Chapter 20
Liev
I close the front door behind me and stand there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around me.
The house feels too still after the violence of the night before.
My clothes are stiff with dried blood, and the faint smell of gunpowder clings to my skin.
Ryder is not here, and the absence presses against me harder than the exhaustion grinding through my bones.
She stayed at her mother’s overnight, escorted by Viktor once she was cleared by the doctor. I allowed it only because I could turn the place into a fortress. Five guards patrolling the property, the gates sealed, and my personal surveillance team to watch the cameras.
The guesthouse was secure enough that I was able to roam the city and hunt down the men who made my wife bleed.
Still, walking into this house alone feels wrong. Especially with dawn just glazing the windows.
I move through the entryway, shrugging off my jacket and dropping it over the back of a chair.
The fabric is dark with blood, some of it mine but most of it belonging to men who won’t trouble anyone again.
My head aches from too little sleep and too much adrenaline.
The silence leaves too much room for the memory of Ryder going unconscious on the sidewalk.
We found one of the men responsible for the attack less than an hour later.
He was in an alley two streets north of the restaurant.
When we turned the corner and saw knees tucked up behind a dumpster, I believed we might finally get answers. Instead, we found him slumped against the warehouse wall with a bullet hole through the back of his skull.
Someone else got to him first.
The message was clear. Whoever is behind this does not want their identity revealed.
My jaw tightens as I head down the hallway toward the bedrooms. The faint glow from the balcony doors spills across the floor in long strips of pale gold. My instincts prickle a second before I register why.
Someone is in our bedroom.
My hand moves automatically to the pistol at my back as I step into the doorway. A shape shifts in the shadows near the far wall, still and silent enough that most men would miss it.
I don’t.
The figure takes one step forward, and the light catches her face.
I lower the gun with a slow breath.
“Vivienne.”
She pushes away from the wall with the fluid ease of someone who has spent her life learning how to move without making a sound. Her dark hair is in a tight braid, and she’s dressed in simple, dark clothing.
Vivienne Baranov studies me with cool, assessing eyes.
“You look terrible,” she says.
A tired laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. “Good to see you, too.”
The last time I saw her was at least a year ago in Moscow, leaning against a bar with a knife hidden in her boot and a body count already climbing by the end of the night.
She is Kazimir’s cousin, one of the most efficient assassins the Bratva has ever produced.
She’s the kind of woman who rarely appears unless someone has decided the situation requires a professional solution.
I glance at the clock on the wall and shake my head.
“Kazimir must have called you only a few hours ago.”
Vivienne shrugs one shoulder lightly. “Private jet.”
Kaz doesn’t waste time when he believes something threatens his family.
The thought of them sends a flicker of relief through my chest. He, Alyona, Madison, and Mason were on a plane back to Savannah before the sun came up. The idea of the twins anywhere near violence unfolding here was enough to make Kazimir move like a man possessed.
“They landed safely?” I ask.
Vivienne nods. “He texted me from the car.”
Good.
At least one piece of this situation is under control.
Vivienne steps closer, her gaze flicking briefly to the blood staining my shirt before returning to my face. “Kazimir said you were attacked,” she says. “Is this…?”
“We were. And no; this was my attempt to find the person who ordered it.”
Her eyebrow lifts slightly. “We?”
“Ryder and I.”
Vivienne considers that for a moment, the faintest hint of interest sharpening her expression. News of my marriage traveled quickly through the Bratva, but most of them hadn’t met the woman who now carries my name. We left Savannah quickly after the wedding.
“And she’s…?”
“She is safe.”
The answer comes out sharper than intended. Vivienne notices. A smile similar to Kaz’s smirk curves her lips.
“Eto khorosho.” That’s good.
I cross the room and grab a clean shirt from the dresser, peeling the ruined one off my back. The dried blood pulls unpleasantly at my skin.
“We found one of the men responsible,” I tell her. “He was already dead. The other is in custody. Two more ran; haven’t found them yet.”
“Well,” she says quietly, “that certainly makes things interesting.”
Vivienne’s smile lingers for a moment, the expression of someone who enjoys stepping into a complicated situation. I pull the shirt over my head and drag a hand through my hair, trying to shake the heaviness of the night from my body.
“Someone is cleaning up their mess before you can reach it,” she continues. “That usually means they are afraid of what happens when you start asking questions. This might go deeper than just people annoyed that the Bratva has gained territory, Liev.”
Before I can answer, the bedroom door swings open.
