Chapter 29
AbrAM
"Tell me.”
Jenna looks like she’s bracing for something seismic. Her fingers twitch slightly on the tablecloth, the smile she wore a moment ago gone.
I can see it in her eyes. Whatever she’s about to say is no small thing. It’s not a whim or a flirty aside. It’s serious. Life-altering.
She opens her mouth then closes it. A flicker of nerves crosses her face as she looks down at her untouched wineglass.
My focus narrows. The restaurant disappears. The scent of the food, the din of the other diners, the gentle clink of cutlery… it’s all gone. There’s only her.
"Jenna, you can tell me anything, really.” I reach across the table and take her hand, curling mine around it.
She looks up at me, those big eyes filled with what appears to be fear, but a different type. Not survival fear. Not the kind I grew up knowing. It’s much different, more like the kind of fear you feel when everything you care about hangs in the balance.
I draw a breath, steadying myself. I have something to say, too. I’ve been circling it for days, maybe longer. It's not a decision, it’s a truth.
I’m in love with her.
And I’m going to tell her.
But not now. Not yet. Whatever she needs to say comes first.
She squeezes my hand and draws a deep breath. “I’m—”
A crash interrupts her, loud and sudden.
A chair scrapes hard against the floor. A scream, high-pitched and panicked.
The front of the restaurant erupts in chaos, movement and shouting colliding in an instant.
Diners are standing, some ducking. Others are grabbing their phones. Someone yells, “Get down!”
The air shifts. The mood fractures.
I turn sharply, every sense on high alert. The ma?tre d’ is standing near the entrance, gesturing wildly at someone just out of view. The tension in the room isn’t random. It’s focused. Directed toward me.
I feel it, like the shift in pressure before a storm.
I slowly push my chair back and stand. Jenna remains seated, frozen in confusion. Our hands are still clasped.
I look down at her, voice low but firm. “We need to go. Now.”
She blinks up at me, her expression shifting from confusion to alarm. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know yet. But I know it’s not safe.”
That’s all she needs to hear. She stands up quickly, grabs her bag, and slides instinctively into my shadow. She trusts me. And right now, that terrifies me. Because I have a sinking feeling that all this chaos, this threat, followed me here.
No matter where I find myself, I always know where the exits are. Part of the lifestyle. Every restaurant, every club, every venue, I clock the layout within minutes of walking in. And tonight, that observation just might save our lives.
I slide the Glock from under my jacket with my free hand and keep it low, angled against my thigh, half-shielded by the drape of my coat. I spot two men near the entrance. Black tactical gear, semi-autos in hand. They’re yelling but not firing. Not hurting anyone.
Not yet.
They’re not here for the patrons.
They’re here for me.
“Where the fuck is he?” one of them shouts.
I curse under my breath.
Two tables away, a family sits frozen in fear. Young couple, maybe mid-thirties, a little girl hugging her mother’s arm like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Jenna sees them too. Her body tenses beside me.
I meet the father’s eyes. “Come with us.”
He hesitates, eyes wide. I don’t repeat myself. I just give him a firm nod. He gets the message. We move quickly, quietly. Others begin to join us. The more people around, the better. A crowd makes us harder to isolate. Easier to disappear.
We reach the kitchen door just as it swings open. More armed men, shouting at the staff. “Get out! Now! Go!”
They’re clearing the kitchen, not executing it, which tells me what I need to know.
This isn’t a hit. Not yet at least.
Still, I don’t like the way they’re spread out, front and back, herding. Someone planned this with military efficiency.
I gesture to the small group of civilians toward the rear exit. “Go. Move.”
They quickly get out along with the kitchen staff. They’re safe.
The actions of these men tell me they’re under orders to avoid casualties. They’re here to frighten, to apply pressure for leverage. They’re not here for blood.
I reach for her hand again and press my mouth close to her ear. “Come with me.”
I take Jenna’s hand and guide her quickly from the kitchen back into the main dining room.
The elegance we entered mere moments ago is shattered now—fine linens scattered, crystal stemware toppled, frightened patrons scrambling toward the doors in desperation.
