Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Aric
Pain blooms in my shoulder like a half-hearted fire. Annoying more than alarming. But Eero is panicking like he’s watching my last breath leave my body.
“For fuck’s sake, it’s nothing,” I mutter as he shoves me into the back seat of the SUV, his voice shaking with a concern I don’t have time for. “Just get me to Kirill.”
Kirill. Our private surgeon. Former ER prodigy turned underworld myth—the kind of man who stitches ghosts back together. One of the few people I actually trust.
Eero drives like the devil is on our tail. Maybe he thinks he is.
I check in with Tassilo. His men are already on the perimeter. Hunting. The shooter will be found—it’s not a question of if—and when he is, death will be the kindest thing I offer him.
We reach the safehouse. The one only my inner circle knows exists. No insignia. No windows. Our meeting point of sorts. The place where The Gods’ northern branch conducts business too dirty to attach a name to.
If Scandinavia has a hellmouth, this is it.
Kirill doesn’t waste time. Scalpel. Forceps. He’s in his element.
“You’re lucky,” he mutters, the bullet already clinking against the metal tray. “A centimeter deeper and you might never have lifted that arm again.”
“I’m aware.” I give him nothing but an impassive look. “Hurry up.”
He’s mid-stitch when my phone buzzes. A secure line. One of my perimeter men.
“Speak.”
“We have an intruder,” he reports. “Same man who infiltrated the wedding, sir. He’s hiding near the east garden. Looks like he’s waiting for someone.”
Waiting for someone.
Translation: waiting for her.
My jaw tightens, but nothing cracks through the surface. Nothing visible.
“Neutralize?” he asks.
“No.” I keep my tone neutral, my mind already several steps ahead. “Stand down. Let him believe he slipped past you. He’ll stay in place if he thinks he’s winning. Wait for my orders. I’ll be there soon.”
I hang up.
Kirill pauses, fixing me with a glare. “Aric, you should rest. The blood loss—”
“There’s no time.”
Ayanna is out there. And so is a man who thinks he’s entitled to her.
I move to stand, and Eero shoots me the look. The look. The one that says I’ve lost my mind.
“Don’t even start,” I warn.
He lifts his hands. “Didn’t say a word.”
Good. Words would’ve been wasted breath.
Moments later, we speed back toward the mansion, snow blurring past the windows. I pull up the surveillance feed. The cameras zero in on the garden.
Ayanna steps into the frame.
Then him.
Her delusional ex. The unwelcome reminder that my wife had a life before me—one she never chose to leave.
I watch them speak. Her fear. His delusion. The way he looks at her like she’s still his to claim.
“I’ve seen enough.” I drop the tablet and call the perimeter team. “Surround the area. Wait for my signal.”
The cold bites through the layers, tugging at the stitches beneath as I step into the garden.
Ayanna’s eyes snap to me first, widening with something that looks dangerously close to panic. Her ex is still unaware I’m standing right behind him.
“Tell me, Ayanna,” he asks. “Did I shoot him?”
“You did not.”
His head whips toward me. In the same instant, fear flashes across Ayanna’s face—and something in my chest pulls tight. It’s irritating and unwelcome, but I shove it down.
Luca closes his eyes for a moment as though reciting his last prayer before the executioner swings. When he opens them, his gaze locks onto mine. Defiant and still delusional.
I step closer, my steps slow and controlled as always. “The incident at the wedding…” My voice is low. Even. Almost bored. “I chose to overlook.”
Luca visibly stiffens.
“But now you come to my territory.” I cock my head slightly. “Into my home.” His throat bobs. “Trying to steal what’s mine.”
The bastard’s jaw tightens, but the fear beneath his composure betrays him.
“I show mercy once,” I say. “And you drained it dry.”
I don’t raise my hand. I don’t even look away from him.
“Bring him.”
In seconds, Luca is seized, his wrists pinned, his breath knocked out of him as my men force him to his knees. His eyes flick upward, searching for escape. For help. Maybe even for Ayanna.
He finds none.
Only me.
Ayanna moves before anyone can stop her—but the surprising part? Not toward Luca.
Toward me.
She nearly collides with my chest, her hands hovering as if she wants to touch but doesn’t know where. Doesn’t know if she’s allowed. Her eyes sweep over me, wide and frantic, searching for blood.
For a second—one goddamn second—something inside me twists. The kind of twist I’ve only known at gunpoint.
She isn’t begging for his life.
She’s checking if I’m still breathing.
“How’s your wound?” she asks, breathless, her voice trembling like the possibility of losing me carved a crack straight through her.
“It’s nothing.” The stitched skin throbs under my shirt. “I’ve had worse.”
But she doesn’t believe me. I can see it. Her eyes cut right through the armor I spent my whole life welding shut.
For a heartbeat, I hate that look. I hate it for making me feel…something.
“We’ll talk later.” My tone is colder than it should be. I can hear it. I can’t stop it. Burying whatever the hell that moment was. “I have to deal with our guest.”
Ayanna swallows, lifting her chin as if that alone can steady her, but it doesn’t. She’s shaking, trying to hide it and failing.
“What…” She hesitates. “What will you do to Luca?”
There it is.
Fear. For this bastard who put her in danger. She’s trying to bury it. Trying not to show me she’s terrified I’m about to kill the boy who stole her heart first.
“He put you in the crosshairs.” My fists clench, and my chest caves at the thought that I nearly lost her tonight.
The wife I never wanted, but mine nonetheless.
“A man who gambles with my wife’s life signs his own sentence.”