Page 153 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

“Let her go,” I say, keeping my weapon trained where I can use it if the angle changes.

Patrick jerks his head toward my voice. “Antonov. Good. Listen to me. I have everything. Wallets, approvals, payments after the fire. I can give you Morozov.”

Morozov looks at me, then back at Patrick. “You made yourself expensive.”

Patrick laughs, high and cracked. “I made myself necessary.”

Morozov lifts his gun. “You made noise.”

Kirill speaks in my ear. “Patrick’s proof file is uploading.”

Yuri comes in fast. “Morozov used a protected account to get onto the gallery. That ties him to the attack.”

Maksim enters the line from the estate. “Record it all.”

Patrick points his phone toward the ceiling. “If I die, the full file goes out.”

Morozov’s face doesn’t change. “Then send them.”

Patrick freezes. For one second, he looks like he finally understands the deal has ended. Morozov lifts his gun. Cara sees it. Her body goes still, then her eyes cut to mine.

I move. “Down, Cara.”

Morozov fires.

Cara drops before the shot reaches her. It punches into Patrick’s chest instead. He falls back, grabbing for her sleeve, but she rips free as he goes down. His phone skids under the plastic runner. One hand reaches for it, fingers scraping against the floor.

I reach Cara in three strides, drive her lower, and put myself over her as Dima fires up at the gallery.

Morozov’s men answer. Bullets tear into the wall behind us. The maintenance guard swings his cart into the corridor, blocking one sightline from the lift. Vera pulls a fallen clerk behind the admin desk and shoves the receptionist flat before she can run into the open.

I haul Cara behind a half-built counter as plaster spits across the tile.

She gasps my name.

“Are you hurt?” I ask, checking her fast.

Cara shakes under my hand. “No.”

Another round breaks the counter edge above us.

Dima yells, “Gallery right.”

I pull Cara closer and fire once toward the muzzle flash, enough to force Morozov’s man back.

Patrick wheezes on the floor ten feet away.

His eyes find Cara.

“Care Bear,” he chokes, reaching for her with a bloody hand.

Cara stares at him, face pale, breathing hard. I hold her because I don’t know if she will reach back. She doesn’t.

Above us, Morozov looks down from the gallery. His eyes move from Patrick’s phone to me, and something in his face changes. He knows the records have left Patrick’s control. I keep Cara behind me and raise my gun. Ten feet from us, Patrick coughs blood, reaching for a deal no one will honor.

Morozov steps back from the rail as his men close around him.

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