Chapter Twenty-Three - Suzy
The morning is quiet, softer than any I’ve known—a sharp blue sky, the smell of woodsmoke, a dog snoring at the door.
For a handful of heartbeats, I believe in peace.
Leon is in the kitchen making coffee, sunlight catching in his hair, and I linger on the porch, wrapped in his jacket, watching horses graze dew-damp grass. I think of last night’s tension, of everything unsaid, and almost dare to believe that we’re safe here, far from old loyalties and old ghosts.
Then the world erupts. The crack of gunfire shreds the air, sharp and final. The birds explode from the trees in a black cloud.
I freeze for half a second—then Leon is beside me, shoving me off the porch, pulling me down behind the low stone wall at the edge of the paddock. His grip is bruising, his eyes wild with calculation and fear.
“Stay down,” he snaps, already scanning the woods.
I know the sound of this violence, the rhythm of organized men moving as one, tactical and methodical.
I see the flashes in the undergrowth, the muzzle glints, the way they fan out, covering every approach. Whoever sent them knew exactly how to hit, and when. My stomach twists. This isn’t some random hit—it’s an execution.
Leon draws his pistol, checks the clip, cursing under his breath. I press flat against the stones, head buzzing, heart thundering, mind racing back through memories I wish I’d forgotten.
All those years with my father’s guards—lessons drilled into me until muscle memory replaced panic. He’d called it “preparing me for the world.”
I’d called it survival.
A shape darts through the brush, one of the attackers sweeping wide.
Leon raises his weapon, but he’s not fast enough—another gunman comes from the blind side, too close, too quiet.
I act before I can think, darting out, grabbing the man’s wrist and wrenching down. His weapon clatters to the ground.
I slam my knee into his gut, pivot, and drive an elbow into his jaw. He goes down hard, the thud lost in the chaos.
Leon stares at me, a flicker of shock crossing his face. For a moment, I see the questions in his eyes—how, when, why—but there’s no time for answers.
“Left flank!” I call, scanning the woods, spotting another shadow creeping along the fence line.
Leon moves without hesitation, trusting my eyes, my instinct. He signals—two fingers, silent command—and we slip through the trees, using the uneven ground and thickets for cover.
The world narrows to adrenaline and breath. The attackers are everywhere, masked and merciless. I notice things Leon misses: a flash of movement behind a fallen log, a glint of glass on a rifle scope, the telltale pattern of boots circling wide.
Leon catches on quickly, following my signals without question. For a few desperate minutes, we are more than partners; we are a team, all old arguments burned away in the heat of survival.
We weave through the woods, doubling back, laying traps, moving in sync.
Leon fires quick, precise shots, dropping one, then another.
I lead him behind a cluster of boulders, pointing out a hidden path only visible from our angle.
He nods, understanding without words, and we move: fast, efficient, silent.
A grenade lands too close, spraying earth and wood. I throw myself behind Leon, rolling as shrapnel hisses past. My heart pounds, but my hands are steady. I pick up a fallen rifle, checking the chamber.
Leon glances at me, a strange mix of pride and fear in his eyes. There’s no time for questions now.
We fall back toward the stream, using the bank as a barrier. The enemy presses in, relentless.
Leon curses under his breath. “They’re too organized. Not local muscle.”
“No,” I say, ducking a shot. “This is personal.”
He looks at me—really looks—and I see him putting the pieces together. The precision, the numbers, the perfect timing. There’s only one man left with the resources and the grudge to mount an assault like this.
“Vadim,” Leon breathes, voice low and raw. “He’s alive.”
The realization lands like a blow. Everything clicks into place—the reason we were targeted here, away from the city, at our most exposed.
Vadim knows Leon’s weaknesses. He knows about me.
My chest tightens. I force myself to stay sharp. “We can’t hold here. They’ll flank again.”
Leon nods. “Follow me.”
We move, low and fast, toward the far side of the woods, dodging bullets, breathing the wild, sharp air. Every instinct screams for me to run, but I stay at Leon’s back, covering him, reading the terrain the way I was taught.
Together, we carve a path through the onslaught, two people who have learned to survive by any means necessary.
We don’t stop. We can’t. There’s no time for fear or grief, no room for the past—only the desperate, unspoken promise to get each other out alive.
I see the way Leon looks at me now, not just with shock or gratitude, but with a new kind of trust. For the first time, he knows what I am capable of… and what I’m willing to risk for him.
We disappear into the forest, gunfire echoing behind us, hearts pounding in time. The cabin, the peace, the fragile safety—it’s all gone now.
All that remains is the hunt, the memory of betrayal, and the shadow of a man who refuses to stay dead.
Somewhere behind us, Vadim is closing in. This time, there’s nowhere left to hide.
Gunfire cracks through the woods, closer now—too close. We move in a blur, darting from cover to cover, the world reduced to the frantic rhythm of running and the staccato echo of shots chasing us through the trees.
I keep my body low, every nerve lit, the old lessons snapping into place. The first rule my father ever taught me: survive. The second: don’t trust anyone to save you.
Now, with Leon pressed at my side, that rule is starting to slip.
A bullet tears bark from a tree inches from Leon’s head.
I don’t think, I just act—grab his arm, yank him hard, and we crash to the ground, breath tangled, leaves and cold earth pressed against our skin.
He stares at me for a second, eyes wide, and I realize he hadn’t seen it coming.
His face twists with something like surprise, but there’s no time for explanations.
“Go!” I hiss, already crawling toward a fallen log I spotted earlier, the kind that could break a shot or hide us for a heartbeat.
