Chapter 18
ANDREI
It's been two days since Liesl looked at me with horror in her eyes and told me she wasn't mine unless she decided to be.
Two days since I let her walk away instead of doing what every instinct screamed at me to do—claim her, keep her, make her understand that she belongs to me whether she accepts it or not.
Two days of distance that feels like a chasm I don't know how to cross.
I stand at the window of my office, watching the estate grounds as dawn breaks over the horizon. The light is pale and cold, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns. Everything looks peaceful, but that's a lie.
The war with Alexander Baumann has escalated beyond anything I anticipated. The Volkovs are circling like vultures, sensing weakness, looking for an opportunity to strike. Everyone thinks I'm distracted, compromised, and they're not entirely wrong.
I haven't seen Liesl since that morning. She stays in her room like she was told, and I should be glad that she's finally obeying. Instead, it's driving me mad, because I know she's pulling away from me.
And I'm letting her, because I don't know what else to do. She doesn't know how to reconcile the man who held her tenderly with the man who killed someone for looking at her, and I don't know how to be both things at once when she clearly can't accept that I am.
The door to my office opens without a knock. It's Viktor. His face is grim, and I know before he speaks that the news isn't good.
"We have a problem," he says.
I turn from the window. "The Volkovs?"
"Intelligence just came in. They're mobilizing—multiple teams, heavy weapons. They're planning a coordinated assault on the estate."
My jaw tightens. "When?"
"Today. Possibly within the hour."
Fuck.
I move to my desk, pulling up the security feeds on my computer. The estate has cameras covering every approach, motion sensors, armed guards at every entrance. We're prepared for an attack. But the Volkovs won't move unless they're confident they can win.
That doesn't necessarily mean they're right.
"How many men?" I ask.
"At least thirty. Maybe more."
I do the math quickly. We have thirty men on the estate right now, another fifteen I can call in within thirty minutes.
"Call everyone in," I tell Viktor. "Full mobilization.
I want every man armed and in position within twenty minutes.
Set them up at the main gate and the east entrance. Put snipers on the roof."
"Already done," Viktor says. "What about the girl?"
The question makes my chest tighten. Liesl.
She's here, in the main house, completely vulnerable if the Volkovs breach our defenses.
If I had known sooner, I could have gotten her somewhere else…
but there's no time for that now. There's every chance trying to get her out of here could result in an attack on the way.
That might be exactly what they're trying to get me to do.
"She stays in her room," I say. "Lock it from the outside. Post four guards."
"Andrei—"
"Do it."
Viktor hesitates, then nods and leaves.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the security feeds. I should be focused entirely on the tactical situation, on making sure we survive the next few hours. Instead, all I can think about is Liesl locked in her room, terrified and alone.
Hating me.
I push the thought aside.
—
The first shots come twenty minutes later.
I'm in the security room with Viktor and three other men, watching the feeds, when the east gate explodes with a concentrated barrage of gunfire.
"East entrance compromised," one of my men reports, his voice tight.
"Hold position," I order. "Let them come."
On the screen, I watch as Volkov's men pour through the breach. Ten, fifteen, twenty. They're moving fast, coordinated, weapons raised.
My men open fire from concealed positions.
The sound is deafening even through the walls—automatic weapons, shotguns, the sharp crack of sniper rifles from the roof.
Bodies drop. The Volkovs scatter, seeking cover, returning fire.
Blood sprays across the camera lens. A man goes down clutching his throat.
Another takes a round to the chest and crumples.
"Main gate under attack," another voice reports.
I switch cameras. The main gate is holding, but barely. More of Volkov's men are there, using a vehicle as a battering ram to force their way through. "Take out that vehicle," I say into the radio.
A moment later, one of my snipers puts a round through the driver's side windshield. The vehicle swerves, crashes into the gate pillar, and stops. But the men keep coming.
They pour out of the disabled vehicle, taking cover behind it and laying down suppressing fire. My men return it, but the Volkovs have numbers and they're using them.
"They're trying to flank us," Viktor says, pointing at another screen. "South side, through the gardens."
