Chapter 13
Liev
The music blaring in the club pulses below us, making this room—this small space, too close with her in it. Her scent fills the air, and her dark eyes pierce into mine.
A vehicle without plates forced her off the road. Someone tried to kill her.
I had assumed as much when we found her car hours after my call with Kazimir, but hearing her confirm it fills me with rage. It spreads through my chest like fire catching dry wood.
“Start again,” I say quietly.
Ryder lifts her chin, stubbornness flashing across her face as if she expects me to laugh it off or accuse her of paranoia. The instinct is familiar; she has spent her entire life learning to survive without relying on anyone.
“Why?” she asks. “So you can tell me I imagined it?”
This time I reach out and take her hand, no longer afraid of what her reaction might be. She half-pulls away, hesitating, before letting my hand wrap around hers. I lead her to the cot, draw her down next to me, and try to resist the urge to pull her into my lap.
“You said someone tried to kill you.”
“Yes.”
“Start again. I need to know everything you noticed, every detail. Then we can start looking for answers.”
The calm in my voice unsettles her more than anger would. I can see the moment she realizes I am not questioning whether the attack happened.
“You’re taking this very seriously,” she says cautiously.
A humorless laugh slips out of me.
“Someone attempted to murder my wife. I didn’t marry you just to let you die in a ditch, Ryder.”
I already looked at what was left of her car: a fractured axle, shattered glass, and the back end crumpled. Whoever came after her intended to kill her; that is clear. It takes everything in me not to run my hands over her body, check for injuries, pull her close.
Her eyebrows lift.
“You’ve known me for a month.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that I prefer you alive.”
The bass thunders through the room again, rattling the single window on the wall behind us. Ryder studies my face as if she is searching for the lie she expected to find.
Instead, she finds something else.
“You really didn’t send them,” she says slowly.
“No.” It kills me that she thinks I’d be capable of erasing her so easily. She’s already weaseled her way into my life like a splinter. One I’d happily suffer with.
Silence stretches between us.
The defiance in her posture doesn’t disappear, but shifts into something more uncertain. She glances around the small room, then back at me.
“You’re very convincing,” she says.
“I’m also very angry.”
Her mouth twitches faintly. “Because someone tried to kill your investment?”
The question lands like a spark on gasoline.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I reach up and wrap a hand around her jaw. Grasping it firmly so she can’t look away from me as I say: “I will kill anyone who touches you.”
Ryder goes completely still.
“You can’t possibly mean that,” she says.
I meet her gaze without blinking.
“Try me.”
What has her father done—or not done—to make her feel so unprotected? So lacking in value?
She searches my expression again, clearly expecting the edge of exaggeration that men sometimes use when they want to impress a woman. Instead, she finds the same controlled certainty that has built the Bratva’s operations across three cities.
“You barely know me,” she repeats.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine.”
Her breath catches, though she quickly hides it behind a scowl.
The tension between us sharpens again, but something has shifted. The suspicion in her eyes has weakened, replaced by reluctant curiosity.
“Then explain something,” she says. “How did they know I was going to be there? You’re the only one who knew I was going to the house. Even the movers didn’t know which one of us would show up, but you told me I could handle it.”
My brow furrows. “You’re asking why I trusted you with that?”
She crosses her arms.
“I’m asking why you didn’t go yourself.”
I study her for a moment, realizing she genuinely does not understand. “Because you’re competent,” I say.
She blinks.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Her expression tightens as if she expects a longer explanation.
“You handle surveillance, intelligence, and technology better than half the people working for your father,” I continue.
“You know how to watch for problems, and you’re capable of solving them if they appear.
I figured you could manage overseeing the movers.
You may be half my age, Ryder, but you don’t need a babysitter. ”
The simplicity of the answer clearly throws her off balance. For someone who grew up under Hinto Moreno, trust is probably the most unfamiliar currency in the world. Anyone else would think moving into a new house a mundane chore, not a trust issue.
I’m now starting to understand that even after a month by my side, Ryder still has one foot out the door. It’s clear she still doesn’t believe this empire will be as much hers as it is mine.
After a moment, she exhales slowly.
“Okay,” she mutters.
“Now tell me what happened.”
“This didn’t start yesterday,” she says quietly.
My attention sharpens.
“When did it start?”
“The day we looked at the house.”
The memory surfaces immediately. The realtor guiding us through the rooms, Ryder pretending she wasn’t interested while watching everything, the tension between us building until we disappeared into one of the bedrooms. The things I did to her, the sounds she made when I touched her.
“What happened?”
“When we were leaving,” she says. “I noticed a car across the street.”
“I remember. You said it was nothing.”
“I was hoping it was nothing. But now I’m not so sure.”
“Okay. What kind? Make, model?”
She shakes her head. “Silver SUV. That’s all I could catch; they were gone when we pulled out of the driveway.”
My jaw tightens.
“I thought I was being paranoid,” she admits. “But when I left the house two days ago, that same SUV started following me. Silver. Tinted windows, no plates.”
“And?”
“I tried to lose them.”
“Did you?”
“Not for long.”
Her gaze drifts briefly toward the wall as if she can still see the road spinning beneath her.
“They slammed into the back of my car,” she continues. “Hard enough to send it off the road. It was messy, but it worked.”
Cold fury settles in my chest.
Her lips press together. “I crawled out of the wreck before whoever was in the other car could reach me. It flipped too,” she continues.
Her voice is steady, stripped of emotion, but I notice the way her shoulders stiffen.
She’s reliving the accident; even for the daughter of a cartel leader, being chased off the road must have shaken her.
And then disappearing into the city for two nights, convinced I was out to kill her…
I’m going to murder the men who did this to her and laced her veins with fear.
“Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
“Did they follow you afterward?”
