Chapter 20
VIKTOR
The next few weeks with Lydia feel like a passing dream. Sometimes, I fear that I'm going to open my eyes and she'll be gone. I don't want it to be that way. I'm not sure I could stop it if I tried. Still, I don't take any of this for granted.
Despite the fact that both Lydia and Aria spend hours trying to anticipate the next attack planned by the Ledyanoye Bratstvo, we find no conclusive evidence that they're going to move soon. It might seem like they've shifted their focus.
I know better, though. We can't grow complacent. One of the biggest mistakes we could make is letting our guard down.
So I don't. And Lydia doesn’t fucking like it, but I don’t care.
It helps that she has a job here with me and my family.
My job is of a physical nature—I’m the group heavy.
I’m the one everyone comes to when they need a heavy hand or muscle.
All of my brothers can hold their own, but no one does it quite like I do.
That means Lydia gets to accompany me, for better or for worse.
For better or for fucking worse.
There’s no use pretending to be someone other than who I really am. When we marry each other, we’ll accept each other for who we are completely, no holds barred. I never understood how anyone would bother doing any less.
I’m going to make it worth her while, though. I swear I am. I’m trying now.
“Alright, so let’s go over what you’ve learned.”
I’ve given her a crash course in basic self-defense that Kolya taught all of us: escape holds and grabs, situational awareness, defense maneuvers, and the use of everyday objects. There’s no time to teach her to shoot.
“Okay,” she says, standing in front of me in a fighting stance.
She’s wearing a hot-pink tank top, black leggings, and sneakers.
She’s lucky I need to teach her, or I’d tear those off and fuck her right up against the side of the house.
“Use the flat of my palm or a hard kick against vulnerable areas if I can—eyes, nose, throat, and groin.”
I nod. “Go on.”
“Don’t lose my shit if someone’s got me in a hold but focus on escaping. Pay attention to the surroundings and use what I can to my advantage.”
I don’t want her to have to use the skills I’m teaching her. I want her self-defense moves to be an absolute last fucking resort.
Still, she needs to know.
“Like?” I test, my eyes boring into hers.
“Like if we’re near the fire pit. Push them off kilter so their foot hits the drain grate, then shove them into the fire like the wicked witch in Hansel and Gretel.” Her eyes gleam, and she grins at me.
I grin back. “You’ve given this some thought.”
“Yes, sir,” she says in a seductive purr. Good thing she just talked about kicking the groin, or I’d be hard as fuck right now.
“Go on about escape.”
“Stay calm. Shout for help as loud as I can. Use my screaming voice.” She winks. “Strike if possible, lower my center of gravity, turn, and face my attacker.”
“Excellent.” Pride swells in my chest. “That’s my girl. What else?”
“Use everyday objects if possible. Pens, keys, my handbag weighted down with the latest spree at Sephora.”
I nod. “Excellent.”
Nikita paws at the back door, jealous of the attention I’m giving to Lydia.
“Take a walk?”
“Mhm.”
I get Nikita’s leash, and we walk downtown, Nikita obediently heeling by my side. We stop at a stoplight, and Lydia bends down to scratch Nikita's ears.
I thought I loved Lydia before she moved in here. But now that she loves my dog, I’m fucking gone.
“I was thinking of making chicken parm for dinner,” she says casually.
“That makes me fucking hard,” I tease her.
She grins at me. “I never met a man who was turned on by the food he ate.”
“Not turned on by the food I eat. I’m turned on watching you cook it.”
“Oh, I get it. Satisfying all the appetites and all that?”
“Mhm. That sounds delicious. On Friday night, when we’re planning the final details, we’ll go out to dinner. Sound good?”
I don’t cook. I eat. And if I’m not with someone who can cook, I order in. I had a private chef for a while, but I didn’t like it. I don’t like anybody in my space except Lydia. It’s her space too.
All of a sudden, Nikita's ears go back. Her hair bristles, and she lets out a low, dangerous growl.
Lydia stands up straight. “What did I do? I thought she loved me.”
“Behind me,” I growl. “It’s not you.”
Lydia’s eyes widen, and for once, she does what I say, thank fuck. I scan our surroundings. At first, I don’t notice anything out of place. Just a normal night in the city. But Nikita growls deeper and lets out a loud, vicious bark.
Suddenly, a masked assailant leaps out from a doorway, followed by three more. All of them masked, hooded, and coming straight at us.
Lydia stiffens, a scream caught in her throat, and I bark over my shoulder, “Remember what I fucking taught you.”