Fuck. They're smarter than I gave them credit for. This ia a coordinated attack designed to overwhelm our defenses from multiple angles. "Pull men from the west side," I order. "Reinforce the south. And get me a count on how many we've taken down."
"At least eight confirmed kills," someone reports. "Maybe ten."
Not enough. Not nearly enough. I grab my weapon and head for the door. "Where are you going?" Viktor asks.
"To handle this myself."
The estate is chaos. Gunfire echoes from every direction, punctuated by shouts in Russian and the occasional scream.
Smoke drifts across the grounds from something burning near the east entrance.
The air smells like gunpowder and blood.
I move through it, my weapon raised, calculating positions and threats.
Two of Volkov's men round the corner ahead of me. I drop them both before they can raise their weapons. Clean shots, center mass. They fall without a sound. I keep moving.
My men are holding their positions, but barely.
The Volkovs have numbers and momentum, and they're pressing hard.
I see one of my guards go down near the fountain, blood blooming across his chest. Another is pinned behind a stone planter, returning fire but clearly outmatched.
I move to support him, laying down covering fire that forces the Volkovs back.
The guard nods his thanks and repositions.
"Status," I bark into my radio.
"East entrance holding," Viktor reports. "Main gate holding. South side is a problem—they're pushing through the gardens."
The gardens. Close to the main house. Close to Liesl. My blood goes cold. "How close?" I demand.
"Fifty meters. Maybe less."
I'm moving before Viktor finishes speaking, sprinting across the estate toward the main house. My heart is hammering, but my hands are steady. My mind is clear.
If they reach her—
I don't finish the thought.
I round the corner of the main house and see four men, moving in formation, weapons raised, heading directly for the entrance where Liesl's room is located.
I don't hesitate. I open fire, dropping the first man before he knows I'm there. The others scatter, returning fire, and I dive behind a stone column as bullets chip away at the masonry. "Andrei!" Viktor's voice crackles over the radio. "We need you at the east—"
"Busy," I snap, leaning out to fire again. Another man goes down. Two left.
They're good. Better than the others. They move with military coordination, covering each other and advancing despite my fire. One of them gets close enough that I can see his face—young, maybe twenty-five, with cold eyes and a scar across his jaw.
I put a bullet through his forehead. The last man breaks and runs. I let him go, my focus entirely on the house now. I need to get to her. Need to make sure she's safe.
I'm halfway to the entrance when I hear glass shattering, and a scream.
Liesl.
I don't remember crossing the distance. Don't remember kicking in the door or taking the stairs three at a time. All I know is that I'm suddenly in the hallway outside her room, and the door is open.
The guards I posted are dead. One has his throat cut. The other has been shot in the face. I'm not sure where the other two are. And inside the room, I can hear struggling.
I move through the doorway with my weapon raised, and the scene that greets me makes my vision go red.
Liesl is backed against the far wall, her face pale, her eyes wide with terror. A man has her by the arm—one of Volkov's, judging by the tattoos visible on his neck—and he's dragging her toward the broken window. He sees me and raises his weapon.
I'm faster.
The shot takes him in the shoulder, spinning him around.
He loses his grip on Liesl, and she stumbles away, gasping.
I fire again. This time, the bullet catches him in the chest. He goes down hard, blood spreading across the floor.
But there's another one. Behind the door. I see the movement too late.
He lunges at me, knife in hand, and I barely get my weapon up in time to block. The knife scrapes along the barrel of my gun, and then we're grappling, too close for guns.
He's strong. Trained. He gets the knife around, aiming for my throat, and I have to drop my weapon to catch his wrist. We struggle.
He's pushing the blade toward my neck, using his weight, his leverage.
I can feel the tip of it pressing against my skin.
I shift my weight, hook my leg behind his, and take us both to the ground.
We hit hard, and the impact loosens his grip just enough.
I wrench the knife away, reverse it, and drive it into his throat. Blood sprays hot across my face. He gurgles, eyes going wide, hands scrabbling at the wound. I pull the knife out and stab him again. And again.
He stops moving.
I'm on my feet immediately, grabbing my weapon, spinning to check for more threats. The room is clear. Liesl is pressed against the wall, her whole body shaking, her eyes locked on the bodies.