18. Tayana
18
TAYANA
T he silence feels like a noose tightening around my neck. It’s too quiet. Too still. My instincts are screaming at me to move, to run, to get out now. But my heart—the stubborn, foolish part of me—keeps me rooted in place. Not yet , it whispers. You’re just imagining things.
The faint buzz of my phone on the desk jolts me, the sound sharp in the oppressive silence. My breath catches as I grab it.
“Rafi,” I whisper, clutching the phone like a lifeline. His voice breathes down the line, offering me solace, but it’s only temporary.
“Tayana, get out of the shelter! Now !” His voice slices through the quiet, raw and panicked.
My chest tightens at Rafi’s panic. Coupled with my gut instinct and the fear coiling in my stomach, I have a sudden overwhelming need to run.
Glass shatters somewhere down the hall. The sound makes my stomach drop, and my grip on the phone falters.
“Someone’s here,” I breathe into the line.
I shove the phone into my pocket and yank open the desk drawer, my fingers trembling as they close around the cold, solid weight of my gun. It feels heavier tonight. Deliberate.
My heart thunders in my chest as I stare at the door, every second stretching into eternity. The shelter—the one place that’s always been my sanctuary—has become a nightmare.
The sound of boots stomping through the hallway echoes like a death knell. Voices bark orders in Russian, sharp and commanding. My mind races.
I can’t hesitate. I move toward the back room where the network equipment is hidden, where everything I’ve built is stored. My work, my plans, my connections—it’s all here. And if they take it, they’ll have everything. But that’s not what I’m concerned about right now. My main concern is getting out of here.
The office door crashes open behind me, splintering like it’s made of paper. My pulse spikes, and I slam my hand down on the panic button embedded in the wall.
The sirens explode, blaring through the shelter. The noise is deafening, shaking the walls, but it doesn’t slow them down. If anything, it makes them move faster.
I grab the bag hanging by the door, slipping my phone inside and tightening my grip on the gun. My breath comes fast and shallow, but my steps are steady. I make my way to the back exit, where the car park waits.
Every sound—the scrape of boots, the shattered glass crunching underfoot, the guttural voices shouting commands—chases me like a predator.
I push open the back door and step into the car park. The night air hits me like a slap, cold and biting against my skin.
“Over here!”
The shout snaps my head around. A man emerges from the shadows, his weapon glinting under the dim security light. My stomach clenches, and I barely have time to react before another figure joins him.
They lunge towards me.
I raise the gun and fire blindly, no time to think. The crack of the shot echoes, and the first man jerks back with a grunt, clutching his shoulder. The second man charges, and I duck just as his hand shoots out for me.
My bag slips from my shoulder as I twist, aiming a kick at his knee. He stumbles, but he’s fast, recovering before I can get another shot off.
He slams into me, and I hit the ground hard, the impact rattling through my bones. My gun skids out of reach, spinning across the pavement.
I lash out, my fist connecting with his jaw. Pain explodes in my knuckles, but I don’t stop. I claw, I kick, I do anything to create distance.
“Get off me!” I snarl, twisting beneath his weight.
The blare of the sirens fades into the background as the fight becomes my world. His grip is iron, pinning my arms, but I slam my head back, catching him in the nose. He curses, his hold loosening for a fraction of a second—just enough for me to slip free.
I scramble toward the gun, my fingers brushing the grip, when headlights flood the car park.
An SUV roars into the lot, the engine snarling like a beast. Relief washes over me, sharp and overwhelming, as Rafi jumps out of the car before it even stops.
“Tayana, get down!” Rafi shouts, his voice cutting through the chaos. I dive to the ground as the SUV screeches to a halt behind him. Doors fly open, and men file out, firing without hesitation at more men spilling out of the back door.
Rafi doesn’t stop as he barrels straight toward one of the men I was struggling against, who’s pushing himself to his feet. The man is on all fours, steadying himself. Rafi is a whirlwind of fury and fists as he grabs the man by the hair, pulling his head back.
“Did you fucking touch her?” he roars, before he hits him with a brutal right hook, his movements precise and deadly. He pushes his gun into the man’s temple and shoots him at point blank range before he turns in my direction, his breath heaving.
