Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
Nicky
The safe house is exactly where our informant said it would be.
A basement flat in Stratford. Lurking at the bottom of a crumbling, forgotten office block.
Probably once the home of the building’s caretaker.
Whatever the history, it’s the kind of place that would never attract attention.
Which is precisely why the Russians chose it.
We’ve surrounded the building with military precision.
Dante’s team covering the back exit, Carlo’s men on the perimeter, and Dario and I with the main assault team ready to breach the front.
Twenty armed men, all of them trained, all of them motivated by the promise of violence and the knowledge that their boss is watching.
“On my mark,” Dario says into his radio, his voice steady despite the fury I know is churning beneath his controlled exterior.
My hand tightens on my gun. Every second of the past three hours has been torture, knowing Liam was in there, not knowing if he was hurt or scared or thinking I’d abandoned him. The wait nearly killed me, but now it’s time.
Now we move.
“Attacco!”
The door explodes inward with a crash that shakes the building. We pour through in practiced formation, guns raised, voices shouting commands in Italian.
The flat erupts in chaos when we breach it. Russians scrambling for weapons, our people shouting commands, the air suddenly thick with tension and the promise of violence. I scan the space in a fraction of a second, cataloging threats.
And there, on a sagging sofa against the far wall, I see them.
Molly and Liam, both alive, both apparently unharmed. Relief crashes through me so powerfully it nearly buckles my knees. He’s okay. He’s alive. He’s…
One Russian, a huge mountain of a man, moves faster than anyone could ever expect. In one smooth motion, he yanks Molly up from the sofa and places himself behind Molly with a gun pressed to his temple, using him as a human shield.
“Nobody move!” he shouts in heavily accented English. “Or the boy toy dies!”
Dario freezes, his gun still raised but his finger easing off the trigger. Every one of our people stops, the room suddenly still except for the harsh sound of breathing and the blood pounding in my ears.
My muscles are trembling and I feel sick. This is awful, but some sick, twisted part of me is fucking grateful that the asshole grabbed Molly and not Liam. Even though I know the choice was calculated because Dario is far more important than I’ll ever be.
“Put down your weapons,” the Russian continues, pressing the gun harder against Molly’s head. “All of you. Or I swear to God I will paint these walls with his brains.”
Molly is perfectly still, his face pale but his expression calm. Too calm. Like he’s been here before, like he knows exactly how this plays out and he’s not afraid.
But I’m afraid. Terrified that one twitch of that trigger finger will end him, will destroy Dario, will cost us everything we’ve fought for.
Even worse, once Molly is down, all hell is going to break loose. Bullets are going to fly and Liam could very well get hurt.
“Okay,” Dario says, his voice carefully controlled. “Okay. We can talk about this. Nobody needs to die here.”
“Bullshit,” the Russian spits. “You’re going to kill us all anyway. At least this way I take something you care about with me.”
My eyes track the room, looking for an angle, any way to take the shot without risking Molly. But the Russian is too smart, too well-positioned. He’s using Molly’s body as cover, only his head and gun hand visible.
And then I see Liam.
He’s moved off the sofa. He must have fled when the Russian grabbed Molly, and now he’s curled up in the corner behind the Russian, pressed against the wall in a position that looks like complete defeat.
Like he’s made himself as small as possible, trying to disappear.
No threat at all, just a terrified victim waiting for rescue.
Except.
Except his eyes aren’t terrified. They’re focused, calculating, watching the Russian with an intensity that sends a chill down my spine. And his body, while curled up, is coiled. Like a spring waiting to release.
Oh God. He’s going to do something.
Stupid, reckless, selfless Liam is going to do something.
I can’t signal him, can’t warn him off or coordinate with him. Can only watch as he shifts slightly, adjusting his weight in a way that might look like unconscious movement but I recognize as preparation.
He’s going to try to save Molly.
Of course he is, because he is Liam and he always wants to save others.
The Russian is still talking, making demands that we all know are pointless. Dario is responding, keeping him engaged, buying time while our people try to find an angle.
Nobody is paying attention to Liam. Why would they? He’s just a pretty young man, a victim, someone to be rescued rather than someone who could change the outcome. He looks scared. Comes across like a frightened little rabbit.
They’re all about to learn how wrong they are.
Liam moves.
It happens so fast that I almost miss it, a blur of motion as he launches himself from his crouch with an explosive power I didn’t know he possessed. All those hours in the gym, all that work rebuilding his strength, channeled into one perfect moment of action.
He hits the Russian low and hard, wrapping his arms around the man’s legs in a tackle that would make a rugby player proud. The Russian goes down with a startled shout, his gun hand swinging wide as he instinctively tries to maintain his balance.
The shot goes off, deafeningly loud in the confined space, the bullet embedding itself harmlessly in the ceiling.
