21. Ivan
21
IVAN
M axim leans over the hood of his car, scarred face unreadable as he taps a thick, calloused finger on a blueprint of an old warehouse. Darren’s last known location. Dmitri is busy checking his gun. Behind him, our men prepare to move out.
Maxim’s voice is thrumming with energy. “Now that we have a location, we need to decide. Do we hit him fast and wipe him out, or wait and confirm he’s there?”
Dmitri doesn’t hesitate. “Go in hard and fast.” He leans back, arms crossed, his expression as cold as ever.
I say nothing at first, my eyes scanning the blueprint. Every exit, every weak point, every potential trap. Darren is the type of man who doesn’t wait to be hunted—he either disappears or sets the fire himself.
Going in fast is an option. It’s what we do best. But this isn’t some low-level cleanup job. Darren isn’t just a target—he’s a cockroach with a taste for blood, the kind that only dies if you crush him completely.
I grab a marker and start circling points on the blueprint. “We’ll need two teams. One breaching, one covering the exits. We block every escape route before he even knows we’re there.” I glance at Maxim. “Who do you trust to be point?”
Maxim considers for a moment before nodding toward one of the men at the end of the table. “Gregor.”
A solid choice. Ruthless. Efficient.
I keep marking. “Backup team on the rooftops. If he tries to flee, we clip him before he makes it to the street.”
Dmitri exhales through his nose. “And who puts the bullet between his eyes?”
I don’t hesitate.
“I do.”
A murmur of approval ripples through the men. This is expected. Right. I’ve hunted Darren for long enough. This kill belongs to me.
Maxim nods once, spinning his knife again. “Then it’s decided.”
And then?—
The door slams open.
The room turns instantly, hands twitching toward weapons before they realize who it is.
Cora storms in like she owns the place, her chin lifted, shoulders squared, defying every unspoken rule in this room. My men do not like being interrupted, least of all by someone who isn’t one of them.
Gregor stiffens. Anton’s lips press into a thin line. A few others glance at each other, irritation flashing in their eyes.
Maxim leans back slightly, studying her with mild amusement. Dmitri, as always, remains unreadable.
I go completely still.
She doesn’t so much as flinch under the weight of their gazes. Instead, she plants her feet and crosses her arms, her voice clear, unwavering.
“I want in.”
Maxim sighs. “Cora?—”
“I know Darren better than any of you.” She doesn’t let him finish. Her words cut through the room like a knife. “You go in guns blazing, he’ll either disappear or trap you. That’s who he is. You need to force him out into the open. I can make that happen. Like we agreed.”
The silence that follows is heavier than before.
The men don’t speak, but I can feel their reactions. Some are skeptical. Some are flat-out annoyed.
And me?
I’m furious.
Cora scans the room, her eyes flicking over the maps, the scattered intel, the weapons laid out in preparation for war. “Darren doesn’t operate like you think he does,” she continues. “If you charge in, you’re playing into his hands. He’ll have a dozen escape plans in place. Or worse—he’ll have traps waiting for you.”
Maxim tilts his head. “And what do you suggest?”
“Same as before. We leak some more portions of the flash drive files.” She steps closer to the table, resting her hands against the edge. “We force him on the defensive. Make him panic. You choose the battleground, but let me be the bait.”
The words send a violent pulse of anger through me.
Enough.
In one quick motion, I grab her wrist and yank her against me.
The room tenses, but I don’t care.
I lean down, my voice dropping into something dark, controlled, barely restrained. “I changed my mind for a reason. It’s too dangerous. You stay here.”
“Then why teach me to shoot?”
“For emergencies, not for you to act like you’re running this operation. What if the morning sickness hits at a crucial moment?”
Her eyes flash. She wrenches free, the fire in her gaze meeting the storm in mine.
“You don’t own me, Ivan.”
The words hit harder than they should.
The room is silent again, but this time, it’s different. Charged.
Dmitri watches with interest. Maxim remains still, studying me like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.
