The old subway tunnel under Manhattan smells like rust and damp concrete. I'm crouched in the dark, Glock in one hand, karambit knife in the other. Anya's next to me, her laptop screen casting a faint glow. Two Bratva guys—Misha and Yuri are behind us, rifles ready. Elena's here too, against my orders, clutching a smoke grenade I gave her to shut her up. The auction's happening now, Romanov selling our 500 kilos of gold to crime lords. Anya says the digital vault key, the one a Bratva traitor holds might be here. My ribs ache from Dmitri's trial fight, but I'm focused. This is our shot.
Romanov's a ghost, ex-GRU, building an empire with our gold. He's got drones, mercenaries, and traps waiting. Nikolai's dead because of him, and I'm not letting him win. But Nikolai's warning—trust no one—burns in my head. Dmitri's absence tonight feels wrong; he's supposed to be my muscle, but he's off with the council, scheming. Anya's hiding something, her eyes dodging mine. Elena's reckless, and Sergei, that knife-wielding ghost from Queens, could pop up any second. I'm walking into a trap, but I've got no choice.
Anya's hacking a camera feed, her fingers flying. "Security's tight," she whispers. "Drones patrol the tunnel, mercs at every exit. Buyers are in a sealed chamber ahead."
"Get us past the drones," I say, checking my Glock. "Misha, Yuri, cover the rear."
Misha nods, but Yuri's nervous, sweating. "Where's Dmitri?" he mutters. "We need him."
I glare. "We don't. Focus."
Elena's watching me, her gray eyes like Nikolai's. "I can help," she says, gripping the grenade.
"Stay back," I snap. "You're here to watch, not fight."
She frowns but doesn't argue. Anya's hack clicks, and the camera feed loops. "We're clear," she says. "But there's a trap door fifty feet in pressure plates, maybe gas."
I nod, leading the way. The tunnel's dark, tracks rusted, walls dripping. My boots are silent, trained in Systema to move like a shadow. We pass broken lights, then hit the trap door—a metal grate, wires glinting. I kneel, checking for triggers. "Hold," I whisper, pulling a tool from my pocket. I cut a wire, and the grate clicks, safe.
We move deeper, the air heavy. Voices echo with buyers haggling, Romanov's smooth talk. Then a hum—drones. Three of them, red lights scanning. I signal to freeze, but Yuri panics, stepping back. A plate clicks under his foot. Gas hisses, green and thick. "Mask!" I yell, pulling mine on. Anya and Misha do the same, but Yuri's too slow, coughing, collapsing. Elena's got her mask, thank God, but she's shaking.
The drones dive, shooting darts. I fire my Glock, dropping one. Sparks fly, and Misha nails another. The third zooms at Elena. I tackle her, the dart grazing my arm. It burns, but I shake it off, shooting the drone down. "Move!" I shout, dragging Yuri's body behind a pillar. He's out, maybe dead. We're down a man, and the gas is spreading.
Anya's coughing through her mask. "We're close," she says, checking her laptop. "Chamber's just past that gate."
I nod, but a shadow moves—fast, deadly. Sergei "The Ghost" steps out, knife spinning, smirking. "Bad night, Kuznetsov," he says. "Romanov's waiting."
"You're with him?" I snarl, raising my Glock.
"For now," he says, dodging my aim. "But I like you. So here's a gift." He tosses a flashbang, not at us, but at the gate ahead. It explodes, and two mercs scream, blinded. Sergei vanishes, leaving me stunned. What's his game?
"Go!" I yell, sprinting for the gate. Misha covers us, firing at more mercs pouring in. Bullets rip the tunnel, concrete dust choking us. I kick the gate open, and we're in a huge chamber, lit by floodlights. Crates of gold stacked high. Buyers in suits, Triads, cartels, stare as Romanov's voice booms from a speaker. He's not here, just a hologram, smooth and smug.
Anya's hacking a terminal, searching for the vault key. "It's here," she mutters. "Encrypted, but I can crack it."
Elena's behind me, eyes wide at the gold. "That's my dad's?" she asks.
"Yeah," I say, guarding the door. "Stay low."
Mercs charge, six of them, rifles blazing. I dive behind a crate, firing back. Misha takes a hit, screaming, blood pooling. I drop two mercs, but we're pinned. Anya's still typing, exposed. "Hurry!" I shout, tossing a grenade. It explodes, scattering the mercs, but more are coming.
Then Elena moves—fast, reckless. "No!" I yell, but she pulls the pin on her smoke grenade and throws it. Thick gray smoke fills the chamber, choking the mercs, hiding us. Buyers panic, running. I grab Anya, pulling her down as bullets fly blind. Elena's cough echoes, and I crawl to her, finding her behind a crate. "You're crazy," I growl, but she saved us.
Anya's laptop beeps. "Got it!" she says. "Key's not here, but I've got Romanov's buyer list and security codes."
"Good enough," I say, firing at a merc through the smoke. "We're out."
We retreat, dragging Misha, who's alive but bleeding bad. The smoke's our cover, but drones buzz in, cameras cutting through. I shoot one, but the others lock on. Then Sergei's back, slicing a drone's wires mid-air. He nods at me, then slips away. I don't get him—enemy, ally, or both?
We hit the tunnel exit, mercs on our tail. I toss another grenade, collapsing a wall to slow them. Outside, we pile into a stolen van, Misha groaning in the back. I drive, weaving through Manhattan, losing the drones in traffic. Elena's quiet, clutching her mask. Anya's checking her data, face pale.
"Talk," I say, gripping the wheel. "What's the plan?"
"Romanov's running the auction remotely," Anya says. "He's got a base—somewhere close. The buyer list shows who's got the vault key. One name stands out—a *Bratva* guy."
My blood runs cold. "Who?"
She hesitates, like always. "I'm not sure yet. Data's scrambled. But it's someone high up."
Dmitri. His name's in my head, loud as a gunshot. He's been missing, scheming, pushing the council. But I've got no proof, and Anya's not helping. "Find out," I snap. "Now."
Elena leans forward. "I want to help," she says. "I'm not sitting this out."
"You almost died," I say, glaring in the rearview. "You're done."
"I saved you," she shoots back. "I'm in, Viktor."
I curse, but she's right—she's Nikolai's kid, tough as hell. My phone buzzes with Ivan's text. Dmitri's rallying the council. Says you failed. Meeting now. I slam the wheel. Dmitri's moving, and I'm stuck chasing Romanov. The traitor's close, the auction's blown, and the Bratva's slipping away.
I pull into a dark alley, heart pounding. Romanov's out there, laughing, holding my gold. The traitor's in my family, and Dmitri's at the top of my list. I'm the Blade, but I'm bleeding, and the war's heating up. I look at Anya and Elena, both ready, both risky. The tunnel was just the start—Romanov's waiting, and I'm coming for him.