Five men are methodically clearing the place, weapons drawn, eyes cold and professional.
Agosti men.
My jaw tightens as I watch one of them roughly shove an elderly man toward the exit.
Nico, you reckless prick.
Instinct takes over, a sharp urgency twisting in my gut. I tighten my grip on Jenna’s hand and pull her close, speaking low and direct. "You need to hide. Now."
Her eyes widen, confusion flashing behind their emerald depths. "What? Abram, no—"
I shake my head once, cutting her off before her protest can take shape. "Don’t argue. Not this time."
I quickly lead her toward the side hall, eyes scanning for the safest place to tuck her away. My gaze lands on the restroom signs, and I move decisively, pulling her to the men’s room.
"Wait," Jenna whispers, digging her heels in slightly, confusion furrowing her brow. "Why the men’s?"
"They might not think to check there," I explain. She hesitates again, but I press a palm gently to her cheek. "Get into a stall and crouch on the toilet. Stay absolutely silent no matter what you hear, understand?"
Her eyes flicker, understanding sinking in alongside fear. My gut twists. I never wanted her to see this part of my world. The darkness. The violence. She opens her mouth to protest again, but before a sound can escape—
"AbrAM VASILIEV!"
The roar splits the tense silence, and Jenna freezes at my side, her eyes darting over my shoulder. I turn slowly, already aware of who’s calling my name, dread coiling inside me like a serpent.
Nico saunters in, gun held loosely, arrogantly at his side.
His dark eyes glitter with malice beneath perfectly groomed dark hair, his expensive suit precisely tailored, flashy.
The heir apparent of the Agosti empire, acting like he’s already the don when he’s little more than a spoiled boy playing dress-up.
He sees Jenna immediately, and a slow, predatory grin spreads across his smug face.
His gaze drips over Jenna’s curves, pausing in a way that makes my blood seethe with barely restrained violence.
"Is this the flavor of the month?" Nico drawls. He flicks his eyes up and down her body in sleazy way. "Can’t say I blame you."
Rage boils beneath my skin, every muscle tensing. I fight the urge to snap his neck, maintaining control. I smirk instead, letting sarcasm sharpen my tone. “I don’t think daddy would be very happy with baby boy’s decision here."
The taunt lands exactly as intended. Nico’s confidence falters, the carefully constructed bravado giving way to anger. The spoiled, insecure little boy lurking beneath the surface emerges for an instant, his eyes narrowing in childish fury. He lifts the gun abruptly, aiming it straight at Jenna.
In one fluid movement, I step directly in front of her, shielding her completely from Nico’s line of sight. She stiffens behind me, her breaths coming quicker in fear and anxiety. I despise myself for bringing her here, for allowing my world to spill into hers.
It’s too late. Nico sees everything, the smug satisfaction in his expression intensifying into a twisted smile of triumph.
He’s figured it out. He knows she matters to me, that she’s not just any woman. I can practically hear the calculations churning behind those cruel eyes.
The room is quiet now, eerily so, emptied of patrons and staff. Nico’s men watch us carefully, awaiting their orders, but Nico seems content to savor his advantage, to drink in my discomfort.
He finally lowers the gun, still smiling coldly. "Well this is an interesting discovery," he quips, taking a leisurely step toward us. "I never imagined you as the one-woman type, Abram."
I glare at him evenly, fist clenched at my side, the other hand gripping my Glock. "Careful, Nico. This is a dangerous game you’re playing."
He chuckles dryly, raising a brow. "Dangerous? For me or for her?"
His tone sends ice rushing through my veins, but I hold steady, refusing to show weakness. "If anything happens to her," I say, “I promise you, it will be the end of you and your entire family.”
He stares at me, weighing the threat, trying to gauge how far he can push. Nico might be reckless, but he’s not entirely stupid. He knows I mean every word.
He shrugs dismissively, holstering his pistol with deliberate ease. "Relax, Abram. No need for theatrics." His eyes flicker toward Jenna once more, then back to me.
He leans in. “Now. Let’s talk.”