Chapter Twenty-seven #2
I nod. Of course I know. The security is airtight. Best money can buy. Men I trust with my life. And still, it doesn’t settle the pressure in my chest.
“Yeah,” I admit, swallowing hard. “But how else am I supposed to spend the new year with her if I leave right before midnight?”
My gaze drifts back to the house, to the place where she is, where she chose to be without me.
“Even if I’m outside,” I go on quietly. “Even if she doesn’t know I’m here.” My voice lowers. “I want to be here. I need to be here. With her.”
Even from a distance.
Even unseen.
Even unwanted, if that’s what she needs right now.
I stay.
23:59.
I take another bite of the burger, grease soaking through the paper, my eyes never leaving the front of the house.
She’s outside with her friends, gathered close together, waiting for the last minute of the year to bleed out.
Serena is wearing a white dress, soft and elegant, a fur coat wrapped around her shoulders.
She looks unreal. Like something untouched by everything I’ve done wrong.
I snort quietly when I notice their drinks. Champagne flutes raised high, a bottle of what is very clearly apple juice clutched between them. Pregnancy-safe celebration. Typical Serena. Careful. Thoughtful. Still trying to make everything feel normal.
When Andres and Lev went to grab the burgers, they came back with petrol-station champagne too. Cheap, probably disgusting. According to Lev, they didn’t have any glasses, so he solved the problem in the most Lev way possible and bought one bottle per person.
So here I am. One hand wrapped around a greasy burger, the other holding a warm bottle of champagne. Standing in the shadows like a ghost. Watching the woman I love ring in the new year without me, while fireworks explode in the sky above her head. Fireworks I arranged.
They didn’t want any at first. Serena was worried the dogs would get scared by the noise. She always thinks about everyone before herself. But my dogs were trained by the best. Combat-trained. Gunfire, explosions, chaos. Fireworks are nothing to them. So I gave them the best show I could buy.
Bright colors burst across the sky, reflecting in the windows, lighting up Serena’s face. I see her lift her glass of apple juice, laughing, cheering with the girls. The dogs jump and wag their tails, more excited than frightened, barking at the lights like they’re part of the celebration.
“Happy New Year, brothers,” Andres says quietly.
We clink our champagne bottles together, the sound dull and hollow.
Happy New Year my ass.
I’d be happy if I were next to her. Holding her. Kissing her at midnight like I’m supposed to. Spending the night with the woman I love and the family I chose.
But I guess it could be worse.
Spending New Year’s Eve with my brothers, making sure Serena is safe, even from a distance, is still. . . something. Still better than being anywhere else.
“It’ll get better,” Lev says, grinning like he actually believes it, pulling me into a rough, brotherly hug.
I almost laugh at how fucking pathetic that is.
If I’ve reached a point in my life where Lev Roman Morozov feels the need to encourage me, then things are bad. Really bad.
“Happy New Year, brothers—”
Two black cars come out of nowhere, headlights cutting through the dark like knives.
What the fuck.
They don’t slow down. They don’t hesitate.
Before we can react, doors slam open. Four men from each car. Eight in total. Moving fast. Purposeful. Too coordinated to be drunk idiots. Too confident to be amateurs.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
My hand is already on my phone. I turn my body just enough to shield the house from view. “Protect the house,” I snap into the line, voice low and lethal. “No alarms. No movement.”
“Yes, sir. Do you want backup?” the guard lead asks.
Lev answers for me.
His champagne bottle leaves his hand like a missile and smashes into the side of one man’s skull. Glass explodes. Blood follows.
“No,” I say into the phone, eyes locked on the advancing figures. “No backup.”
If Serena sees guards swarm the street, she’ll know something’s wrong. And I will not ruin her night.
I end the call just as a fist slams into my face.
Pain detonates behind my eyes.
Fuck.
I stumble back half a step, tasting blood, already furious, not because it hurts, but because tomorrow Serena will see the bruise and worry. Because of this bastard.
Andres is already moving.
Three men rush him.
Bad choice.
He drops low, pivots, and uses momentum like a weapon.
A knee to the ribs. An elbow to the throat.
A controlled strike to the temple. He moves like muscle memory incarnate, efficient, brutal, precise.
Years of training burn through every movement.
Ex–Navy SEAL doesn’t fight to intimidate. He fights to end it.
“Should we call backup from the house?” Andres shouts, ducking a swing and driving his fist into a man’s solar plexus.
I sidestep another punch, catch the arm, and slam my fist into the attacker’s face. Bone cracks. Satisfying.
“No,” I answer, already turning, already scanning. “I’m not ruining her night.”
Someone grabs me from behind.
I drive my head back without thinking. His nose explodes under my skull. I stomp backward, crushing his foot, then twist and send him crashing to the ground with a knee to the chest.
Another comes at me.
I don’t rush. I wait.