Ryder steps inside and stops so abruptly that the motion almost sends her backward again. Her gaze moves from me to Vivienne in the span of a heartbeat. She takes in the closed room, the early hour, and the fact that another woman is standing in the shadows of my bedroom.
Our bedroom
Her eyes narrow immediately.
“What the hell is this?”
The words snap through the room like a gunshot.
I notice the faintest spark of amusement flicker across Vivienne’s face. She’s a beautiful woman—a few years older than Kazimir, but she’s aged strong, gracefully.
Ryder’s shoulders square as she steps fully into the room, shutting the door behind her with a hard push. The stiff movement of her left leg is the only hint that she was injured last night.
I sigh.
“Ryder.”
She ignores the attempt at calm.
“I leave you alone for one night and I come back to find a woman in the bedroom?” Her gaze cuts to Vivienne again, sharp enough to draw blood. “Who are you?”
The assassin tilts her head slightly, studying Ryder with the detached interest of someone evaluating a new weapon.
“Vivienne.”
“Why are you here?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and step between them before this conversation escalates into something unnecessarily dramatic. “It’s not what you think.”
Ryder crosses her arms, clearly unconvinced. “That line usually means the exact opposite.”
“Vivienne is Kazimir’s cousin,” I say. “Adopted. Vivienne Baranov.”
Ryder’s expression doesn’t soften. “And?”
“She’s here because Kazimir sent her. He came down for business, Ryder, but obviously once he realized what was going on—”
Vivienne finally pushes away from the dresser and steps forward, her movements quiet and controlled. Ryder’s posture stiffens automatically, instincts recognizing danger even before the explanation lands.
“I’m an assassin,” Vivienne says calmly.
Ryder blinks once, clearly recalibrating the situation.
“Oh.”
Vivienne’s mouth curves faintly. “Kazimir thought you two might need additional help tracking down whoever is coming after you. Keeping you safe. He returned to Savannah last night with his family.”
Ryder exhales slowly, though her glare does not entirely disappear. She looks Vivienne up and down with open suspicion before shifting her attention back to me.
“You could have started with that.”
“You didn’t give me much time.”
Her eyes narrow again. “You also could have mentioned that someone like her existed.”
“Your father doesn’t have assassins on his payroll?”
I’m surprised until Ryder points out: “My father doesn’t have enough brain cells to operate with professionals. He’s a low-level criminal who got lucky.”
Vivienne lets out a quiet huff of amusement. “Well,” she says, turning toward the door, “this has been entertaining.”
She pauses beside me, her voice dropping slightly as she adds, “Kazimir was right. She’s a little firecracker.”
Then she slips out of the room without another word, the door closing softly behind her.
The silence that follows feels charged.
Ryder is still standing near the center of the room, arms crossed and eyes fixed on me.
There’s a flush high on her cheeks that has nothing to do with anger alone.
She’s wearing loose, dark sweatpants, and I scan her legs quickly, looking for signs that she might’ve started bleeding again thanks to the adrenaline rush she just experienced.
“Were you jealous?”
Her head jerks back slightly. “Absolutely not.”
I take a slow step closer. “You looked like you were ready to stab her.”
“That is because she was standing in our bedroom,” Ryder snaps.
I stop a foot away from her, amused despite the exhaustion weighing on my body. I want to shower. I want to sleep. I want to tie up this loose end so we can walk the city safely and set up our empire in relative peace.
“You assumed the worst quickly.”
Her glare sharpens. “What exactly was I supposed to assume?”
I reach out, tugging her closer and closing the distance between us. The sweatpants are soft against the loose jeans I’m wearing. I want to take my clothes off, shower, and climb into bed with Ryder.
I want to fall asleep with the scent of her in my nostrils.
“What makes you think I’d ever want to touch another woman? I’ve told you I’m not the least bit interested in that.”
She’s still stiff in my grip, but her eyes dart to my mouth. Just once. Quickly. “You know, if anyone touched you, I’d gut them like a fish and string them up on Ocean Drive.”
The possessive edge in her voice sends a quiet spark of satisfaction through my chest before I can stop it.
Interesting.
I lean slightly closer, lowering my voice.
“So you were jealous.”
“I was assessing a threat.”
“Of course you were.”
She stares at me for a moment longer before muttering something under her breath and pushing past me toward the hallway.
I watch her go, the faint echo of a smile still tugging at my mouth.
Jealousy looks very good on my wife.