Chapter 27
LUKA
The crystal tumbler of vodka sits untouched between us, the clear liquid catching the afternoon light streaming through the reinforced windows of Dimitri Andropov's office.
His office looks like any other corporate headquarters.
All dark wood with an amazing view of the city from his perch on the thirty-second floor.
The pakhan doesn't rise when I enter. Power play number one—making me come to him.
I don't sit until he gestures to the chair. Power play number two—controlling when I'm allowed comfort. The chair is lower than his, forcing me to look up. Number three.
Dimitri Andropov has ruled the East Coast Bratva for two decades by being smarter than his enemies, not stronger. Every detail in this room is calculated to remind visitors of their place in the hierarchy.
"Luka Markovic." He says my name like he's tasting wine, letting it roll around in his mouth. "The man who started a war over a woman."
I keep my expression neutral. Showing emotion to a pakhan is like bleeding in shark-infested water.
"So, Kozlov blames you for stealing his shipment," he continues, his accent thick with what sounds like amusement but could just as easily be contempt. "When we both know it was my boys who took it right from under his nose."
The admission is a test. He's watching to see if I'll try to use this information against him or try to play him against Kozlov. Amateur move. Instead, I wait.
"Nothing to say?" His smile is all teeth. "Good. You might survive this after all."
I keep my expression neutral, though inside, satisfaction burns cold and bright.
Finding out the Andropov Bratva was behind the hijacking had been a stroke of luck—or maybe divine intervention.
Dimitri and Yuri have been at each other's throats for years over territory disputes. The enemy of my enemy, and all that.
"He's got a hard-on for revenge that's going to get him killed," I say, leaning forward slightly. "The question is whether you want to help me put him in the ground or watch him tear apart everything we've both worked to build in this city."
Dimitri's laugh is like gravel in a cement mixer. "You Americans, always so direct. But yes, I think we can come to an arrangement. Kozlov has been—"
I don’t correct him. He knows damn well I’m Russian. It’s meant as an insult.
I couldn’t give a shit what he thinks about me or my heritage.
The door bursts open without so much as a knock. Viktor fills the doorway, his usual stoic composure cracked just enough that ice shoots through my veins. My lieutenant doesn't interrupt meetings with a pakhan unless the world is ending.
"Boss," he says, his voice carefully controlled. "We need to go. Now."
I don't question it. Can't afford to, not when Viktor looks like that. I stand, extending my hand to Dimitri. "We'll finish this conversation soon."
The pakhan nods, already reaching for his phone. "I look forward to it, Luka. Give Kozlov my regards when you kill him."
The elevator ride down feels like it takes forever. Viktor stands rigid beside me, jaw clenched, hands fisted at his sides. He's holding something back, something that's eating him alive. But we’re being watched.
Show no weakness.
Inside, I’m dying. I know whatever has happened is bad. Leo. Cindy. Their names are bouncing around in my head with every agonizing second the elevator slides down.
The doors slide open and we stride across the marble lobby toward the exit, where my SUV waits, engine running.
It's not until we're sealed inside the armored vehicle, bulletproof glass separating us from the world, that Viktor finally speaks.
"The compound was hit fifteen minutes ago. Two shooters, both Russian. They went after Cindy and Leo."
I curse. My hands clench into fists so tight my knuckles go white. "Are they—"
"They're safe," Viktor says quickly. "Grigori got them to the safe room. He took a bullet to the leg, but he's walking it off. Tony was the backup. They are unharmed."
Cindy. Leo. Safe. That's all that matters.
But not all that needs to be settled.
"The shooters?" I ask, my voice deadly calm.
"One's dead. Caught three rounds to the chest trying to breach the main entrance. The other..." Viktor's smile is as cold as winter in Moscow. "He's waiting for you."
Good.
My fingers drum against my thigh as the SUV eats up the miles toward home. Toward my family. Toward answers. Every protective instinct I have is screaming at me to go straight to that safe room, to hold Cindy in my arms and confirm with my own eyes that she's whole and breathing.
But first, I need to know exactly what we're dealing with.
The compound looks like a war zone when we arrive. Guards patrol the perimeter, automatic weapons visible and ready. Tire tracks scar the perfect lawn where the SUV carrying the shooters must have tried to escape. Didn’t get far from the looks of it.
My men part like the Red Sea as I stride through the main entrance. No one speaks. They know better than to interrupt when I'm wearing this particular expression. Death walks behind me, patient and hungry.
The room is in the basement. Soundproof. Windowless. Designed for conversations that can never see daylight. The man tied to the metal chair is young—maybe twenty-five—with the kind of desperate eyes that tell me he knows exactly how this is going to end.
Blood drips steadily from his shoulder where one of my men put a bullet. Not fatal, but painful enough to keep him conscious and motivated. His face is already swelling from whatever welcome party greeted him when they dragged him down here.
"You know who I am," I say, not bothering with introductions. It's not a question.
He nods, sweat beading on his forehead despite the basement chill.
