Chapter 29
Ryder
A few days have passed since Konstantin Martynov walked into our house and dropped a body at Liev’s feet like a calling card. He’s back in New York now, his presence in Miami as brief and deliberate as everything else about him. On the surface, things have settled again.
But underneath nothing has.
Liev feels it. I can see it in the way he moves, in the way his attention lingers a second too long on anything out of place. I feel it too, a constant tension threading through everything I do, every step I take, every decision I make.
Whoever came for us hasn’t stopped. They’ve just gone quiet, and that’s worse; that means they’re now willing to spend more on better men, who won’t get caught planting bombs or ambushing us in a bank.
I can’t keep this from him any longer.
The thought has been circling me all day, pressing harder with every hour until it feels impossible to ignore. I tried to wait, to find the right moment, the right words, something that would make it easier to say.
There isn’t one. If the threat has escalated, we need to be honest about everything. All cards on the table.
So I go to him, unable to wait anymore.
By the time the car pulls up near the docks, it’s late enough that most of the city has gone still, the noise reduced to distant hums and scattered movement. The water reflects broken lines of light, the air thick with the scent of salt and machinery.
Liev has been here more often lately, tightening control, reinforcing everything that might be vulnerable. If someone is trying to hit him, this is likely where they’ll aim.
I step out of the car; the door closing softly behind me. My heart is already beating too fast.
I barely take two steps and the world explodes.
The sound hits first, a deafening crack that splits the air open, followed by a violent surge of heat and force that ripples through the dock. Metal screams as something massive gives way, the ground trembling beneath my feet as a loading crane shudders and collapses inward.
For a second, I can’t hear anything. Just a high-pitched ringing.
Then the noise rushes back all at once.
Shouting. Screaming. The sharp, panicked chaos of men scrambling in every direction.
“Liev!”
His name tears out of me before I can stop it.
I run without thinking, straight into the chaos.
The dock is half-gone, planks splintered and disappearing into the dark water.
Twisted metal rises out of it all. My boots pound over what’s left of the dock as I weave past men shouting orders, trying to stop bleeding.
Past the thick smell of smoke and burning oil that clings to everything.
My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might break through my ribs.
Please.
Please.
I spot Viktor first. He’s moving fast, barking orders, his attention fixed somewhere ahead of him. I follow his line of sight and there.
Liev is on the ground.
For a split second, my body locks, brain refusing to process what I’m seeing; the blood, the unnatural stillness, the men clustered around him.
Then something snaps.
I push through them, demanding, “Move.” It comes out sharp and firm. Someone tries to stop me, but I shove past them, dropping to my knees beside him.
“Liev.”
His eyes are open. That light blue-gray, like ice in the dark. That’s the first thing I register.
The second is the blood.
It stains his shirt, dark and spreading; his chest rising unevenly, each breath shallow and strained. There’s a hole just below his ribs, the fabric torn and soaked through. A gunshot, or something worse? Any shard of debris could rip a ragged wound into his body and—
I shut the thought down quickly. He’s not dead yet. The reminder is harsh, a door shutting on the panic and fear coursing through me. My hands hover for a second, then press down instinctively, trying to stop the bleeding even though I know it won’t be enough.
“Stay with me,” I say, my voice shaking just slightly.
His gaze finds mine, unfocused, but there.
“Ryder,” he manages, his voice rough. Relief and terror collide so violently it makes me dizzy.
“I’m here,” I say quickly. “I’m right here.”
Around us, everything moves fast. Viktor is already on the phone, barking for transport, for clearance, for anything that will get Liev off this dock and into a hospital before it’s too late. I hear him say “helicopter” and know he’s getting desperate, that this must be bad.
“Three dead,” someone shouts. “We lost three—”
I don’t look. I don’t care.
All I can see is him.
“Don’t—” he starts, then coughs, his body tensing sharply, face grimacing. More blood seeps out in a swell.
“Hurry,” I snap. Hands reach in, lifting him carefully and efficiently. I stay close, refusing to let go, my fingers still pressed against his side as they move him toward the waiting ambulance.
And then something catches my eye a few yards away.
One of the dock workers is running the wrong way, panic written all over his face as he stumbles over debris. He doesn’t make it far. A section of twisted metal shifts above him, then drops.
It’s fast, brutal. He doesn’t get up. Others shout, hurrying toward him, even though it’s obvious nothing can be done. Our group shifts to try and get around the accident, eyes averted from what was once his head and is now a mess.