One step forward, then another, until Cora’s back meets the cold stone wall. She gasps softly, but she doesn’t try to escape.
Not yet.
I plant my hands on either side of her, caging her in. I’m close enough to feel the heat rolling off her body, close enough that her scent—something soft and warm, something hers—seeps into my skin, tempering the fury boiling in my blood.
She should be afraid.
She should know that she’s pushing me too far.
But she isn’t afraid.
Her chin lifts. Her brown eyes, dark and defiant, refuse to waver.
She doesn’t fucking understand what she’s asking for.
“You’re carrying my child.” My voice is low steel, laced with barely restrained rage. “You stay here.”
Her fingers clench into fists at her sides. I see the slight tremble in them. Not fear. Frustration. Anger.
And then she speaks. “No.”
I could order her to stay out of this. I could force her to stay out of it. But the truth is, I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t know this was coming. If I didn’t see it in her from the start.
Cora was never going to sit back and let someone else fight her battles.
She is not a pawn. She is not a prisoner.
She is a queen sharpening her own blade.
And fuck me, but there’s a part of me—deep and dark and reckless—that is proud.
But it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t let her walk into this fight.
“Clock’s ticking,” Maxim shouts. “We need to move.”
I exhale sharply, forcing myself to step back. “Wait outside,” I tell her, voice like gravel. “This conversation isn’t over.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue, but something in my tone stops her.
She glares at me, but she turns on her heel and storms toward the door.
I turn back to the men, rolling the tension out of my shoulders before speaking. “We’ll reconvene in ten minutes. Be ready to go.”
Maxim just smirks. Dmitri nods. No one says a word about what just happened.
When I step into the hallway, she’s already on her phone.
Her back is to me, shoulders tight, fingers tapping fast across the screen.
Something in my gut goes cold.
My voice drops into something soft. Terrifyingly quiet.
“What did you do?”
She stiffens.
Her fingers tighten around her phone, her shoulders going rigid, like she’s already bracing for a fight.
Too late.
I already know.
My voice drops into something soft. Terrifyingly quiet.
“What did you do?”
I close the distance in a single step.
She gasps softly, tilting her head back to meet my gaze. Her pulse flickers at the base of her throat, too fast.
I pin her against the cold stone wall, my arms braced on either side of her. Caging her in.
I see the moment she realizes there’s no escape.
“I contacted Darren. Told him. I want to make a deal.”
Everything inside me goes still.
She keeps going, rushing now, as if saying it faster will make it less insane.
“He’s expecting me tomorrow night. You leak the intel to prove I decrypted the drive, and I meet him. He thinks he’s getting the files in exchange for a million bucks. Instead, I put a bullet in his head.”
My fists clench at my sides. My knuckles crack under the force of it, a sharp, warning sound in the silence.
She flinches, just slightly. She looks at me. “If I don’t show, he won’t. You have to let me do this.”
She stares up at me, her chin tilted, her pulse a frantic beat in her throat. She’s trembling, but it’s not fear. It’s something else. Anger. Frustration.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shrink back. If anything, she steps closer, the heat between us unbearable now.
She presses her hands against my chest, but she doesn’t push me away.
Her breath is sharp, her body tight, and then suddenly—her voice drops. Softens. And that’s what fucking guts me.
“You don’t trust me,” she says quietly. “You think I’ll fail, same as everyone else. Say it.”
“First time in my life, Cora, I’m scared. I don’t want you to die.”
“I won’t.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“I’m your wife. Let me be part of your world.”
I hate that she sees through me, sees the war raging inside of me, the one I can’t seem to win.
I want her safe. But I also want her to be my queen. And those two things don’t coexist.
I grab her face, tilting her chin up roughly, forcing her to look at me.
Her lips part in shock, but before she can say a damn word?—
I crash my mouth into hers.
The kiss is violent. Bruising. Punishing.
She gasps against me, but she doesn’t pull away. No—she fights back the only way she knows how.
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, even as she shoves at my chest. Her nails dig into my skin, but I don’t stop. I can’t.