“Tayana!” he calls, his eyes scanning for me.
“I’m here!”I shout, grabbing the gun and rising to my feet. I aim at another man advancing on Rafi and fire. The shot grazes his leg, and he stumbles, giving Rafi the opening he needs to kick the man in his face, knocking him to the ground. But the man doesn’t relent; he jumps back up to his feet, ready to tackle Rafi to the ground, which earns him a bullet through the chest by one of Rafi’s friends.
The car park is a battlefield, but within minutes, the only sounds are heavy breathing and the distant wail of approaching sirens.
Rafi’s eyes find mine, wild and blazing with emotion. He’s at my side in seconds, his hands gripping my shoulders.
“Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, still catching my breath. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”
His jaw tightens, and he pulls me into his arms, holding me like he never wants to let go.
Rafi’s grip on me is firm as he leads me toward the SUV. “We have to get out of here, Tayana,” he says, his voice softer now, as if trying to appeal to a part of me that’s still... there. “Two attacks in one night is two attacks too many.”
“What?” I’m confused as I let him hustle me into the back of the car, now filled with men. Two in front, and one in the back. Rafi gives me the window seat and my door is barely closed before the car squeals noisily and flies out of the parking lot at breakneck speed.
I bite back a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “You brought the Russian mafia to my door, and now you’re rescuing me? You have no idea what you’ve unleashed, Rafi. No idea.”
He sits there, silent, and for a moment, I think he’s about to argue, but instead, he squares his shoulders and locks his jaw as he turns to the window, a deafening silence falling between us.
“Who is she?” One of the men sitting in the front of the car pipes up, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “I like her.”
I will myself to yell, to be angry, but instead, I feel... something else. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Or maybe it’s the fact that, despite everything, Rafi’s silence cuts at something deep inside me. Because ultimately, he’s fighting for the same thing I’m fighting for.
Salvation.
I’m trying to save the souls of the damned on earth, much in the same way that he is trying to save his friend Maxine. Who am I to begrudge him his methods? She obviously means a lot to him if he’s willing to go this far to find her.
“You two have made your mess,” the other man in the front passenger seat snaps, his voice hard. “Now you’re going to tell me what’s going on so I can help you clean it up.”
I turn to Rafi, my gaze unwavering, reluctant to share anything about my organization. “I can’t let anyone ruin everything I’ve built.”
The words hang in the air, sharp and demanding. I see the conflict in his eyes, the part of him that wants to walk away, that wants to turn his back on this mess. But there’s something else there, too. A quiet understanding.
“He can help,”he says after a long pause, his voice resolute. His eyes swing to the passenger seat, to the big man with the foreboding presence who seems to command even the air that shifts between us. “He’s the only one that can help.”
I hesitate, caught between the weight of his words and the walls I’ve spent so long building. I’ve kept secrets for a reason. For my own safety. For the safety of the people I help.
But in this moment, I realize something. He’s right. If we’re going to get through this, I can’t keep doing this on my own. Not with Igor in town and so many bizarre and unexpected things happening.
“Phones,” the big man says, holding out his hand. I throw a startled look toward Rafi, who shrugs and brings out his phone. The man sitting next to him follows suit, until the big man looks in my direction, waiting.
“I need my phone.”
“I’ll get you ten more. If they found you at that shelter, it means they’re probably tracking you through your phone. I don’t relish them tracking you where we’re going.”
I hand over my phone stubbornly and watch as the big man dismantles it, then as he proceeds to scatter parts of it out the window as we zigzag across the city.
“I’ll tell you what you need to know,” I say, my voice tight as I look at Rafi. “But don’t think that means I trust any of you. I don’t.” My eyes skim over all the men in the car to make my point.
His lips curve into a small, reluctant smile. “Sweetheart, the way things are going for you right now, we’re the only ones you can trust.”
I nod, then turn my attention to the road as we drive through the city. Rafi’s eyes follow me without a word, but I can feel the tension between us, the fragile truce we’ve forged. There’s no going back from this. No turning back from the path we’re on.
I don’t know who to trust. But right now, I don’t have a choice. And neither does he.