Not wanting to see it, my gaze flicks down. And that’s when I see it.
The tattoo.
It’s partially obscured by blood and dirt, but I recognize it immediately. A jagged, coiled symbol inked along the inside of his forearm. It’s something I haven’t seen in years, but never forgot.
My breath catches. No. That’s not—
But it is. La Parca, a Colombian gang my father used to run with before he came to America. I stumble as memories flash through my mind: dark rooms and harsh words, debts being called in, my father pulling a trigger.
Before everything else. Before Miami. Before the empire he built here.
This isn’t random; there’s no way.
“Ryder!”
Viktor’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I turn back, forcing my focus where it needs to be as they load Liev into the ambulance. I climb in beside him without thinking, my hand finding his again, gripping tight. My mind is racing now, pieces clicking into place in a way I don’t like.
My father. His past.
The men who are suddenly showing up here, in Liev’s territory, trying to kill him—and not seeming to care if I’m collateral damage. But surely my father wouldn’t…
And as the ambulance speeds toward the hospital, sirens cutting through the night, one thought settles in, sharp and unrelenting.
I should have told him.
I should have told him everything.
The world outside blurs into streaks of light and shadow, but inside, everything narrows to the man beside me and the paramedics working on him.
His breathing is wrong, and they’re using terms I don’t recognize.
They are trying to diagnose him as they cut his shirt off.
The blood wells again, and nausea twists my stomach.
Each inhale sounds like it costs him something; his chest barely rising before it falters again. There’s a wet, broken edge to it, and when he coughs, it’s worse. It's sharp, sudden, and his body jerks as blood stains his lips.
“No,” I murmur, leaning closer, my hand tightening around his. “Stay with me. Don’t you dare, Liev. You promised—”
Pleasure. But more than that. These weeks together, the trust he’s put in me, everything we’re building together.
His fingers twitch weakly in mine. His eyes are still open, but they’re unfocused now, drifting, struggling to lock onto anything for too long. The sight sends an icy wave of fear through me.
“We’re almost there,” a disturbingly young but assertive paramedic says, his voice controlled. “Stay with her. Two more blocks.”
Liev exhales something that might be a sound, might be my name, but it dissolves into another cough before it forms. This time, more blood follows, dark and thick, and I feel panic claw its way up my throat.
“Breathe,” I say quickly, even though I can hear how impossible that is. “Slow, okay? Just—just slow.”
His chest stutters under my hand.
“Look at me,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. They’re injecting something into his arm. I shift closer, my face near his, blocking out everything else. “Liev, look at me.”
His gaze drifts, then slowly, painfully, finds mine.
“I’m here,” I tell him. “You’re not dying like this. Do you understand me? We have things to do, Liev. A future.”
It’s a command. And as close as I can get to telling him…
Something flickers in his expression, faint but real, like he recognizes the tone if nothing else. His lip’s part, but no words come out, just another strained breath that doesn’t quite make it all the way in.
I can’t lose him.
“We’re two minutes out,” the female paramedic says. Just a fact. Her face is grim as she packs the wound with something and makes sure he’s secure on the gurney.
Two minutes feels like forever.
I lower my voice, closer to him now, more focused. “You listen to me,” I say quietly. “You stay awake. You keep breathing. You don’t leave me to deal with all of this alone.”
“That’s an order,” I add, softer.
Something in his grip shifts. It’s weak, but there, and right now that’s all I need. It’s enough.
The hospital comes into view a second later, lights too bright, too harsh against the dark. The ambulance barely stops before the doors are opening, hands reaching in, voices overlapping as they pull him out.
I follow immediately, not letting go until they force me to.
“Ma’am, you need to—”
“No,” I snap, pulling back just enough to stay out of their way without leaving entirely. “I’m staying.”
They rush him inside, and I move with them. My heart is still pounding, and my thoughts are racing in too many directions at once.
The explosion.
The tattoo.
My father.
And the secret I haven’t told him yet.
My stomach twists as it all collides. It’s heavier now, and more complicated than it was even an hour ago.
I came here tonight to tell him the truth. Will I even get to now? Or has this all finally come to an end?
Without Liev, what would happen to me and our child? The thought is so dark and heavy that I bend over and brace my hands on my knees, feeling like I’m going to vomit. Someone puts a hand on my lower back and talks soothingly, but I can’t hear the words.
As they disappear through the double doors with Liev, I’m left standing there with blood on my hands and no control over what happens next.
One thing becomes painfully clear: whatever this is, it’s bigger than I thought.