Chapter 8 Konstantin
KONSTANTIN
Viktor’s voice is tight when he calls. “Vadim’s men found the safehouse.”
For a heartbeat, my mind goes blank. Then the words slam into me, jagged and merciless.
I don’t think. I move.
My coat is in my hand before the call ends, my gun already holstered. I yell for my car and hurry into the freezing night. My driver is there in an instant. I pay my drivers well, so they are always on duty, always alert and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Like now.
Frost clings to the windshield as I pass by and get into the car.
“Drive,” I snap at the driver as soon as the door shuts.
The engine growls awake and we take off.
The city lights bleed into streaks of red and white as we fly down narrow streets.
Every second that passes tightens a vise around my chest. I’ve been in a hundred firefights, orchestrated ambushes, and survived betrayals.
But this—knowing Ivy is in danger—turns my blood to fire.
I’ve always told myself that watching over Ivy was my duty.
My obligation. A blood oath to a man who once saved my life.
But even as the car eats the distance between us and the safehouse, I know it’s a lie.
I am terrified of losing her. Terrified in a way that has nothing to do with promises and everything to do with the way her blue eyes haunt me.
By the time we arrive at the safehouse, the night is already alive with violence.
Gunfire rips through the dark, the staccato chatter of rifles echoing off the house as the FBI agents, clearly outnumbered, battle Vadim’s men.
Muzzle flashes spark like lightning, painting the frosty ground with brief, brutal light.
Viktor waits for me, just out of sight of the house, the expression on his face so still it’s as if it’s carved from stone. As I walk over to him, two more cars show up. My men, on Viktor’s orders from me, are here to keep Vadim’s men from getting to Ivy.
“It’s not time to play nice,” I growl when the others reach me and Viktor. “Take them out, but don’t hurt the Feds.”
I’m not surprised when several of the guys look at me with surprise. Yeah, it’s not everyday they hear a Mafia boss tell them to pretty much protect the law. But this is different, and they don’t need to know my reasons.
My men are loyal and know when not to question my orders. Which is any time, of course. They spread out, ducking low to become less of a target as they surround the safehouse.
A heartbeat later, three of Vadim’s soldiers drop to the ground with clean shots to the chest. My men are precise. Silent. Efficient.
I would have it no other way.
I move closer, keeping low, my eyes locked on the house. Every nerve in my body is stretched thin, tuned to one thing. Ivy.
And then I see her.
Agents swarm around her, ushering her out the door while they swing their guns around, ready to take out whoever might shoot at them.
They use their bodies as shields against the gunfire erupting all around.
Ivy looks small and fragile between them, her dark hair tumbling forward and obscuring her face from me.
But only for a minute. A muzzle flash startles her and she looks up, the bright light catching the angle of her face and the fear etched there. My lungs seize.
Bullets tear through the siding near her shoulder as they round from the back of the house. Too close.
I raise my pistol and drop the bastard taking aim from behind a fence. My shot cracks through the night, and his body folds into the snow.
“Move!” an agent shouts, pushing Ivy ahead. She stumbles, caught between them, and I want to tear across the yard, to rip her from their grasp and carry her myself. Instead, I grit my teeth as they shove her into a dark SUV. Doors slam, the engine roars, and the vehicle peels down the street.
I take a deep breath for the first time since Viktor’s call. Relief slices through me, sharp and fleeting. She’s alive.
For now.
I turn to Viktor, my voice as hard as iron. “Take care of them.”
His mouth curves into something that’s not quite a smile. He knows exactly who I mean. Vadim’s men. The bastards who dared to try and hurt Ivy. “Gladly.”
My men sweep forward, cutting Vadim’s soldiers down with ruthless precision. I don’t stay to watch. My eyes are on the taillights disappearing into the dark.
“Follow them,” I order my driver as I slide back into the car.
We give chase, tires hissing against the damp road. The SUV ahead darts through intersections, agents using every Bureau trick to lose pursuit. But for one precious stretch, I see her.
Through the rear window, her face flashes in the dark. It looks so pale in the glow of passing streetlights. She’s pressed between agents in the backseat, her head bowed and eyes wide. Even at this distance, the sight claws at me.
A sudden set of headlights in my rearview mirror catches my attention. No one had been behind me until now, which makes me suspicious. Is it one of Vadim’s men, somehow escaping my men?
Rage surges hot. My hands ball into fists so tight, I can see the whiteness of them even in the car’s dark interior.
“Turn here,” I snap.
The driver glances back, startled. “But—”
“Do it!”
We cut sharply down a side street. The car behind follows instantly.
Good.
My chest is tight, my breath burning through my lungs. Every instinct screams to stay with Ivy, to keep her in my sight, but I can’t. If Vadim’s dogs stay on us, the Feds will have a better chance of getting her to the next safehouse clean. That’s all that matters.
The chase snakes through darkened streets, the other car dogging our bumper.
They know I’ve noticed them. One guy leans out his window and fires at my car.
Guess he doesn’t realize I have bulletproof windows.
Grabbing my gun from the back waistband of my pants, I roll down the window then lean out and shoot.
Unlike them, I aim for the tires. At the speed they’re chasing us, if a tire blows, they’re probably more likely to die than if I aim at a window.
My aim is true and the front passenger’s tire blows, the sound almost louder than my gunshot.
The car swerves, then the driver loses control and it and goes into a spin.
It looks like the driver almost gets it under control before he finally loses the battle and it flips, end over end, and into a ditch. The corner of my mouth turns up in a satisfied smirk as I turn around and lean against the backseat.
The sudden quiet feels somehow foreboding. My heart still pumps heavily from the adrenaline rush, but now it kicks up a beat as the situation hits me in the face like a punch. My hands fist in my lap. I’ve lost Ivy’s SUV.
The weight of it drags hard against my chest. It’s not supposed to matter this much. It’s not supposed to be this personal. But the panic clawing at me tells another truth. If I lose her, it won’t just be a promise broken. It will be something far worse.
Later, in Baratino’s back room, the smells of roasted garlic and wine cling to the air, incongruous with the chill inside me. Viktor sits across from me, a glass of vodka sitting untouched in front of him.
He leans back in his chair, brushing a fine dust of snow from his sleeve. “After you pulled away, we finished it. Vadim lost men tonight.”
“There’ll be more. There seems to be a never-ending supply of the rat bastards.”
“But for tonight, at least, Ivy is safe,” Viktor reminds me.
“A few assholes thought they could follow her,” I say grimly. The memory of Ivy’s pale face behind the glass flashes sharp in my mind, making my gut twist. “I took care of them, but we need to send someone to check. Make sure they’re still in that ditch where I left them.”
“I’ll handle it,” Viktor says without hesitation. His eyes are steady, as if he already knows what I’m about to say next.
“She’s not safe with the Feds,” I mutter, gripping the edge of the table. “They move her around, lock her in rooms, and think a few agents and their protocols can protect her. They have no idea who they’re dealing with. Vadim will keep sending bodies until one makes it through.”
Viktor exhales through his nose, slow and grim. “The Feds believe in procedures. Vadim believes in blood. It is not the same.”
“No,” I agree, my jaw tightening. “And she’ll be the one to pay for their arrogance if we let them keep her.”
The door creaks open then, cold air rushing in. Maksim steps inside, shaking snow from his coat, his face like carved stone. He looks between us, his expression telling me everything before he even speaks.
“Vadim has put out a hit,” he says flatly. His eyes cut into mine. “On the girl.”
The news lands like a blade, sharp and cold.