Chapter 4 – Adrian
I step out of Jennie’s apartment and slide into the backseat.
Zalar starts the engine without saying a word. He never asks questions. That’s why I keep him close.
The drive is silent.
I stare out the window, jaw tight, the streets blurring past like static. The only sound is the hum of the tires and the faint crackle of the radio we never use.
Halfway through the drive, I press a hand to my chest.
It aches.
A dull, unfamiliar throb. Not pain exactly—more like pressure. Weight.
I scowl.
I know what’s causing it, even if I don’t want to admit it.
Her face.
Tear-streaked. Shaking. Gut-punched by reality.
Jennie.
I told myself it wouldn’t matter. That she could cry all night, and I wouldn’t care.
I’ve done worse to women for less.
But something about her crying makes my chest feel…tight.
I flex my fingers, hating the sensation.
This is what I wanted. Her. In my world. In my bed. Wearing my ring.
So why does it feel like I left something broken behind?
I shove the thought away.
By the time we reach my estate, I’ve locked it down again. The gates swing open. Security cameras track every movement. Staff line the entrance, bodyguards stand at attention, but I don’t acknowledge anyone.
I walk straight inside.
The house smells like leather, gun oil, and faint citrus polish. It’s dark, brutalist, private. Mine.
I take the stairs two at a time and enter my bedroom. I don’t bother turning on the lights.
I sit on the edge of the bed and dial Lukin.
It rings twice.
Lukin picks up on the second ring.
“Have you decided what to do?” he asks, his tone even.
“I have,” I say. “You need to come back for my wedding.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“For your wedding?” Lukin asks. Not judgmental. Just confirming.
“Yes.”
Another pause. Then, “You sure you want to move this fast?”
“I should’ve done it a long time ago,” I say, standing now, walking slowly to the window. “The moment I set eyes on her, I knew.”
Lukin hums, thoughtful.
“Is she ready? I know how hard it was with Zoe,” he says eventually. “But you’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”
“I have.”
There’s no point lying. He knows me too well.
“I need you to be here tomorrow,” I add. “Your wife is close to Jennie. She’ll want to be around her.”
Lukin exhales softly. “Tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow.”
Just then, my door creaks open, and Zalar steps in, face unreadable.
He jerks his chin once.
Problem.
“What is it, Zalar?” I snap.
“The warehouse,” he says, low and urgent. “The one on Pier 19. It’s under attack.”
My eyes sharpen. “From who?”
“The Markovic side. The spy we caught wasn’t solo. He was working with them. We just intercepted chatter—their crew hit two satellite depots already. The main batch of ammo arrives in less than two hours.”
Lukin curses under his breath on the line. “You have a shipment landing tonight? Why the hell wasn’t I told?”
“Because I didn’t think I needed you to hold my hand,” I snap.
I’m already moving. I grab the jacket I’d tossed over the chair earlier, checking the clip in my holster without missing a beat.
Lukin exhales hard. “Fucking Markovic, man. He never stops.”
“After tonight, he will.” I charge down the stairs, already spoiling for a fight.
“Adrian?”
“I’ll handle it,” I growl at Lukin. “Go attend to the wife and kid.”
“Adrian?” He calls again, in the tone that lets me know he’s fucking serious.
“What?”
“Don’t die before your wedding.”
I hang up without answering.
Zalar falls into step beside me as we head for the garage. My blood is already humming, my vision narrowing with razor-sharp focus.
The Markovics want to play games?
Good.
I’m in the mood to kill something.
“Call the ground teams,” I tell Zalar. “We’re going to the pier. If they’re still there by the time we arrive—”
“They won’t be,” he mutters. “But the bodies will.”
I nod once, cold and ready.
Let’s see who burns tonight.
***
The warehouse reeks of gunpowder and blood.
The Markovic men don’t see us coming.
They’re still trying to rip open the shipment crates when we breach the side entrance, silent and fast. I don’t wait for confirmation or a signal from my men. I take the lead and go in first.
The first man turns toward me—confused, slow.
I don’t give him a chance to speak. I shoot him clean through the forehead.
His body collapses like a sack of meat. One down.
I move like instinct. Like hunger. Like hell itself.
By the time the second man realizes what’s happening, I’ve already crossed the floor and slammed his head against the wall hard enough to crack his skull open like fruit.
Gunfire erupts behind me—my men laying down cover as we sweep the place clean.
I don’t stop. Don’t hesitate.
I catch a Markovic soldier by the throat and throw him against a stack of crates. He tries to crawl, spitting blood. I press my boot against his chest and fire three rounds into his gut, then his neck. Point-blank.
There are bodies everywhere.
They keep coming, but it doesn’t matter.
I don’t miss.
I don’t flinch.
I don’t feel.
This is where I’m most alive—when everything is fire and screams and blood pooling beneath my feet. I was made for this. I was bred for this.
I break a man’s arm.
Snap a neck.
Put a bullet in the mouth of the one who tried to beg.
Cowards.
When the dust settles, there’s only silence.
My men sweep through what’s left—checking for survivors. There won’t be any.
I holster my weapon and walk toward the cargo crates, blood dripping from my hands, staining the concrete. The shipment’s intact. Our munitions are safe. The territory—held.
I wipe the sweat from my face with the back of my hand, catching my reflection in the steel siding of a truck.
Bloodied. Bruised. Unbothered.
