Chapter 19
JULIAN
“It’s not serious.”
The doctors are taking a look at Ethan, who seems annoyed by their presence.
“Through and through,” Ethan announces after they walk away. “Clean exit. Missed the subclavian by two centimeters.” He’s sitting up, shirtless, his right shoulder packed and bandaged. “I’ve had worse—back in Busan I took a round to the kidney. That was bad. This is nothing.”
He narrows his eyes at me.
“I’ve been looked at.” I’m leaning against the frame of the doorway.
“You let a nurse clean it off and put a bandage on it,” he says. “That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s a graze.”
“It’s a six-inch laceration across your ribcage that’s going to get infected if you don’t—”
“Ethan.”
He stops, letting out a sigh and shaking his head. The doctors, who’d been watching the exchange, take the opportunity to slip out.
Anya, thankfully, is unharmed, aside from some redness on her knees from when she’d taken cover.
She’s calm, too calm. It’s the kind of calm that threatens to crack the moment she’s alone and it dawns on her exactly what happened, how close she came to something horrible.
She knows this world—she was born and raised in it.
But she’s never come this close to the bloody reality of Bratva life.
Lyra stands by the window, arms crossed as she looks out. She hasn’t spoken to me since the car.
I can’t do this.
It’s the sentence I’ve been waiting to hear since our first night together. I knew—have always known—that a woman like her deserves far better than this.
I did this to her. Not Dobrov or Alexander or whoever was responsible for firing those bullets. I put her in the crosshairs by keeping her at my side. The bullet that grazed my ribs could’ve easily gone lower, to where she lay underneath me.
Two detectives arrive moments later. The NYPD has a long and colorful history with the Volkov syndicate.
“Mr. Volkov,” the taller of the two says, “I’m Detective Brennan and this is Detective White. We need to ask you some questions about the shooting.”
This is normally the part where I tell them to leave, to come back when I have my lawyer present. But then I think about Lyra, how shaken she is already. I imagine the detectives taking her aside and grilling her about what happened, making everything worse.
Better to answer their questions now and get them out of my hair.
“Ask.”
“Quite the incident today. A drive-by shooting in broad daylight.”
“I know. I was there.”
“Would you like to tell us why you were there?”
I don’t need to tell them anything. But stonewalling right from the start will only lead to problems down the line.
“It’s a venue contracted by my company for an upcoming charity event. I was inspecting it.”
“With a firearm,” the other detective says.
“My permit is registered and current.”
Brennan narrows his eyes a bit, as if trying to decide whether or not to press further on the matter.
“Mr. Volkov, this was one hell of an incident. Two cars opened fire on you and your associates, and then you brought the battle out into the streets by returning fire at one of the fleeing cars.”
Detective White lifts his chin. “New York’s a ‘duty to retreat’ state. Firing at a fleeing assailant—
“I did what I had to do. As far as I was concerned, the threat was still there. They could’ve turned around and come back for another pass.”
I keep my voice level and controlled. No sense in making things heated when they don’t need to be. I introduced enough doubt to eliminate the risk of consequences for returning fire, and they know it.
“Besides,” I continue, “the odds of the department getting to the bottom of this… Let’s just say I’m not hopeful.”
Brennan’s face hardens. “That’s a hell of an assumption. You think we want drive-by shootings happening in this city?”
“It is what it is. No one is going to want to dig any deeper. Scary things might crop up.”
White opens his mouth to respond, but Brennan puts a hand on his arm, stopping him. They exchange a look—a silent calculation in which Brennan wordlessly informs the other detective that it’s not worth the argument.
“My legal team is on their way. I did you both the courtesy of speaking informally. Any further conversation will be done through my attorneys. They will have the necessary injunctions and cease-and-desist letters.”
Brennan takes in a slow breath through his nostrils.
“We’ll be in touch.”
“I’m sure you will.”
I turn to see Lyra still at the window. But she’s no longer facing outward—she’d been watching the entire exchange with the detectives without moving or speaking. And the expression on her face is precisely the one I was most afraid of—clarity.
Between the shooting at the venue and the grilling by the NYPD, she’s seeing all of me, and I can tell she doesn’t like it.
I want to cross the room and put my arms around her, tell her that she has nothing to worry about, that I’ll keep her safe from the dangerous parts of my life, letting her see only the good ones.
But I can’t make that promise.
And she knows it.
The drive to Astoria is quiet.
But it’s not like the charged silence from before, when the air was alive with unspoken words and desires waiting to be acted upon.
This is different. This is a tense, unpleasant silence. I watch Lyra out of the corner of my eye. She’s not mad, nor is she worried. And I can tell she’s made a decision.
I pull up in front of her building. The street is empty. No sedan, no watcher. My security team swept the block an hour ago, and I’ve ordered two guards to stay posted nearby.
"Lyra."
"Julian." She turns to me, her eyes exhausted but steady. "Thank you for getting us out of there safely today. For covering me. For… everything."
"Lyra—"
“I think things between us should stay professional. I’ll finish the fundraiser. But after that, we can discuss what’s next for me.”
“How do you mean?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“I think I want to move on from Volkov.”
She means from me. But I don’t say it out loud.
“I see.”
“Like I said, we can talk about it after the fundraiser. But for now…”
For now, we’re nothing. Just boss and employee. She doesn’t need to speak the words.
"If that's what you want," I reply.
"It's not about what I want. It's about what we have to do.”
She gets out of the car.
“Good night, Julian.”
“Good night, Lyra.”
She closes the door and walks into the building without looking back.
I sit in the car, engine running, hands on the wheel.
I should drive away. I should go to the safe house, debrief with the security team, and start the process of finding whoever sent those SUVs to Red Hook. There's work to do. There's always work to do.
Instead, I pull into an open spot down the block, then I kill the engine.
The hours pass. The street empties. The lights in her apartment go on, then off. The bakery closes. The laundromat's fluorescent glow shuts down at midnight. A couple walks by with a dog. A delivery truck rumbles past at 1:15.
I watch all of it. I watch nothing. I watch her windows and think about the way her hands felt pressed against my ribs, slick with my blood, the worry in her eyes before she learned my wound was superficial.
She told me to keep it professional. She told me to step back.
She didn't tell me to stop protecting her.
At 3:47 a.m., my phone buzzes.
It’s Ethan.
Just got word from the security team. They tracked down one of the cars to a warehouse in Sunset Park. Waiting on your call.
I close my eyes for a moment, then turn my attention to Lyra’s darkened windows. I think of her in bed, her warmth, her touch.
That’s all I want.
But I can’t have it.
What I can have is revenge.
I start the engine, then text back four words: I'm on my way.
The drive to Sunset Park takes twenty-two minutes. I spend every one of them thinking about Lyra's hands on my ribs and the look on her face when she said, I can't do this.
What is about to happen in that warehouse won't change her mind. It won't make her safe. It won't undo the bullet or the blood or the look in her eyes.
But it will make sure the men who put that look there never put it on anyone's face again. I’ll find out who was behind the shooting and make sure they pay.
When I reach the warehouse, I open my glove compartment. Inside is a K-Bar and a Glock. I take both.
I step out of the car. The night is cool, the sky cloudless.
Time to get to work.