He follows without hesitation. There’s trust in it, silent and sharp, and it makes my chest ache in a new, dangerous way.
The forest is thick here, roots and undergrowth slowing the men behind us. I glance back—three, maybe four, shadows fanning out, voices low, coordinated. Leon signals—fingers flicking, silent orders. I nod, leading us sideways through a narrow deer trail, barely visible beneath the ferns.
For a while, all that exists is movement. Leon covers me as I dart across open ground, his shots controlled and deliberate, each one buying us precious seconds.
I pull him along winding paths, through hollows and over moss-slick logs, drawing on old instincts and the cloudy memories of childhood games in these kinds of woods. We weave a desperate pattern, never straight, never obvious.
We double back, then double back again, turning the terrain into our ally. The attackers hesitate, shouts echoing, uncertain.
I feel Leon close behind me, always a step to my left, always watching my back. There’s no room for argument, for pride, for anything but survival.
A sudden volley of bullets splits the air. Leon curses, grabbing my hand and hauling me down behind a boulder. He shields me with his body, one arm braced against the stone, the other steady on his pistol.
The cold press of his chest against my back is a comfort and a warning—how close we are to losing everything.
I hear footsteps crashing through the brush, boots skidding on loose earth.
Leon squeezes my hand, murmurs, “On three.” I count with him, pulse thunderous, and when he moves, I move, springing from cover as he lays down fire.
We sprint, lungs burning, every breath scraping raw. I lead him up a narrow ridge, half hidden by brambles.
A branch snaps behind us. It’s too close. I turn, catch a glimpse of a masked man, rifle raised. Instinct takes over. I sweep Leon out of the way, kicking his legs from under him just as a bullet slices the air where his head had been.
He lands hard, and for a second, his eyes flash with shock, and then gratitude.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” he pants.
“No time for secrets now,” I whisper, pulling him after me.
We scramble higher, slipping in mud, thorns snagging at our clothes. There’s a clearing ahead, bright with harsh morning sun—dangerous, exposed.
We huddle at the edge, listening to the chaos behind us. Leon leans in, mouth close to my ear.
“They’ll expect us to go for the horses. We head for the car. I parked it south, near the old gate.”
I nod, sweat stinging my eyes. “I know a shortcut. Trust me.”
His answer is a grim, wordless smile.
We break from cover, running low, zigzagging through the open. Gunshots follow, cracking past us, but Leon’s aim is true.
He fires over his shoulder, dropping one of the men in pursuit, then another. I scan ahead, searching for the overgrown path I noticed the day before. There—between two fallen birches, almost hidden. I grab Leon’s sleeve and pull him into the brush.
We plunge into darkness, branches whipping our faces, mud sucking at our boots. The path is barely there, just a ribbon of old leaves and faint impressions, but it leads away from the sound of pursuit.
I move quickly, praying it hasn’t grown over completely. Leon keeps close, silent now, trusting me to guide us.
For a moment, the world narrows to our breath and the pounding of my heart. I wonder if he’s afraid. I wonder if he’s angry.
When I glance back, I see only focus, only the fierce determination that made me both hate and admire him from the start.
Suddenly, the path opens onto the gravel road where Leon’s old Land Rover is parked. We crash out of the woods, both of us covered in mud and blood, hair tangled, adrenaline buzzing.
For a second, we just stand there, panting, stunned by the sheer luck of making it out alive.
Leon pulls me to the passenger side, scanning the tree line for movement. The gunfire has faded behind us, but we both know it’s not over. He grabs my face, rough but gentle, searching my eyes as if he needs proof that I’m still here.
“You saved my life,” he says, voice raw.
“You saved mine,” I answer, barely above a whisper.
It’s not forgiveness, but it’s something like understanding.
He starts the engine, tires spinning on gravel. The car lurches onto the main track, windows down, cold air flooding the cabin.
We don’t speak for a long time. I watch the trees whip past, hands still shaking, mind replaying every close call, every moment Leon shielded me or followed my lead without hesitation.
The world feels different now. Whatever distance was left between us has burned away in the violence of the morning. There’s a bond in the way we fought—wordless, instinctive, forged in desperation and fire.
My thoughts circle, refusing to settle. The attack wasn’t random, and Vadim strikes me as a man who’ll tear down the world to get what he wants.
Softly, I murmur, “why won’t he just leave us alone?”
Leon’s hands tighten on the wheel. “Men like him don’t give up.”
I nod, the truth landing with sick certainty. “He’s alive, and he wants you dead.”
Leon’s mouth twists into a grim line. “He’ll try, but he’ll have to get through both of us now.”
I look at him, really look—the blood at his temple, the split at his knuckles, the unflinching steadiness in his gaze.
I see not just the Bratva prince, not just the man who’s haunted my nights, but the partner I never expected to find.
Someone who, in the chaos, has learned to trust me as fiercely as I trust him.
He glances over, eyes softer than I expect. “You didn’t have to fight.”
“Yes, I did,” I say. “I won’t be anyone’s pawn. Not yours, and certainly not his.”
His jaw flexes, emotion flickering across his face. “You’re not a pawn, Suzy. Not anymore.”
We drive in silence for a while, the threat of pursuit fading with each mile. I close my eyes, letting the rush of survival finally catch up to me.
When I open them again, Leon is watching the road, but his hand drifts across the console, fingers brushing mine—hesitant, then sure. I let him take my hand, squeezing tight. No more secrets, I think. No more running.