25. Ivan
25
IVAN
I step forward slowly, my boots echoing against the concrete. The wind whips through the abandoned shipping containers, rattling loose metal in the distance. But there’s no sign of anything.
A sick feeling twists in my gut.
He should be here.
I turn in a slow circle, scanning the shadows. My hand twitches toward my gun, the weight of it familiar and steady at my side. But there’s nothing to shoot. No one waiting.
And that’s what puts me on edge the most.
Darren’s men should be everywhere. Even if he didn’t plan on showing his face, he would’ve left guards. A trap. Something.
The fact that the place is completely empty?
It’s worse. Was Cora right? Did he sense something because she’s not here?
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I freeze.
A slow, steady breath in. Out.
Then I pull it free, flipping it over.
Unknown number.
A single message.
Attached video file.
My stomach turns to ice.
I tap the screen. The video flickers to life, grainy and dimly lit, like it was filmed on an old security camera.
A warehouse.
A metal chair bolted to the floor.
And in that chair?—
Cora.
Bound.
Terrified.
She’s struggling, her wrists tied behind her back, her ankles secured to the chair legs. Her face is turned away from the camera, but I can see the tightness in her posture, the way she shifts, testing her restraints.
I can see her fear.
Rage coils up my spine, cold and violent.
Then messages flash across the screen.
Darren.
I’m too smart for you, Bratva boy.
I clench my jaw, my grip on the phone tightening.
I’ll trade your life for hers.
My pulse pounds, my vision narrowing.
Bring the flash drive or she dies. Tick tock.
The video ends.
I exhale slowly, forcing my breath steady.
I know what this is.
I know exactly what Darren wants.
This is a power play. A taunt.
He doesn’t understand that I would burn the entire fucking city to the ground before I let him keep her.
I already know what’s waiting for me.
I know walking into this alone is the kind of stupidity that gets men killed.
But I don’t hesitate.
Because she’s in there.
And I’m going to get her out.
“What’s going on?” Maxim whispers in my ear. “Where the fuck is everyone?”
I turn to tell him my plan, praying I’m doing the right thing.
The warehouse stinks. The space is cavernous, filled with towering stacks of crates and rusted metal shelving. Dim overhead lights flicker, casting ghoulish shadows across the floor.
I turn a corner and there she is.
“Cora.”
She’s in the center of the room, tied to a chair, her hands bound behind her back, ankles strapped to the chair legs. Bruised—but alive.
Her head snaps up the second she hears my voice.
I can see the relief in her eyes.
Darren leans casually against a stack of crates, a smug smirk plastered across his face, his arms folded like this is just another business deal.
His men are spread around him, guns casually at their sides. They aren’t aimed—not yet.
They don’t have to be. They think this is already over.
I hold up the flash drive.
Darren’s eyes gleam. “Toss it over.”
I don’t hesitate.
The small silver drive spins through the air before landing in Darren’s outstretched palm. He flicks it toward one of his men, who scrambles toward a laptop, plugging it in immediately, the glow of the screen illuminating his face.
Darren watches me, grinning like the fucking devil. “I’ll know if you made a copy.”
“Let her go.”
“You shouldn’t have fallen for her,” he muses, shaking his head as if he’s genuinely disappointed in me. “I thought you were smarter than to let yourself get distracted by a woman.”
I don’t answer.
Because I already know what’s coming.
I can see it in his posture, the way his amusement lingers just a little too long before the truth finally spills from his mouth.
He takes a slow step forward. “You know,” he says, tilting his head, “I used to hate you Russians. The way you carved a path through the Lombardi empire, the way you killed my father like he was nothing.”
Something sharp coils in my gut.
No.
Not possible.
He grins wider, watching the realization sink in.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s right. You didn’t finish the Lombardi line, Bratva boy.” He spreads his arms, mockingly. “I’m still here.”
Silence hangs thick between us.
Behind him, Cora stiffens, her sharp eyes flicking between us.
Darren sees it.
He laughs. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?” He takes another slow step forward, relishing this. “I inherit by right. Might be a bastard kid, but I’m in charge now. You lose.”