Molly drops and rolls away the moment the Russian’s grip loosens, and suddenly the human shield is gone and there’s nothing between us and our target.
Dario and I fire simultaneously.
The Russian jerks back as both our bullets find their marks. Center mass, exactly as trained. He’s dead before he hits the ground, his gun clattering uselessly beside him.
The room erupts in violence. The other Russians, seeing their friend go down, either fully surrender immediately or go for their weapons.
Those who choose to fight don’t last long.
Our people are better trained, better armed, and motivated by the kind of fury that makes men careless with their own lives as long as they can take the enemy with them.
It’s over in less than thirty seconds.
Bodies on the floor, the sharp smell of gunpowder hanging in the air, and the sudden, ringing silence that follows violence.
I’m moving before conscious thought catches up, crossing the room to where Liam is still on the floor, breathing hard, his eyes wide with adrenaline and shock.
“Liam.” I drop to my knees beside him, my hands running over him, checking for injuries, needing to confirm that he’s really okay. “Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” he gasps, and then he’s in my arms, clinging to me like I’m the only solid thing in a tilting world. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”
I hold him so tight I’m probably bruising him, but I can’t bring myself to ease up. Can’t quite believe he’s real and safe and here in my arms instead of dead or hurt or lost to me forever.
“That was the bravest, stupidest thing I’ve ever seen,” I say into his hair, somewhere between awe and fury and overwhelming relief.
“He was going to kill Molly.”
“He might have killed you.”
“But he didn’t.” Liam pulls back just enough to look at me, and there’s something fierce and proud in his expression. “I got him, Nicky. I saved Molly.”
“You did.” I cup his face in my hands, needing to touch him, to confirm he’s real. “You absolute madman, you saved him.”
I yank him to me again and hold him tight. “You absolute dufus.”
Liam chuckles wryly and it’s the best sound I have ever heard.
Across the room, Dario is having a similar reunion with Molly, checking him over with frantic hands while Molly tries to reassure him that he’s fine, that nothing happened, that they were both okay the whole time.
“Nicolo.”
I look up to find Dario standing over us, Molly tucked safely against his side. There’s blood on his shirt, not his own, and his expression is a mixture of relief and something I can’t quite identify.
Shakily, I get to my feet, pulling Liam up with me.
“Your boyfriend,” Dario says slowly, “just saved Molly’s life.”
“I know.”
“That tackle. The timing, the execution, that was almost professional level. Where did you learn that?”
“Prison,” Liam says, his voice still shaky but gaining strength. “You learn to fight in prison, even if you don’t want to. You learn to watch for openings, to move fast when you get the chance.” He takes an uneven breath. “But I’m no professional.”
Dario looks at him with newfound respect. “You saw the opening and you took it. Without hesitation, without waiting for backup. That’s not just brave, that’s the kind of instinct that keeps people alive in our world.”
“I couldn’t let him hurt Molly,” Liam says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Molly breaks away from Dario to throw his arms around Liam. “You saved my life, you legend! I’m never going to hear the end of this from Dario, he’s going to want to wrap me in bubble wrap for the rest of my life, but you saved me.”
“We’re friends,” Liam says, returning the hug. “That’s what friends do.”
The simplicity of it, the absolute certainty in his voice, makes something tight and painful in my chest finally loosen.
This is what I wanted for him, not just safety or healing, but finding his way back to who he is.
Liam always did care about others far more than himself.
He was always a protector. Fearless and stupidly brave.
He’s not the man who first came home from prison anymore. He’s someone who can face danger and act instead of freezing, who can save lives instead of just surviving his own.
“We need to move,” Dante says. “Police will be here soon, and we need to be gone before they arrive.”
We extract ourselves from the building with the same efficiency we used to enter it, leaving behind only bodies and evidence that will lead nowhere. By the time the authorities arrive, we’ll be ghosts, and the official report will say it was a gang dispute that ended badly for everyone involved.
In the car on the way back, Liam is pressed against my side, still shaking slightly from the adrenaline. I keep one arm wrapped around him, grounding him, letting him know he’s safe now.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” I say quietly, just for him.
“I thought you might not find us in time.” His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing. “But I should have known better. You always find me.”
“Always,” I promise. “No matter what, no matter where. I will always find you.”
He rests his head on my shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up with him. “Can we go home?”
“Yeah. We’re going home.”
And as the driver takes us through London in the early evening light, heading back to the safety of our apartment, I think about how close we came to losing everything.
But we didn’t. Because Liam was brave enough to act, strong enough to save not just himself but Molly too.
There is something so very Liam about his actions that it is making my soul sing with glee. This feels like the best kind of victory. By taking action, Liam managed to defeat demons both old and new.
It doesn’t mean he is magically cured. It doesn’t mean there aren’t going to be any more bad days. It means he is going to keep on fighting. He’ll win some, he’ll lose some.
And I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my entire life.