The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 248

Vivian

We'd been sitting in the front seats of a nondescript black SUV parked across from the Metropolitan Museum for nearly an hour, with ten of Dmitri's men crammed into the back like sardines. The vehicle reeked of cigarettes, gun oil, and the cheap potato chips they'd been consuming to pass the time.

"Boss," one of them complained through a mouthful of chips, "remind me again why we're babysitting a charity gala? You know what kind of security this place has, right?"

I turned in my seat to face Dmitri, equally confused. "He's got a point. Even if your former mentor wanted revenge, he'd have to be completely insane to try something here. The NYPD would have him surrounded in minutes."

Dmitri's smile was sharp and knowing. "Police are excellent at handling conventional criminals. But what happens when those criminals have hostages? When they've infiltrated the event before revealing themselves?" He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel thoughtfully. "The Pakhan's people are masters of disguise and misdirection. By the time they show their hand, they'll already control the battlefield."

A chill ran down my spine. "If they're already inside, will we be able to help Orion and Aveline in time?"

"If we go charging in now, they'll simply adjust their timeline and execute immediately," Dmitri replied calmly. "But don't worry—those private security contractors Orion hired are the best money can buy. Former Special Forces, current elite operators. They should be able to—"

His words were cut off by the thunderous sound of the museum's reinforced doors slamming shut. Almost immediately, the sharp crack of gunfire echoed from within the building, followed by screams that made my blood freeze.

"They're under attack!" I shouted, panic flooding through me. "Your mentor is completely out of his mind!"

Something shifted in Dmitri's expression—not fear or concern, but a kind of predatory excitement. The look of a hunter who'd finally found worthy prey.

"Now that," he said with genuine admiration, "is the Nikolai I remember."

Before I could process his disturbing reaction, he was already barking orders. "Pavel! The electrical substation behind the museum, green maintenance door. Blow it open and cut the main power lines. Now!"

One of his men immediately grabbed a gear bag and bolted from the vehicle, his face bright with anticipation.

"Are you insane?" I demanded. "Cutting the power will just create more panic!"

Dmitri's grin was wolfish. "Exactly. Chaos is our ally in this situation." He turned to address the rest of his team. "Listen carefully—those entrance doors are reinforced with aerospace-grade titanium specifically designed to withstand terrorist attacks. Even with explosives, law enforcement won't breach them quickly."

He pointed toward the museum's various entrances. "They'll have secured every exit by now. Conventional rescue attempts are impossible, which means Orion and Aveline's survival depends entirely on us."

My anxiety spiked as the implications sank in. "Then we need to move immediately!"

"Exactly right. Driver, Central Park! Emergency route!"

"Central Park?" I stared at him in disbelief. "We're going sightseeing while people are dying?"

But no one else seemed confused by the destination. His men checked their equipment with practiced efficiency, clearly following a predetermined plan I wasn't privy to.

As we raced through Manhattan streets, Dmitri continued issuing precise instructions. "Ivan, Mikhail—are the underwater breathing apparatus and cutting tools ready for Plan C?"

Both men snapped to attention. "Everything's prepared, sir!"

"Underwater equipment?" I couldn't contain my frustration any longer. "What kind of insane operation are you planning? Every second we waste, Aveline and Orion are in more danger!"

A massive explosion rocked the night, so powerful it rattled our vehicle's windows. I winced as the sound assaulted my eardrums.

"Perfect timing," Dmitri said with satisfaction. "The museum just lost all electrical power. That's 180,000 square feet across multiple floors and seventeen curatorial departments. The confusion should buy us at least thirty minutes."

I began to understand his strategy, though it still seemed impossibly risky. "You're creating diversions to delay them..."

"While we execute an infiltration they'll never see coming," he finished.

When we reached Central Park, Dmitri led us to the shoreline of the ornamental lake adjacent to the museum. The water looked deceptively peaceful under the moonlight, giving no hint of the violence occurring just yards away.

"See that lake?" Dmitri pointed to the dark expanse of water. "Beneath the surface lies a forgotten piece of New York history—a Victorian-era water intake tunnel system from the 1890s. It's completely absent from modern city planning documents."

He traced an invisible line from the lake toward the museum. "That tunnel connects directly to the sub-basement storage areas under the Egyptian Wing. It's the only approach they won't have anticipated."

I stared at him in amazement as the full scope of his preparation became clear. "You've been planning this specific scenario."

"I've been planning for every scenario involving the Pakhan," he corrected. "The element of surprise is our only advantage against superior numbers."

His team was already unpacking diving equipment with military efficiency. Tactical wetsuits, rebreathers, underwater cutting torches, and waterproof weapon cases emerged from seemingly ordinary gym bags.

I stood there watching them move with practiced coordination, feeling utterly useless. While they'd been preparing for war, what had I been doing? Sitting in comfortable houses, worrying, letting other people make plans and take risks.

"This is why I doubted your capabilities earlier," I said quietly, a mixture of shame and admiration in my voice. "You've been three steps ahead this entire time while I was just... reacting to everything."

As the men suited up around us, Dmitri began checking weapons with methodical precision, inspecting each pistol before passing it to his team members. I watched their faces as they prepared—that fierce determination, the way their eyes lit up with purpose as they readied themselves for battle. There was something magnetic about their dedication, their willingness to risk everything for this mission.

My pulse quickened. My breathing became shallow. The chaos and fear of the past weeks suddenly crystallized into something sharp and focused.

"I'm coming with you," I said, the words tumbling out before I'd fully formed the thought.

Dmitri's expression immediately turned skeptical. "Absolutely not. This is a combat operation."

"I trust that your planning includes contingencies for my safety," I pressed. "I can stay in the rear, provide support, watch for threats you might miss. An extra pair of eyes is better than leaving me up here helpless with worry."

He studied my face for a long moment, then slowly smiled. "You know what? I did account for this possibility." He tossed me a wetsuit sized perfectly for my frame. "I had a feeling you wouldn't be content sitting on the sidelines."

He also handed me a compact pistol, its grip fitting naturally in my hand. The weight of it sent an unexpected thrill through me—dangerous, empowering, intoxicating.

"You look nervous," Dmitri observed.

"I've never fired a weapon in a real situation," I admitted. "Only the practice sessions you arranged."

"But you want to, don't you?" His eyes gleamed with understanding. "That excitement, that anticipation—I recognize it. It's the same feeling I had during my first real operation."

He was right. Beneath the fear was a strange euphoria, an awakening of something I hadn't known existed within me.

"Don't become a liability," he warned, but his tone was encouraging rather than dismissive. "You're part of this team now, and I'm counting on you to pull your weight."