Chapter 28
Lev
War comes with a plan.
I've spent the last twenty-four hours transforming the estate into a fortress designed for one purpose: kill everyone who enters with hostile intent.
I call in every favour that I am owed, and additional men arrive throughout the day.
Thirty-seven total now, all veterans, all loyal, all understanding this is the fight that determines everything.
I position them strategically across the grounds.
Snipers on the roof. Heavy weapons teams covering approach angles.
Entry points reinforced with steel plating and explosive charges.
If Patrick wants to reach Valerie and Mila, he'll have to go through hell first.
Mikhail coordinates the armory distribution. Rifles, shotguns, pistols. Grenades. Body armor. Enough firepower to hold off a small army.
Which is exactly what's coming.
Yaroslav appears with the final perimeter report. "All positions secure. Motion sensors active. Cameras feeding to central command. If a mouse crosses the property line, we'll know."
"Good." I study the tactical map spread across my desk. Red dots marking our defensive positions. Blue lines showing likely attack vectors. "Patrick will come from multiple angles. He's not stupid. He knows we're expecting him."
"So, what's his play?" Mikhail leans over the map. "Overwhelming force? Stealth insertion? Something else?"
"Both." I trace possible routes with one finger. "Coordinated assault to draw our attention, smaller team slipping through to reach the house. He’d want Valerie alive."
"We have men covering every entrance—"
That's what he'll expect, so he'll create new ones—explosives, vehicles ramming gates, whatever it takes. I look up and meet their eyes. "Patrick O'Rourke is coming here to either die or destroy me. There's no middle ground. So, we prepare for maximum violence."
I head to check on Valerie and the kids. I need to see them. Need one more moment before the violence starts.
I find her in our bedroom, packing supplies. She's four months pregnant now, the curve of her stomach visible under the loose shirt. Moving with that careful precision, pregnant women develop.
When she sees me, her face crumples. "Is it time?"
"Soon." I cross to her, pull her into my arms. "You'll be safe in the panic room. Steel walls, independent systems, enough supplies for days. Patrick can't reach you there."
"What about you?" Her hands grip my shirt. "I’ve seen that man kill my father gleefully. What if he kills you too? What if you don't come back?"
"I'll come back." I tilt her face up, look into those eyes that have seen me at my worst and loved me anyway. "I promise, milaya. I will come back to you."
"You can't promise that—"
"I can, and I am." I kiss her desperately. Pour everything into it. Love and fear and determination. "Because I'm not losing you. Not losing this baby. Not losing Mila. I've lost enough. I won't lose more."
She's crying, holding me as if she lets go, I'll disappear.
I pull back enough to kneel. Press my face against her stomach. Against the life growing inside.
"Wait for me," I whisper to our baby. "Your papa is going to end this tonight. Going to make sure you're born into safety."
Valerie's hand strokes through my hair. "We will. We'll be waiting."
I stand, kiss her once more, then force myself to leave before I can't.
Mila is in her room with Elena, clutching her stuffed bear. When she sees me, she runs into my arms.
"Papa, I'm scared."
"I know, cielo." I hold her tight. "But you're going to be safe. You and Valerie. The panic room is the strongest place in the house. Nothing can hurt you there."
"What about you? You're going to fight the bad men?"
"Yes."
"What if they hurt you like they hurt Mama?"
The question destroys me. "They won't. I'm stronger now. Smarter. And I'm fighting for you. For Valerie. For the baby. That makes me harder to kill."
She pulls back, looks at me with those serious gray eyes. "Promise you'll come back?"
I should tell her I can't promise. But I have made up my mind that I must come back to this second chance which the universe has handed to me.
"I promise," I say. "I'm not leaving you, Mila. Not tonight. Not ever."
She hugs me again, fierce and desperate. "I love you, Papa."
"I love you too. More than anything."
Elena escorts them to the panic room. I watch until they disappear down the hallway, then force myself to move.
Night falls like a curtain.
I'm positioned in the main house, central command with full tactical overview. Screens showing camera feeds. Radio connecting me to all positions. Weapons at hand.
Mikhail is beside me. Yaroslav coordinates roof positions. Viktor handles the south perimeter.
We wait.
10 PM. Nothing.
11 PM. Still quiet.
Midnight approaches and tension coils tighter.
Then at 12:17 AM, motion sensors trip at the north gate.
"Contact," Yaroslav's voice through comms. "Multiple vehicles. Looks like six. No seven. Approaching fast."
"All positions, weapons hot." I watch the feeds. "Wait for my command."
The vehicles don't slow. Ram through the gate in coordinated impact. Steel screeching. Alarms blaring.
Men pour out. Twenty. Thirty. Forty.
More vehicles at the east wall. The south entrance. Coordinated assault from three directions simultaneously.
"ENGAGE!" I shout into the radio.
Gunfire erupts. The night explodes into chaos.
Our snipers pick off men advancing across the lawn. Heavy weapons teams lay down suppressing fire. Bodies drop but more keep coming.