I’ve spent ten years fighting in Kirill’s underground. No rules. No mercy. No witnesses. I don’t fight like a soldier. I fight like a man who learned how to survive when there were no referees.
He swings. I slip inside his guard, slam my elbow into his jaw, then my knee into his stomach. He folds. I don’t let him fall, I grab his collar and headbutt him once. Twice. He drops.
Adrenaline hums under my skin. Controlled. Focused.
Glass shatters beside me.
I grab the champagne bottle as it breaks against another man’s head, jagged edge still in my hand. He stumbles, dazed.
I step in close and drag the broken glass across his throat.
Not deep enough to kill. Deep enough to remind.
“Happy New fucking Year,” I tell him coldly as he collapses, clutching his neck.
Lev is pure chaos.
He’s using one man as a shield, holding him by the collar while beating the others with his free hand. Punches land like sledgehammers. Brutal. Unrefined. Effective. One goes down choking. Another drops after a knee to the face.
Lev laughs.
He’s enjoying himself.
One down.
Seven left.
I turn just in time to see one of them reach for a gun near Lev.
Absolutely not.
I close the distance in two strides, punch him hard in the stomach, then grab his wrist and twist.
Hard.
“Fuckkk,” he growls, dropping the weapon.
“No cheating,” I tell him calmly.
I strip the bullets from the magazine and toss the gun deep into the bushes. Fireworks are already fading. I won’t let gunshots replace them.
Lev downs another attacker and looks at me, blood on his knuckles, grin feral. “This is the best night ever.”
“Focus,” I snap, eyes never leaving the man in my grip.
I twist his wrist again.
“Who hired you?” I ask, voice flat.
Silence.
I twist harder. Ligaments scream.
He groans, sweat pouring down his face.
“Who. The. Fuck. Hired you?”
He still doesn’t answer.
I lean closer, lowering my voice so only he can hear me.
“You’ve got about three seconds before I stop asking questions.”
His eyes flick past me, toward the house.
Toward Serena.
Without hesitation, I snap his neck.
There’s a sharp crack, dry, final, and his body goes limp in my hands before collapsing to the pavement like discarded weight.
“Wrong fucking move,” I murmur to the lifeless thing at my feet.
My pulse is loud in my ears now, no longer from adrenaline alone, but from something colder crawling up my spine.
What the fuck is going on?
Are they here for her?
Two down.
I lift my gaze, already counting, already planning. We should still have six left to interrogate. That thought dies the moment I look at Lev.
He’s standing over three bodies.
All dead.
Blood coats his hands, his jaw, his throat. One of the men lies twisted at his feet in a way bodies aren’t meant to bend. Lev exhales slowly, almost satisfied, like he just finished a workout.
I turn to Andres.
Two bodies at his feet as well. The third is still alive—barely. Andres has him pinned, the jagged neck of a champagne bottle pressed against his throat, blood already leaking where glass has kissed skin.
He’s calm. Too calm.
“Wait,” I say.
Andres freezes instantly.
I step closer, crouching in front of the man. His eyes are wild, chest heaving, the smell of piss and blood thick in the air.
“Tell me who hired you,” I say quietly.
Silence.
“Oh,” Andres mutters behind me, glancing around. “Are all of them dead?”
“Besides this one,” I answer.
“Let’s fucking finish the job,” Lev growls as he approaches, bloodied, feral, eager.
The man’s fear spikes. I see it in the way his pupils blow wide.
I drive my fist into his abdomen.
He folds with a strangled groan, retching, saliva and blood spilling from his mouth.
“Tell me who sent you,” I say calmly, my voice almost bored. “And I’ll let you live.”
A lie, obviously. But hope makes men stupid.
His chest heaves as he struggles to breathe. “If they find out I talked,” he croaks, “my family’s dead anyway. Slowly.”
For half a second, barely a fraction, I almost feel pity.
Almost.
“I’ll give you protection,” I say. “Was it Luciano?”
Confusion flashes across his face. Real. Unpracticed.
“Who?” he asks.
My patience snaps.
I lean in close enough for him to smell me. “If you don’t talk,” I whisper, “I will hunt your family myself. One by one. I’ll keep you alive just long enough to watch.”
The good cop is dead. The devil steps forward.
Something changes in his expression.
Relief.
“You can’t be worse than them,” he breathes.
And then, before I can stop it, he lunges. He drags his own throat across the jagged edge of the glass in Andres’ hand. Blood erupts, sudden and violent, splashing across the table as the room freezes around the shock of it.
It pours down his chest as he gurgles, choking, fingers clawing uselessly at the wound. Andres releases him instinctively, too late. The man collapses at my feet, drowning in his own blood until the light leaves his eyes.
Silence.
No answers.
Just bodies.
I straighten slowly, blood splattered on my coat, my hands curling into fists.
What the fuck just happened?