Chapter 9 Maksim
Maksim
Unknown Safe House—Two Nights Later
She learned fast.
That was the problem.
I’d disagreed with the training, worried about her being pregnant. One of Viktor’s men—now my men—had boldly spoken up. “If she’s going to be one of us, she needs to be prepared.”
Reluctantly, I’d given in.
In the place Archer had arranged for us to stay, I stood in the observation room behind the one-way glass. Arms crossed, jaw tight, watching Sofia move through Archer’s drills, I had mixed emotions. She was no longer clumsy or hesitant. Instead, what I saw was determination. Focused. Deliberate.
Archer corrected her stance once. She adjusted without argument. He showed her how to break a grip using leverage instead of strength. She practiced until her breathing evened out, until fear no longer slowed her movements.
She was adapting.
Sofia twisted, ducked, and drove her elbow back exactly where he’d shown her. Archer grunted softly, yet on his face was—approval. She didn’t smile. She reset.
Pregnant. Bruised. Unyielding.
Pride rose in my chest—hot, immediate—and right behind it came something colder. Fear.
Because the moment a woman stops being afraid, she stops being a victim. And the moment she stops being a victim, she becomes a target of a different kind.
They paused and Archer entered the room, stopping next to me.
“She shouldn’t have to do this,” I muttered as I watched her grab a towel to wipe the sweat from her face and neck.
Archer didn’t look away from her. “No, but this is where we find ourselves.”
I pressed my thumb into my palm, grounding myself. I wanted to pull her out of that room, wrap her in my arms, tell her she never had to harden like this. That I would turn back the clock, or I would burn the world and everything in it so she wouldn’t have to learn how to survive like this.
But that world had already come for her.
And it appeared she’d answered.
“She’s strong,” Archer said quietly as she went back to our room to clean up.
“I know,” I replied, glancing in his direction. “That’s what terrifies me.”
* * *
The alarm tripped less than five minutes later.
Not the building-wide siren—worse. The silent alert. The kind that meant perimeter breach. Fuck, how did they keep finding us?
“Get her to the panic room!” But I needn’t have said a word; Archer was already moving. Weapon drawn, I was out the door before the warning finished registering in my bones. We split up. The two men I’d posted outside the small gym earlier divided and followed us.
Gunfire cracked through the night. One shot. Then another.
Too sloppy for Armenians. Too rushed.
I didn’t wait for the man who had joined me.
Knowing he would catch up, I took the metal stairs two at a time, hit the ground floor, and saw the chaos unfolding in the courtyard—two masked men down, one alive and screaming, bleeding out where one of my men had pinned him to the ground with a machete.
Sofia was nowhere in sight. Good. Archer had followed protocol.
I crossed the distance in seconds, gun trained on the man’s head. “Who sent you?”
He laughed, bloody, raspy, and hysterical. “You already know.”
I pressed the barrel harder to the center of his forehead. “Say it.”
He spat blood as he snarled at me. “Boris Volkov.”
There it was.
Clear. Clean. Undeniable.
Slowly, I stood, the rage inside me going still and silent in a way that only happened when something snapped. When clarity reigned. I was done. I was going after Boris.
“Get him secured,” I ordered one of the Russian men. “Alive.”
A shadow moved at the edge of the courtyard.
“Don’t shoot,” a voice called out. Calm. Familiar. One I hadn’t heard in some time.
Arman stepped into the light. He was one of the top Armenian hitmen. A shadow himself.
Archer swung his weapon toward him instantly, but I lifted a hand. “Stand down.”
Sofia watched from the upper window, eyes sharp, unflinching. Dammit, I didn’t want her to be a part of any of this. She was supposed to be in the panic room—safe. Archer and I were going to speak about this. Later.
Arman raised his hands—not in surrender. A gesture of intent.
“I told you I’d come when it mattered,” he said.
“You should’ve come sooner,” I replied. “You could have stopped your men before they got… dead.”
He nodded once. “I know. But these are not my men. Nor are they Tavit’s. Before you ask, I’m also insulted that you thought I would work with the likes of that.”
I frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand then.”
“Perhaps we should speak somewhere… a little more private,” Arman murmured.
* * *
We spoke alone in the war room.
“I didn’t take the second shot on Boris,” Arman said. “I wouldn’t have missed and Boris would be dead if it had been me. I warned the Armenians. We warned Boris, but he didn’t listen. He never does when he thinks he’s clever.”
“He sent men to kill her,” I spat flatly.
“Yes.” Arman’s jaw tightened. “He wanted it clean. Public. A car. Something that screamed Armenian chaos. When that failed, he panicked. That wasn’t me either. A car isn’t my style.”
“Yeah, well, he underestimated her,” I replied, though it was thanks to Archer that the car attack had been unsuccessful.
“And you,” Arman added. “He thought losing her would make you obedient again.”
A slow, dangerous smile touched my mouth. “He’s about to learn what his insane desire for my obedience costs.”
Arman leaned forward. “He’s preparing to disappear. New passports. New accounts. He believes you’ll be too busy retaliating against the Armenians to notice that he’s been up to something.”
“I noticed,” I ground out. “Why do you think I brought back reinforcements from Russia? It wasn’t for him and the Bratva like he assumed.”
Arman met my gaze. “Then I’m with you.”
I studied him—the watcher who’d suddenly become a warning. The man who’d seen the truth and chosen a side. Could I trust him?
“Help me finish this,” I offered, “and you walk away clean.”
He exhaled with a chuckle. “I don’t need clean. I need it done right.”
* * *
When I went upstairs, Sofia wasn’t in our room. Following my guts, I returned to the training room.
Sure enough, Sofia stood there, breathing hard, sweat-dark hair pulled back, eyes lifting the moment she saw me. She didn’t apologize. She didn’t ask if she should stop.
She waited.
I crossed the space and cupped her cheeks, my thumb brushing her cheekbone. “You were supposed to be in the panic room.”
Her voice was steady. “I didn’t need to be. I wasn’t panicking. Who was it?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at her comeback.
“Boris.”
Her eyes went wide in shock. “And the Armenians? I thought they were behind everything after the incident at Halloween.”
“Innocent,” I said. “But that’s what he wanted me to think. This was always Boris.”
She nodded, absorbing it. No tears. No fear.
Only resolve.
“I told you I wouldn’t be afraid anymore,” she stubbornly insisted as she crossed her arms.
With a half-smile, I rested my forehead against hers, pride and terror twisting together in my chest. “I know. But I will end this before it costs you more.”
She uncrossed her arms and looped them around my waist. I dropped a hand and placed it protectively over her lower abdomen. Hers settled over mine. Over our child.
“Don’t,” she warned softly. “I’m not weak. End it with me. Not around me.”
She was stronger, but this was not a life she fully understood. I closed my eyes once.
“Sofia…” I whispered, shaking my head slightly. “What am I going to do with you?”
Though she was no longer something to shield, killing someone would change her in ways she couldn’t fathom. She wasn’t brought up in my world of violence.
Yet, she was definitely a casualty in this war. She’d been dragged into it unexpectedly after doing a favor for a friend at Halloween. Now she was mine and I would do everything in my power to keep her safe.
And Boris Volkov had just made the last mistake of his life.