"Then you know I don't have patience for games. Who sent you?"
"Yuri Kozlov," he gasps out immediately. Smart boy. He's heard the stories about what happens to people who waste my time.
"Was this about revenge? For the shipment?"
His laugh turns into a cough that sprays blood across his chin. "You think this was about guns? This was just the beginning."
Ice forms in my chest. "Beginning of what?"
"Kozlov wants your woman. And maybe your life.”
“My life, huh? He wants my life so bad he sends a boy to do a man’s work?”
“The father. Kozlov wants her father. He gets the girl; he gets the father.”
Charles.
Cindy is being targeted again because of the man who pretends to be her father.
"Where is he?" I ask. “Where is Charles?”
The man's eyes glitter with malice. "Dead, for all I know. Or maybe Kozlov's saving him for something special. Maybe he wants to make sure that girl watches when he puts a bullet in the old man's head."
Rage builds in my chest like a nuclear reactor reaching critical mass. Obviously, Charles fucked over Kozlov.
Never trust a thief.
"What else?" I demand.
But the man just laughs again, a sound like breaking glass. "You want to know the best part? This was just a probe. Two men, barely armed. Next time, he's bringing an army."
I draw my Glock in one smooth motion. The suppressor makes the shot sound like a whisper. The chair rocks back slightly, then settles. The basement falls silent except for the steady drip of blood hitting concrete.
Viktor stands close, watching and waiting for my orders. "Double the perimeter guard," I tell him. "And get me everything we have on Charles Tremaine's last known whereabouts. If Kozlov thinks he can use my family to draw out rats, he's about to learn how wrong he is."
I walk across the vast expanse of my basement, passing through one door and then another. Each step brings me closer to the only thing that matters now—making sure Cindy and Leo are truly safe. Tony stands guard outside the door.
He nods once but says nothing. My hands are steady as I key in the access code, but my heart is hammering against my ribs.
The steel door slides open to reveal my world.
Cindy looks up from where she's sitting with Leo, her face going soft with relief when she sees me.
There's no fear in her eyes, no breakdown or hysteria.
Just quiet strength and the kind of courage that made me fall in love with her in the first place.
"Hey," she says softly.
"Hey," I say back, my voice rough with emotion. My eyes sweep the room, taking inventory. Leo clings to her side. Blood stains the floor near the wall where—
Fuck.
Grigori lies motionless under a blanket, his breathing shallow but steady. His face has the gray pallor of someone who's lost too much blood, and there are bloody towels piled beside him.
I snap my fingers at Tony. "Hospital. Now. Get him stabilized and transported immediately."
"Yes, sir." Tony's already moving, speaking rapidly into his radio as he coordinates the medical evacuation.
I hate that Leo had to see this. Hate that my son witnessed a man bleeding out. This isn't the childhood I wanted for him. This isn't the life I wanted for any of them.
But it's the life we have.
I kneel beside Grigori, checking his pulse. Weak but present. The blanket covering him is Cindy's doing. Even in crisis, she thought to keep him warm, to preserve what dignity she could while saving his life.
"The bleeding stopped about ten minutes ago," Cindy says quietly, moving closer but keeping Leo tucked against her side. "I used that clotting powder he told me about. He lost a lot of blood before that, though. A lot, Luka."
Her voice is steady, but I can see the tremor in her hands now that the immediate crisis has passed. She's been holding it together for Leo's sake. My woman, my fierce, unbreakable woman.
"You did good," I tell her, meaning it completely. "You probably saved his life."
She nods, but I can see the weight of it settling on her shoulders. The reality of what she had to do. What she had to witness. Blood on her hands—literally.
This is on me. All of it.
Tony and two other men carry Grigori out of the safe room.
I give Cindy a quick kiss, my hands running down her shoulders and over her stomach. “Are you hurt?”
“We’re fine.”
Leo looks at me. "Grigori carried me like a football!" he announces proudly. "And there were bad guys with guns, but we ran really fast!"
"Did you, now?" I ruffle his hair, marveling at his resilience.
Five years old and he's treating a firefight like a game of cops and robbers. "Sounds like you were very brave."
“Cindy helped Grigori.”
I smile. “I bet she did. Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”
After putting Leo to bed—which takes longer than usual as he recounts every detail of his "adventure" three more times—Cindy and I finally make it to our bedroom.
She doesn't say anything at first, just walks into my arms. Her head fits perfectly against my shoulder, her body molding to mine like we were designed to be together.
"How bad is it?" she asks finally, her voice muffled against my shirt.
I think about lying, about protecting her from the ugly truth. But she's not a child, and after everything she's been through, she deserves honesty.
"It's going to get worse before it gets better," I admit. "This was just the opening move."
She pulls back to look at me. "Then we'd better be ready for the next one."
We. Not you. She's not running, not breaking, and not asking me to send her somewhere safe. She's staying, fighting beside me, ready to face whatever comes next.
I kiss her forehead. "We will be. I promise you that."