitri's pushing the council. Says you're done. Meeting tomorrow. I curse. Dmitri's moving fast, and I'm running out of time. Romanov's got the auction, the traitor's got the key, and the Bratva's slipping through my fingers. I'm the Blade, but I'm bleeding, and the war's just getting started.