I don’t move as he pulls a knife from his belt, twirling it between his fingers, letting the dim light gleam off the honed edge.
“Watch him.” He turns toward the laptop, where his men are hunched over the screen, watching the files load from the flash drive.
I don’t look.
I don’t have to.
I already know what’s happening.
The air shifts.
One of Darren’s men mutters something under his breath. A frustrated click of the keyboard.
Darren’s smirk fades. He steps toward the screen, his brows furrowing.
Then—
The files start to corrupt.
Numbers twist into gibberish. Folders disappear. A low error tone beeps through the speakers, slow at first, then faster, louder. The guy watching me is distracted, glancing at the screen.
The data is falling apart.
Darren’s face darkens. “No, no, no.”
I run for Cora, slicing through the ropes holding her in an instant.
Darren jerks his head toward me. “What the fuck did you do?”
“I didn’t do a thing,” I reply. “But we have an employee who’s fucking good with computers though. Got into your secure network and might have deleted a few things. Whoops.”
He roars with rage, pointing a gun my way. “You’re a fucking dead man. Do you have any idea how much that shit was worth? Years of work, my father’s entire empire. Destroyed for her? I hope she was worth it.”
“She is,” I reply. “You going to shoot or what? I haven’t got all night.”
He laughs coldly. “Bold to the end. Goodbye, Ivan.”
Gunshots shatters the silence. I wince, shoving Cora behind me.
The windows explode inward, raining shards of glass over the warehouse floor. Darren looks down at his chest, a bloom of red appearing. “What the fuck,” he mutters as his legs give way, the gun falling from his hand.
A split second later, Bratva soldiers storm the building.
Darren is still looking down at his chest, his hand trembling as it presses against the spreading bloom of crimson soaking through his shirt.
His eyes widen, as if he can’t quite believe it.
As if he didn’t think this was how he would die.
Then—his legs buckle.
He hits the ground hard, coughing, choking, the wet sound of blood filling the space between us.
I exhale sharply, my limbs suddenly feeling heavier.
The gun slips from my fingers.
The pain—I register it too late.
Warmth seeps through my side, soaking my shirt, dripping onto the floor. I try to straighten, but my knees give out beneath me.
A pair of arms catch me before I hit the ground.
Cora.
She kneels beside me, her hands gripping my shoulders, holding me up. Her breaths are ragged, her fingers shaking as they press against the wound in my side.
I barely feel it.
My gaze drifts to the ruined laptop across the room, sparks hissing from the shattered screen.
I shift my head just enough to look at Darren, his body twitching on the cold concrete. His breaths are wet, labored, his blood pooling beneath him. He’s reaching for his gun. “Finish this,” I say to Cora.
She nods, taking my gun and walking up to Darren. “Wait,” he mutters. “I’ll give you all the money in the world.”
“I don’t want it,” she replies, pulling the trigger an instant later. “You messed with the wrong girl, you son of a bitch.”
His eyes glaze over forever, his body slumping on the ground, unmoving.
I force out a rough, ragged chuckle.
“Maybe I should have let you handle this,” I say. “I fucked up.”
She is shaking, her hands cradling my face.
“Don’t die.” Her voice breaks. “Your queen forbids it.”
I try to respond, but my throat is thick.
She lets out a sob, gripping me tighter, like she can physically keep me from slipping away.
I reach up weakly, brushing a bloodstained hand over her cheek.
“I shouldn’t have locked you away,” I rasp. “I’m sorry.”
She sniffs, her tear-filled eyes searching mine.
“You did it because you love me, right?”
I exhale, nodding. “Yeah.”
“Ivan,” she breathes, her fingers digging into my jacket. “Do that again and I’ll kill you.”
“Won’t have to. I’m bleeding out.”
“No, you’re not. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry I brought you into all this,” I admit, my vision blurring at the edges.
She shakes her head. “I’m glad you did.”
Darkness.
The last thing I hear?—
“Stay with me. Please, Ivan.”