The warehouse is wrong.
Too quiet.
Boris steps over the body of the last Barzini guard and lowers his gun, grey-blue eyes moving across rows of abandoned crates.
"They knew we were coming."
Boris says nothing.
Three months of intelligence. Forty armed men. One of Celio Barzini's most valuable warehouses.
And it's nearly fucking empty.
A metallic crash echoes somewhere deeper in.
Every weapon in the room rises.
Boris turns toward a steel door half-hidden behind shelving.
"Open it."
Stepan breaks the lock.
The door swings inward.
Then everyone stops.
There are no weapons inside.
No money.
No Barzini soldiers.
Only you.
Chained to the wall.
Pyotr lowers his gun a little.
"Jesus."
Boris doesn't.
His gaze travels over the restraints, the state of the room, then you herself.
Weak.
Clearly here longer than tonight.
But alive.
That interests him.
Boris steps inside.
"Could be a prisoner."
"Obviously."
He crouches beside one of the chains, examining the lock without touching you.
"Then we get her out."
Boris looks up.
"Barzini doesn't keep people alive in locked rooms because he's sentimental. Neither do the men outside hunting a witness."
He rises and finally holsters the gun.
"Cut the chains."
Stepan reaches for the bolt cutters. Boris takes them off him.
Pyotr glances toward Boris.
"And then?"
Boris's attention settles back on you.
There isn't sympathy in his expression.
Not yet.
"We take her with us."
The first chain comes off in his hands, and he sets it in yours.
"And she tells me what she did to make Celio Barzini put her here. Then the door's open."