The drive takes us far beyond the city's limits, the urban landscape fading into the sprawling countryside. Rolling fields stretch out under a deepening sky, painted in hues of twilight. The SUV eats up the miles, its tires humming steadily against the asphalt until we turn onto a long, private road flanked by towering trees.
Eventually, we arrive at a gated property, the massive black wrought iron gate looming ahead like the entrance to a fortress. It creaks open slowly, its ornate design casting jagged shadows on the gravel path as the SUV rolls through. Beyond the gate, the air feels heavier, the silence more profound, as though we’ve crossed into a world entirely separate from the one we left behind.
The driveway curves in a wide, elegant arc, bordered by manicured hedges and punctuated by the occasional lantern casting a soft, golden glow. The SUV glides to a stop in front of an enormous ranch-style home, its presence understated yet commanding. The house is almost completely obscured by a dense thicket of bushes, their wild growth carefully curated to create a natural barrier that shields the property from prying eyes.
The driver cuts the engine, leaving us in a silence broken only by the faint chirping of crickets and the distant rustle of leaves. I step out, my shoes crunching against the gravel as I take in the expanse of the property. It's clear this place wasn’t built for show—it was built for privacy, maybe even security.
The air smells of earth and faintly of pine, a far cry from the city’s exhaust and chaos. Here, every detail feels deliberate, from the sturdy pillars supporting the porch to the strategically placed floodlights that keep the edges of the property in shadow. This is a place where people come to disappear—or to plan something no one else is meant to see.
Whoever owns this house isn't just wealthy; they're careful. And careful people always have something to hide.
“Where are we?” I ask, my voice low as we ascend the wide, creaking staircase toward the massive front door ahead. The air feels heavy, not just from the weight of the long drive but from the unspoken tension hanging over all of us.
It’s the big man with the commanding presence who answers, his deep voice rumbling through the stillness. “Somewhere safe.”
Safe. The word carries weight coming from him, as if his definition of safety is measured in steel and blood rather than locks and distance. I’ve come to know his name is Kanyan De Scarzi, a name that carries its own reputation. The man is a wall of muscle and unflinching authority, the new head of the Moreno family after Victor Moreno’s spectacular betrayal left the position open. Kanyan now runs the family alongside Mason Ironside, the one who drove us here with a quiet efficiency that’s almost unsettling.
The compound we’ve arrived at is a fortress masquerading as a home, and while no one has outright said I’m a prisoner here, I feel the invisible chains all the same. My shelter has been compromised in the wake of an attack I didn’t see coming. It’s now become another dead site, and we’ll have to set up shop at another location. But first, I have to lay low for a while, until we learn more about the threat that’s made its way to our doorstep.
The timing is too perfect, too precise to be anyone other my uncle. It just doesn’t make any sense otherwise. The first attack of its kind, striking at the very heart of my efforts, right after Igor made his way into town. Igor never leaves his enclave back in Russia—his empire of shadows built on fear and whispered threats. For him to cross oceans and insert himself here means something significant is in motion. Something big. I don’t know why he’s here, and that’s what gnaws at me as we step through the massive doors and into the compound’s sprawling interior.
Kanyan strides ahead, his steps sure and deliberate, while Mason stays just behind me, his quiet watchfulness a constant reminder that I’m being monitored. I feel a twinge of frustration. This isn’t where I want to be. I need answers, and all this place offers is isolation.
But it’s more than just isolation that’s pressing on me. It’s the weight of my family. My father, whose name I’ve spent years trying to distance myself from, and Igor, whose presence has always been an unsettling specter in my life.
Igor was the shadow in the corner of every room I entered as a child. Where my father’s anger could be explosive and terrifying, Igor’s danger was quieter, subtler. He didn’t shout or break things—he made you feel like you were breaking yourself, crumbling under the weight of his scrutiny.
I still remember the way he used to look at me, his gaze lingering just a second too long, his smile never reaching his eyes. And now Igor is here. In my city.
All I know is that Igor’s presence isn’t just a threat—it’s a declaration. He’s here for a reason, and I won’t rest until I uncover what that reason is.