One attacks us head-on, gun raised. I know in my gut these guys aren’t here to murder but to take her. A second reaches for me, a gun glinting in the overhead light. Before he shoots, Nikita is on him. She’s got him by the leg with a savage snarl.
I elbow the second attacker in one swift motion, putting all my strength behind it. I hear a satisfying crunch as bone breaks, and he cries out, falling to the ground and clutching his face. The third barely has time to reach before I land a punch squarely between his eyes, sending him backward.
The fourth is one lucky son of a bitch still standing, still defiant. I want to beat the fucking shit out of him with my bare hands, but I need someone to interrogate. There’s a dark, primal satisfaction in the idea of feeling his bones break under my fists, his blood staining my knuckles.
The air is thick with the scent of sweat and fear. One reaches for Lydia, and I can’t get to him in time, but her eyes blaze with a fury that matches my own. She knees him hard between the legs, and when he crumples to the ground with a pained groan, she stabs at his eyes.
Good girl.
The sharp crack of a gunshot rings in my ears. Nikita cries out. Rage surges through my veins, hot and unrelenting. My vision narrows, and all I see is red.
“Keep one alive,” I remind myself. I hang onto the one lifeline that keeps me from murdering them all. I’m battling the need to kill, to make them all pay.
I grab the nearest one by the throat, slamming him against the wall. He’s the only one conscious, his wide, terrified eyes staring into mine with a plea for mercy. The need to protect, to unleash my fury on him, wars with my need to get information.
“Why did you come after us?” I demand, my face inches from his. “Where the fuck are you coming from, and who do you report to?” He chokes out a weak, garbled response, and I loosen my grip just enough for him to speak.
Over my shoulder, I yell to Lydia, “Get my cell phone. Call Aleks and tell him to get a cleanup crew, now.”
I hold him by the neck, but before he can get another word out, his head flings back, hitting the concrete, and a circle of crimson blossoms on the center of his forehead.
Lydia screams. I drop his body to the ground, shove her down, and cover her under my body. Fucking sniper. But no more shots come.
He was the target because I would have made him talk.
Someone killed him. Someone’s watching. Someone doesn’t want me to know what they’re doing. Fuck.
A car pulls up, and I'm immediately alert, but Lydia breathes out, “It's Aleks.”
Aleks and a team of our men quickly exit the vehicle. Aleks has been training two of the old Ivanov men, and they’re here to help us, and they move in quick succession.
“They got away,” I say. “But there’s a sniper here, Aleks. He wants us scared but isn’t ready to make a move.”
“We’ll cover every possible area to see where they could be hiding. I want everything swept.”
It isn’t until the scuffle ends, with our attackers either incapacitated or fled, that I notice the blood on Nikita’s fur.
Lydia kneels beside Nikita, her hands trembling as she parts the dog’s thick, black fur. “She’s bleeding,” she says, her voice breaking. There is a small, trickling wound on Nikita’s side, but it isn’t immediately clear what caused it.
“Is Nikita okay?” Lydia asks, her eyes filling with tears and her face flushed. Is she crying? I can't tell if she's crying. “She’ll be okay, right? She’s bleeding, Viktor.”
“Are you alright?” I ask, even as a lump forms in my throat when I kneel beside them.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Lydia says, though her hand is shaking.
I turn back to Nikita.
Shit. Nikita was hit. Fuck. My hands tremble. If someone hurt my dog… If someone fucking hurt my dog…
“Where’s the entry point?” I mutter, frustration and fear clawing at me. I examine her closely, expecting to see a bullet wound. But there’s nothing obvious, just the slow, persistent oozing of blood from somewhere beneath her dense fur.
Lydia’s fingers are gentle but thorough as she probes around the wound. “It looks like the bullet grazed her,” she says, sounding relieved. “But the fur is so thick, it's hard to tell exactly where it hit.”
It makes sense. The bullet likely skimmed across Nikita’s side, slicing through fur and skin without fully penetrating.
The impact would have been enough to cause pain and bleeding but not the catastrophic damage I feared.
Her fur, matted with blood, hides the exact entry point, making it difficult to see the full extent of the injury.
Lydia does a quick assessment. “She’s breathing fine, but she seems like she’s in pain.” Her hands are steadying now as she gently presses around the area. “We need to get her to the vet to make sure there’s no deeper injury. Let’s get her to the vet, Viktor.”
I have to make a choice—vet for Nikita or safety for Lydia.
“You to safety first, then the vet.”
Lydia is crying, swiping at her eyes. “She was defending us.”
“She’ll be fine,” I say, hoping that if I say it enough times, it’ll become true.