Patrick brought an army. Of course he did, after all, I levelled his house, office and operation and killed his second in command.
I move to the window, assess the situation. His forces are professional, coordinated. Using vehicles for cover, advancing in tactical formations. Not random thugs. Trained soldiers.
"Boss, south wall is taking heavy fire!" Viktor's voice crackles. "They've got RPGs!"
An explosion rocks the house. The south wall camera feed cuts to static.
"Viktor, status!"
"Holding but barely! They're pushing hard!"
Another explosion. This one closer. The east wing.
They're trying to breach. Overwhelm our defenses through sheer firepower.
"Mikhail, reinforce the south wall. Yaroslav, I want snipers targeting their heavy weapons. Take out anyone carrying explosives."
Orders flow. Men move. The battle intensifies.
I see him on the north camera feed. Patrick O'Rourke. Leading a breach team toward the main entrance. Body armor. Assault rifle. Moving with military precision.
This is it.
He's coming for me.
"All units, Patrick is moving on the main entrance. I'm engaging directly. Maintain defensive positions."
"Boss, that's a trap—" Mikhail starts.
"I know." I grab weapons. Pistol, rifle, knife. "But he wants me. And I want him. So let's finish this."
I move through the house to the main entrance. The sounds of battle filter through walls. Gunfire. Explosions. Screaming.
My men are dying out there. For me. For my family.
I won't let it be for nothing.
The front door explodes inward. Breaching charge. Smoke billows.
Patrick's team enters. Five men in full tactical gear.
I open fire from the staircase. Drop two immediately. The others scatter, return fire.
Bullets rip through the foyer. I move, using my knowledge of the territory, and take them out one by one.
Four down. Five.
Then Patrick himself steps through the smoke.
We lock eyes across the destroyed foyer.
"Lev." His voice is calm. Cold. "It's been a long time."
"Not long enough." I advance down the stairs. "You should have stayed hidden, Patrick. Should have run while you had the chance."
"Run from you?" He laughs. "You took everything from me. My operation. My men. My legacy. Did you think I'd just accept that?"
"You started this five years ago when you murdered my family."
"Necessary business. Your wife was collateral damage. Your son..." He shrugs. "Wrong place, wrong time."
Rage floods through me. Pure, crystalline rage that makes vision narrow.
I charge.
Patrick meets me halfway. We collide with brutal force.
He's skilled. Trained. Lands a devastating punch to my ribs that cracks bone.
I counter with an elbow to his face. Blood sprays. His nose breaks.
We grapple. Trade blows. Crash through furniture. Both fighting with the desperation of men who know this ends one way.
Patrick gets me in a chokehold. I drive my head back into his face. Again. Again. Until his grip loosens.
Spin. Knife from my belt. Slash.
The blade catches his ribs. Opens a deep cut. He roars, stumbles back.
I press the advantage. Close the distance. Drive my fist into the wound.
He screams. Swings wild. Catches my shoulder.
Pain explodes but I don't stop. Can't stop. This ends tonight.
I tackle him. We go down hard. I get on top. Rain down blows.
Face. Throat. Ribs. Anywhere vulnerable.
Blood sprays. His face is a ruined mess. Nose shattered. Eye swelling shut. Teeth broken.
He bucks beneath me. Throws me off with desperate strength.
We both scramble to our feet. Circling. Both bleeding. Both exhausted.
Patrick pulls a knife. "You should have killed me five years ago."
"I'm correcting that mistake now."
He lunges. I sidestep. Grab his wrist. Twist hard.
Bones crack. The knife clatters away.
I drive my own blade into his side. Between ribs. Deep.
He gasps. Blood bubbles at his lips.
I twist the knife. "This is for Katya. For Dmitri."
Pull it out. Drive it in again. Higher. Puncturing lung.
"For Mila's nightmares."
Again. Lower. Kidney.
"For threatening Valerie and my unborn child."
Patrick collapses to his knees. Choking on blood. Eyes going glassy.
I stand over him. Watch him die.
Then gunfire. Close. Too close.
Patrick's backup team bursting through the side entrance.
Three men. Weapons raised. Trained on me.
I dive for cover. Bullets tear through the space I just occupied.
Patrick is crawling away. Desperate. Leaving a blood trail but still moving.
I return fire. Drop one. Two.
The third gets behind a pillar. Suppressing fire keeping me pinned.
Patrick reaches the doorway. Escapes into the smoke and chaos outside.
I curse. Move to pursue.
The third gunman steps out. Assault rifle pointed at my chest.
Time slows.
I see his finger tighten on the trigger.
See the muzzle flash.
Feel the impact as the bullet catches my shoulder. Spinning me around.
Second shot. This one to my ribs. Cracks bone. Punctures something vital.
I go down hard. Gun clattering away.
The gunman advances. Stands over me. Raises his weapon for the kill shot.
Through the smoke, I see Patrick in the doorway. Watching. Smiling through blood.
This is how it ends.
I failed them. Valerie. Mila. Our baby.
Failed again.
The gunman's finger tightens on the trigger.