Chapter 36
Liev
I’m not completely healed, but I’m whole, and that’s enough. A late-afternoon visit to the hospital yesterday got me cleared by the doctors. It came with conditions that I don’t intend to follow fully, but at this point it’s unlikely I’ll do major damage.
And we’re so close.
We’re two weeks out from Ryder’s run-down and the plans we set in motion. So far, three of Hinto’s four acquaintances have found themselves either apologetic or unreachable. The latter is a permanent problem, one I’ve been happy to take care of myself.
The former—their instructions were to wait until I pull the trigger. Literally or figuratively. Keep compliant with him, but be ready.
“You’re sure about this?” Viktor asks from three feet back, his eyes flicking down each alley as we cover one block and then the next.
I’m in Alfredo’s territory, uninvited. He knows I’m here, I’m sure, and this is the next piece of the plan. Hopefully, the old man has gotten a good enough read on me to trust why I’m here, walking his streets.
“I need to maintain a presence,” I say, not bothering to turn, nodding instead at a young couple out enjoying grinders on a Saturday afternoon.
Presence still matters more than caution, and showing weakness here would ripple farther than a bullet ever could. The streets are quieter than the docks, but no less controlled. Men watch from corners, from doorways, from behind glass that reflects more than it reveals.
They know who I am.
That’s the point.
I walk without rushing; my pace measured, my awareness stretched wide.
Every movement around me registers. Every shift in sound, every glance.
This isn’t unfamiliar territory, but it isn’t mine either, and that difference makes this feel dangerous.
I try not to think of Ryder, who didn’t agree with me coming here.
But we both knew there wasn’t another option.
Something flickers at the corner of my eye. I turn, hand flexing for the knife hidden under my jacket, but it’s just a kid kicking a ball across the alley.
Then the blow comes hard and fast.
Somewhere behind me, Viktor grunts as a blaze of white takes over my vision. I can hear him struggling and the familiar sound of shoes scraping on cement, men breathing heavily.
“Shef—”
The first man steps in from my left, close enough that I don’t have time to avoid him. I pivot instead, catching his arm before it can close fully, driving my weight into him hard enough to throw him off balance.
The second comes in low and faster. More precise than the men we’ve dealt with before. This is a step up in professionalism.
I shift, but not fast enough. Pain flares along my side as I twist, the lingering weakness in my chest slowing me just enough that the timing isn’t perfect. I strike anyway, my fist connecting solidly with bone, but it doesn’t stop him.
There are more.
I register it in fragments. Movement at my back. Pressure closing in from both sides. Viktor is on the ground now, being dragged toward the alley back one block. Someone shouts inside one of the stores. This isn’t a messy grab.
I take one down hard, feel the impact travel up my arm as he hits the ground, but another replaces him immediately. A hand clamps onto my shoulder, another at my waist, and I drive backward, forcing space, forcing them to adjust.
A mistake. For them.
Breaking free for half a second, it’s enough to turn and put one of them between me and the others, using his body as leverage. My elbow connects with his throat, and he folds just enough for me to push through.
Then something tightens around my arms. A restraint, cutting tight through the jacket and into my elbows. The guy behind me grunts and pulls fast; a cry of pain jolts out of me. I strain against it, muscles pulling, testing the give and trying to figure out what it is.
There isn’t any.
A blow lands low, not meant to knock me out but to disrupt. My breath catches and I fold over. That’s when they close in completely.
Viktor is gone. It’s the last thing I see before a cloth bag is forced over my head, cutting off the light instantly, turning everything into sound and sensation. I keep moving anyway, even without sight, trying to make contact with my knees and elbows.
They’re disciplined. They don’t panic.
“Surrender, or this is going to be worse for you,” someone grits out. “You’re not that far out from a hospital stay.”
Blyat’. I was hoping that didn’t make it onto my enemies’ radar.
I go still, making the decision in a split second. I can feel the pressure in my chest, a tight pain, and if I push it any further, I might prove this guy right, whoever he is.
My breathing slows deliberately, my body settling despite the tension running through it. Fighting blind against a coordinated group like this is a waste.
They move me quickly, not too far on foot.
The sound of a vehicle door opening tells me what’s about to happen, and I’m placed roughly horizontally on the backseats.
It’s habit to track everything—counting turns, changes in speed, the length of time between them. The drive feels longer than it should.
I stay quiet and listen. The men speak quietly, short and coded; nothing that gives away anything useful. No names or identifiers.
The vehicle stops, and the doors open. Couldn’t have been more than a fifteen-minute drive, but the strange wet wheeze I feel when they stand me up firmly on some kind of concrete surface worries me.
This time they don’t underestimate me; another difference from the last attempts. I’m moved again, steps beneath my feet changing from pavement to something that echoes like linoleum. The air shifts, cooler, quieter.
I’m inside now, but the bag stays on.
They position me and force me down into a chair or something like it.
My arms are secured again, tighter this time, the restraints adjusted so there’s no leverage to exploit.
When the men step back—three of them at least, probably more if it’s the same group from Alfredo’s territory—I can sense the space open up around me.
I keep my breathing even, controlled, my focus narrowing inward. This time, when footsteps approach, I can hear the difference in them. A heeled boot or a business shoe. A quiet murmur, and at least some of the men leave.