“I didn’t stay to find out.”
I absorb the information in silence, piecing together the details while the club roars below us.
Someone followed us over a week ago. They waited until Ryder was alone. Then they tried to eliminate her.
“I want to make one thing clear,” I say. “Your enemies are my enemies, Ryder. Whoever sent those men just made the worst mistake of their life.”
* * *
The air outside the club feels thin after the suffocating heat inside.
Music still pounds through the walls behind us as we step onto the sidewalk, but the night swallows most of it, leaving only a dull vibration in the distance.
Ryder walks beside me with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her posture is stiff in a way that tells me she is still deciding whether she trusts the situation she has just walked back into.
Two nights hiding in a city sharpened every instinct she has, even if it belongs to her family.
I guide her toward the black sedan waiting at the curb.
My driver straightens immediately when he sees us. His expression tightens as he takes in Ryder’s appearance and sees the tension in my shoulders. He opens the back door without a word.
“Home,” I tell him.
Ryder hesitates for half a second before sliding into the seat beside me. The door shuts, sealing us into the quiet interior of the car as Miami’s neon lights race across the windows.
For several seconds neither of us speaks.
I pull out my phone.
Ryder notices immediately. “Calling someone?” she asks.
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrow slightly as she leans back against the seat, watching me with that careful suspicion she never quite manages to hide. Why does it bother me so much? After all, if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t trust me either.
Ryder had this marriage sprung on her. At least I knew about it for months prior and had time to get used to the idea of marrying a woman who had only sneered and laughed at me. A beautiful young woman, just as likely to bite as to drive me wild.
Shaking off thoughts of my tempting wife, I scroll through my contacts and tap the call button.
It rings longer than usual.
When the line finally connects, a low, tired voice answers.
“You’d better have a very good reason for waking me up,” Kazimir mutters.
In the background, I hear what sounds suspiciously like a baby crying.
“I do,” I say.
There is a muffled rustling sound, followed by a quiet female voice. Alyona, most likely—saying something too soft for me to understand. Kazimir sighs heavily before speaking again.
“What happened?”
“Someone attempted to kill Ryder.”
Silence fills the line instantly. Even through the phone, I can feel the shift in his attention.
“Well,” he says slowly, “that escalated quickly.”
Ryder glances sideways at me but says nothing.
“They forced her car off the road,” I continue. “Silver SUV. No plates.”
Another pause.
“Is she alive?”
“She’s sitting next to me.”
“Good,” Kazimir says. Then he exhales audibly. “Because Alyona would be furious if I let you get your wife killed this early in the marriage.”
I rub my temples. “She was alone when it happened.”
“That sounds like a mistake. Your mistake.”
“Yes.”
Another baby cries in the background, louder this time. Kazimir mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a Russian curse before continuing.
“You must be taking this marriage very seriously if you’re already ready to start killing people for her.”
Heat crawls up the back of my neck.
Across the seat Ryder’s gaze sharpens, clearly trying to hear both sides of the conversation.
“It isn’t like that,” I say flatly.
“Of course it isn’t,” Kazimir replies dryly.
“This is business.”
“Mm.”
His tone suggests he doesn’t believe me for a second.
“I’m protecting an asset,” I continue, choosing my words carefully. “If someone thinks they can take territory by targeting my wife, they need to understand how serious that mistake is.”
Kazimir is quiet for a moment. Beside me, Ryder has gone still. Offended, or just on alert?
“So you’re saying this has nothing to do with the fact that you sound like you’re about five seconds away from starting a war.”
My jaw tightens.
“It’s about protecting what’s mine.”
The words slip out before I think about them. Ryder’s head snaps toward me. Her glare could slice steel.
Kazimir, unfortunately, hears the phrase perfectly.
“Oh,” he says. The single word drips with amusement. “I see.”
“Don’t start,” I mutter.
“I’m not starting anything,” he replies. “I’m just noting that you went from reluctant groom to territorial husband in record time.”
I glance toward Ryder again. She’s still staring at me, eyes blazing.
“Send me everything you know about the attack,” Kazimir continues, his tone shifting back to business. “I’ll start digging. Put your own team on it; did you recruit from other territories?”
When I came down here, I implemented a kind of truce, killing two birds with one stone. I employ seasoned members to help establish my territory and the “friendly” cartels sharing Miami get tied to the business. When the tide rises, all boats rise with it.
“I did.”
“Good. I’m going to send down reinforcements—” Another muffled cry echoes through the phone. Kazimir sighs again. “You’ve interrupted my attempt to sleep,” he says. “If I’m going to lose rest because of this situation, I expect results.”
“You’ll get them.”
“I always do.”
The line goes quiet for a moment. Then his voice returns, softer but edged with curiosity.
“And Liev?”
“Yes.”
“Try not to fall in love with her before you figure out who’s trying to kill her.”
I hang up without answering.
Ryder snorts softly beside me.
“That sounded suspiciously like relationship advice.”
“It wasn’t.”
She tilts her head, studying my face.
“You told him you were protecting what’s yours.”
My grip tightens around the phone.
“I meant the territory.”
“Sure you did.” The sarcasm in her voice is sharp enough to cut glass. “I’m not territory,” she adds coolly.
“I’m aware.”
“Then stop talking about me like I’m property.”
The car continues gliding through the dark streets as we stare at each other. After a moment, I lean back against the seat.
“You’re my wife,” I say calmly. “Someone tried to kill you. Those two facts are connected, whether you like it or not.”
Ryder exhales sharply and looks out the window.
“God,” she mutters. “I married a caveman.”
Despite everything, the corner of my mouth almost lifts.
If someone is hunting her, they are going to learn something very quickly.
No one touches what belongs to me and lives long enough to try again.