A week had passed since Noah recruited Volkov and Lucas.
The consequences had been swift and brutal.
Volkov sat across from Noah in the conference room, tablet displaying news reports that made his jaw clench. Smoke rose from charred remains—his Moscow estate, his St. Petersburg apartment, his daughter's favorite dacha.
All reduced to ash.
"They didn't even wait twenty-four hours," Volkov murmured, scrolling through images of angry crowds outside his burned properties. "Vigilantes, the reports claim."
Noah studied the Russian's weathered face. The man had aged years in seven days.
Country R doesn't forgive betrayal. They never have.
"But we both know better," Volkov continued, accent thicker when stressed. "FSB doesn't need subtlety when making examples."
The death threats had started immediately. Photos of family members with red X's marked across their faces. Promises of retribution. Politicians on state television denouncing him as a traitor to the motherland.