A presence crouches down close by. Something brushes my knee. Then hands do a quick inventory of my shoulders, chest, abdomen, removing the hidden knife that I hadn’t reached for earlier. A rookie mistake, one that will be embarrassing if it ever gets out.
The person in front of me sighs deeply. Cologne, so it’s a man; and slightly familiar, too.
A voice follows, low, near my ear.
“Ready?”
It’s almost conversational. Almost casual.
My body reacts before my mind does, muscles tightening instinctively, a fraction of a second where control slips and then pain.
I cry out, feeling two fingers on my right hand snap under pressure.
The break is clean, deliberate, and sends a shock of nausea through my gut.
Sweat breaks out on my forehead. I try not to move my hand; I’ve always been better with blood than broken bones.
Anxiety is sweeping over me, making it feel like the top of my head is gone, pulse pounding.
My breath breaks, a raw sound forcing its way out before I can stop it.
I don’t give them more than that. But it isn’t over yet.
* * *
Four Days Earlier
Ryder stands at the center of the room, quiet and focused. Everyone else is silent, waiting—all of this rests on her.
The screen in front of her cast a low glow across her face, lines of data and communication threads mapped out. I watch her as she works, intrigued. Tech has never been my strongpoint, and a swell of pride fills me to see my men and women defer to her expertise.
“They’re not loyal to him,” she says, tapping a section of the screen. “Not really. They’re loyal to the money, and right now, he’s paying them to stay at arm’s length.”
Viktor shifts slightly beside me. “And you think they’ll switch?”
“I don’t think,” she replies calmly. “I know. Men like this don’t operate on loyalty. And they aren’t scared of him.”
“They’ve already reached out,” she continues. “Not directly, but enough to signal interest. They don’t trust him to finish this cleanly. Too many failed attempts. Too much exposure.”
I lean forward slightly, my attention narrowing on the details she’s laying out. “So we give them a cleaner option.”
“Yes.”
Her gaze flicks to mine briefly. I’m sitting only a few feet away, but it takes everything in me not to go to her. Ever since learning that she’s pregnant with our child, all I want is to be close. Just in case. To be able to reach out and touch her, make sure she—and our future—is real.
“We stage the kidnapping. Make it convincing enough that he believes they’ve finally delivered.”
“And in return?” One of the men asks.
Ryder doesn’t hesitate. “They get paid what he promised them. And more.”
A pause.
“A future,” she says quietly. “With us.” Everyone else in the room glances at me, but only briefly. This is something Ryder and I have already discussed in private—the possibility of bringing on more allies. Allies who were willing to watch me die weeks ago.
“They trade up,” Viktor murmurs.
“Exactly.”
Clicking a button on the remote, I pull up a larger screen on the wall. It’s for them to study the layout again, the way she’s mapped the connections, the weak points. It’s not reckless or rushed. But it exposes us.
It exposes me. In a way that I normally wouldn’t allow, and a way that Kazimir wouldn’t approve of.
“Hinto will want proof,” I say.
Ryder nods, like she’s been waiting for that. “He will. And we’ll give it to him. Pinkie and ring finger,” she says, her tone steady. “It’s painful enough to be convincing, but not permanently damaging if it’s done correctly.”
Olena laughs. Vivienne looks impressed, but her half-hidden smirk also tells me she might get some kind of sick amusement out of my pain, like a childhood prank gone wrong. Viktor looks at me. “You’re volunteering for that?”
I don’t answer him right away. Instead, I look at Ryder. She meets my gaze without flinching, but there’s something there, something she’s holding tightly beneath the surface. It’s not doubt about the plan.
Something more personal.
“You’re sure this gets him to move?” I ask her.
“Yes. He’s already impatient. He wants you gone. If he thinks it’s finally happening, he’ll step closer. He won’t be able to help himself.”
“And that’s when we pull him out,” Viktor says.
“That’s when we expose him,” Ryder corrects.
A quiet agreement moves through the room, the plan becoming real.
“Then we do it.”
Viktor’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. He knows better. Earlier we had a private discussion, one where he told me he isn’t comfortable letting someone snap my bones without oversight. Someone who was willing to kill me so recently.
Ryder just watches me for a second longer, her expression unreadable in a way I’ve learned means she’s thinking ahead, already adjusting for possibilities that haven’t happened yet.
“Timing matters,” she says finally. “It has to look real. No hesitation. No visible coordination.”
“It will,” I reply. “I’ve already reached out to Alfredo. We have a call in a few hours.”
“You think he’ll accept?” Oleg asks. “It puts him in a certain position… having you kidnapped on his territory. It opens him up for backlash.”
“Alfredo’s been around quite a bit longer than I have. If anyone sees the intellect behind the plan, it’ll be him. He’s known men like Hinto; seen them come and go. This time, he’ll be a part of escorting Hinto Moreno out of our territory.”
“We only get one chance at this,” Ryder warns.
“I only have so many fingers,” I murmur, and Vivienne laughs, Olena flashing a quick grin. At least someone else in the room has a sense of humor. My wife levels me with a dark, serious gaze, as if to say, You better come back with them all intact.
“I don’t plan on needing another chance,” I add, nodding to her. “We end this.”
The corner of her mouth shifts, not quite a smile, but almost.
“Then let’s make it count.”