But then…I think of her.
Jennie.
Her soft eyes. Her shaking voice. Her horror.
What would she see if she looked at me now?
I already know the answer.
A monster.
A man soaked in blood, who doesn’t blink when he kills, who doesn’t pause to breathe while bodies hit the floor. A man who walked into her life and ripped it in two.
I clench my jaw.
Let her see the monster.
Let her fear me.
It doesn’t change what’s coming.
She’s still marrying me tomorrow.
And whether she loves me or hates me, she will be mine.
Who cares about her love when I have her body in my bed?
That voluptuous, beautiful body that I’d cut an arm off for.
Fuck, the things I can make her feel with these hands stained with blood.
The pleasure. The sweet pain. She will beg for release, and I’ll hold it away from her.
When she least expects it, I’ll release her, letting the waves of pleasure sweep her into my arms.
A smile crosses my lips.
“Boss.”
I turn.
Zalar steps over a mangled body, blood splattered on his boots. His expression is unreadable, like always.
“Everywhere’s clean. Cargo’s secured,” he says.
I nod once, slow.
“And Cartel?” I ask.
Zalar adjusts the strap of his rifle. “He hasn’t been breached.”
Good.
I take a breath through my nose, blood and smoke thick in the air. The bastard’s lucky I haven’t ended him already.
“Take me to him.”
Zalar nods, leading me toward the far end of the warehouse where the air is heavier—darker. We walk past pallets of ammunition and crates sealed in steel. There’s a reinforced metal door in the back, guarded by two of our men.
They step aside at the sight of me.
Zalar unlocks the door and pushes it open.
Logan Cartel is slumped in the corner of a concrete holding room—wrists cuffed, shirt soaked with dried sweat and blood. He looks like shit. Eyes swollen. Lip split. He’s been here for days now, paying for what he did.
Three-point-seven million.
Stolen right from under our noses.
He thought he could disappear. Thought he could vanish with our money, board a plane, and pretend we wouldn’t hunt him down.
Fucker.
He lifts his head slowly, lids heavy, lips barely parting. But no words come out. Not even a groan.
Too spent.
Too broken.
Good.
I step closer, the weight of my footsteps echoing against the cold walls. He lifts his eyes just enough to register me.
There’s a flicker of fear there.
There should be.
I crouch in front of him, resting my forearms on my knees, letting him see me up close. Blood still stains my hands. My jaw ticks.
“Tomorrow,” I say, voice low, even, “I marry your sister.”
His breath catches.
“Not because of you. You don’t deserve shit,” I continue. “But because I want her. And now I have a reason to take her.”
He swallows, barely.
“I could’ve ended you the second we caught you trying to run. But you’re breathing because she begged for your life. Remember that.”
I stand slowly, looking down at him like he’s nothing.
“Enjoy the next twenty-four hours. They’re the only mercy you’ll ever get from me.” I turn to Zalar. “Lock it.”
The door slams shut behind me. We step out into the night air.
Zalar walks beside me in silence until I speak.
“Take the jeep,” I say, voice low and clipped. “Go help Jennie pack. Take her to the estate.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stop just outside the garage, turning to face him fully. “And make sure she’s comfortable.”
Zalar meets my eyes, understanding something deeper beneath the words.
“Give her whatever she wants. She’s my wife.”
His chin dips in a solid nod. “Yes, sir.”
I hold out my hand. “Let me have my keys.”
Zalar digs them from his jacket pocket and hands them over without hesitation. Then he turns and heads toward the jeep, already moving.
I climb into my own car, slide behind the wheel, and fire up the engine. The rumble of it fills the air, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the thoughts.
She’s my wife.
I grip the wheel harder.
Whether she’s ready or not, whether she hates me or not…she’s mine now.
And I take care of what’s mine.
Always.
The night is a blur beyond the windshield—streetlights streaking past like ghosts. I grip the wheel with one hand, knuckles still raw, blood dried into the creases of my skin.
Logan’s still alive.
Because of her.
Because I couldn’t stomach watching her break completely.
Because I wanted something in return.
Her.
The trade was mine to make. Life for life.
And I chose to give him one.
I slam my hand against the steering wheel, jaw locking.
What the fuck is happening to me?
I should’ve killed Logan on the spot. Should’ve carved a warning into his chest and left his body where all the rats could see. That’s what the Bratva expects from me. It’s what I’ve always done.
No softness.
No compromise.
No mercy.
But Jennie’s different. And she shouldn’t be.
She’s not built for this world. She has no place inside bloodstained corridors and power plays. I’m not saving her—I’m ruining her.
By marrying her, I’m dragging her into a kingdom built on corpses.
I press harder on the gas.
I don’t want to think this way.
I don’t want to question what I’ve already decided.
She’s mine. That’s the end of it. I’ve watched her for a year—protected her from shadows, from threats she never even knew existed. I didn’t touch her. Didn’t speak. I told myself it was enough just to see her safe.
But it wasn’t.
And now…she’s caught in my hands, trembling, terrified. And I can’t stop thinking about her eyes—how they looked at me, not like I was a man, but a weapon she couldn’t outrun.
I don’t want to feel this.
I don’t want to feel anything.
Snarling, I turn the radio on and slam the volume all the way up. The car fills with sharp electric guitars and broken screaming vocals.
Loud enough to drown out every fucking thought.
I don’t slow down.
And I don’t look back.