Miami's neon lights burn bright, the air thick with salt and sweat. I'm crouched on a rooftop across from Club Eclipse, a glass-walled monster pulsing with bass. My Glock's in one hand, a karambit knife tucked in my sleeve. Anya's beside me, her phone hacking the club's security. Elena's with us, practicing knife grips I taught her, her eyes sharp despite the heat. My leg's scabbed from Chicago's shrapnel, my side's raw from Katya's ambush, but I'm here for the vault key. Boris, tied up in a Bratva safehouse, said Katya's auctioning it here tonight, but after Chicago's trap, I'm ready for her games.
Dmitri's betrayal cuts deep—he sold Nikolai to Romanov, and now he's with Katya, tearing the Bratva apart. The gold's safe, but the key's still out there, and Katya's selling underworld control, not just our vault. Anya's data says Boris was working with Dmitri, but her hesitations keep me on edge. Elena's training hard with knife work, dodging, basic System but she's Nikolai's daughter, reckless like him. Sergei's a ghost, helping us in Chicago but tied to Katya, maybe. The Bratva council's wavering, and Ivan's last text, bring the key, or Dmitri wins lights a fire under me.
Anya's phone beeps. "Security's looped," she whispers. "Katya's hackers are inside, running the auction. Buyers, cartels, Triads, Russians. Drones on the roof, mercs at the exits."
"Get us in," I say, checking my Glock. "Elena, stick close. Use the moves we practiced."
She nods, twirling her knife, steady but eager. I've drilled her on slashes and footwork, but combat's different. We drop to an alley, moving fast. The club's backdoor is a steel, digital lock. Anya hacks it, but her fingers shake. "Something's off," she mutters. "Too many signals."
"Trap?" I ask, scanning the shadows.
"Maybe," she says, avoiding my eyes. That hesitation again. I'll deal with it later.
The door clicks, and we slip inside. It's dark, music pounding, lights flashing. The air's hot, packed with dancers and guards. We weave through, heading for a VIP stairwell. Anya jams the cams, but a guard spots us, reaching for his comm. I grab him, snapping his neck, and hide the body behind a curtain. Elena's eyes widen, but she keeps moving.
We hit the stairs, climbing to a private lounge. Glass walls show buyers below—suits, tattoos, cold eyes. A screen lists bids, the vault key's code flashing. I spot Katya's hackers, three guys at laptops, guarded by four mercs. "That's our target," I whisper, signaling Elena to cover the door, Anya to hack.
Anya plugs in, typing fast. "I'm in their system," she says. "The key's here, but—oh, no."
"What?" I snap, Glock ready.
"Boris lied," she says, voice tight. "This is a decoy. The key's in Boston, with a Russian buyer."
I curse, but before I can press, the lights cut out. Drones buzz in, smashing through skylights. Darts fly, and mercs charge. "Down!" I yell, diving behind a couch. Elena ducks, pulling Anya with her. I fire, dropping a merc, blood spraying. A drone aims at me, but Elena throws a chair, smashing it. Good girl.
The hackers bolt laptops under their arms. I tackle one, slamming him into a wall. "Where's Katya?" I growl, knife at his throat.
"Boston!" he chokes. "She's meeting the buyer tomorrow!"
A merc swings at me, rifle butt raised. I dodge, slashing his arm, and shoot him point-blank. Anya's firing her pistol, hitting a drone, sparks flying. Elena's at the door, knife out, blocking a merc. She dodges his punch, slashing his leg like I taught her. He falls, screaming, and she looks at me, half-proud, half-scared.
"Move!" I shout, dragging the hacker. We sprint for the stairs, but the lounge explodes in gunfire. Mercs pour in, Katya's crew, ten strong. I toss a flashbang, blinding them, and we dive through a side exit to the roof. Drones chase, red lights locking on. I shoot one, but another drops a grenade. "Jump!" I yell, shoving Elena and Anya toward a fire escape.
We slide down, hitting the alley, but mercs are waiting, rifles blazing. I fire back, dropping two, blood pooling. Elena throws a smoke grenade, clouding the alley, and we run, dragging the hacker. A drone dives, dart grazing my arm. It burns, slowing me. We're pinned, mercs closing in.
Then Sergei appears, a shadow in the chaos. His knife flashes, cutting down three mercs, quick and lethal. He shoots a drone, then grabs my shoulder. "You're sloppy, Kuznetsov," he says, smirking. "Katya's playing you."
"Why help?" I snap, Glock on him.
He shrugs. "I like Nikolai's style. You're his shadow." He vanishes before I can answer, leaving me stunned.
We sprint to our van, the hacker tied in the back. I drive, weaving through Miami's streets, losing the drones. My arm's numb, blood soaking my jacket, but I'm alive. Elena's panting, her knife still out. Anya's checking her phone, face pale.
"Talk," I say, gripping the wheel. "What's in Boston?"
"The buyer's a Russian," she says. "High up, tied to Katya's network. The key's real this time, but Katya's running the show. She's building an empire, Vitya—control, not just money."
I nod, mind racing. Katya's not just after the Bratva, she wants the underworld. "The hacker's data?" I ask.
"Confirms Boston," she says, but her voice wavers. "Tomorrow night, docks."
That hesitation. I'm done with it. "Anya, no more secrets," I growl. "Or you're out."
She flinches but nods. "I'm trying, Vitya."
Elena leans forward. "I'm ready for Boston," she says. "I can fight now."
"You did good," I say, glancing back. "But you're not a killer yet. Stay sharp."
She smiles, small but fierce, like Nikolai. My phone buzzes with Ivan's text. Dmitri's crew hit another safehouse. Boris talking? Council's on edge. I curse. Dmitri's tearing us apart, Katya's one step ahead, and Sergei's a riddle. Boston's next, and it's a bigger fight than Miami.
Katya's got the key, Dmitri's hunting, and the Bratva's cracking. I speed north, Anya's data pointing to Boston's cold docks. The war's spreading, and I'm bringing hell.