Chapter 28
Ivan
I sprint to the door, adrenaline coursing through my veins. The sounds of chaos echo from the main part of the house—screaming, gunfire, and a commanding voice shouting orders. Vivi's downstairs, and I can't waste another second.
Before I can reach the door, Damon steps in front of me. "Romanov, don’t go out there."
I whirl around, getting right in his face. "Vivi is downstairs. We need to shut them down before they get her."
Damon's eyes are steady, his voice calm but firm. "The only thing that will happen if we go out there is that we are going to get gunned down."
Enzo, always the hothead, jumps in, his voice full of disbelief. "Are you fucking serious? Rowan is out there, too. And Lulu."
Cassidy paces, looking from the door to us. I understand his agitation; it mirrors mine. He’s thinking of Evie, of course. We are all thinking about the women we love, somewhere in this godforsaken house, void of our protection.
I glance back at the door, torn between charging out there and listening to reason. Damon's not done speaking, though. "I’m not planning on us running, and we’re not going to just sit here and do nothing."
He strides to the bookcase at the head of the room and pulls a key from his pocket. I watch, curiosity mingling with urgency. Damon slides a piece of wood aside, revealing a hidden keyhole. He inserts the key, and with a soft click, the bookcase swings open.
Damon turns to us, his expression resolute. "Lorenzo Valachi designed this place for an attack. Let’s go."
I step into the narrow passageway hidden behind the bookcase. The walls are so close that my shoulders brush against both sides as I squeeze through. It's a tight fit, but there's no time to dwell on the discomfort. We barely get the bookcase closed before the attackers burst into the room behind us.
Damon taps on the wall, and I follow his lead, pressing my eye to tiny holes that are invisible from the outside. The attackers are dressed in police uniforms. They sweep through the room, checking under the table and in the curtains. One of them speaks into a walkie-talkie, "Dining room clear."
I hold my breath as they leave. None of us speak.
When they’re gone, Damon flicks a switch on the wall, and lights buzz to life. The bulbs are old, more industrial than residential. I notice the walls are reinforced with metal.
I can't hold back any longer. "We need a fucking plan, Papparado," I hiss.
Damon's eyes are sharp, calculating. "Why are the police here? Luca, is there any way Waylon could have known?"
Luca looks as puzzled as the rest of us. "Our last meeting went as usual."
Enzo chimes in, his frustration palpable. "It has to be a coincidence. There’s no way he could know that we know. We still have Hugh, right?"
Damon nods. "He is recovering in a room downstairs."
I feel more like a rodent than a man. This is not the way I’m used to handling situations like this. I know the police are sweeping the house. They will reach the basement and find the women. They will find Vivi. Standing behind a metal wall feels wrong, like we're trapped rats waiting for the inevitable.
My mind races. I can't stand the thought of Vivi in danger while we're cowering here. I need to do something, anything. This isn't how I operate. I’m a man of action, not hiding.
"We’d better get moving, or I’m going back out there," I say, my impatience barely contained.
Damon nods and starts to lead us through the narrow passage. We leave the dining room area and move into the foyer, peering through another set of tiny holes. A fight is raging below us. Carina and Evie are in the thick of it, holding their own.
Where are the others?
Cassidy grins, his eyes lighting up. "That’s my ride."
He feels along the wall, finds a sliding panel, and he and Luca slip out, closing it behind them. I watch as Cassidy tackles a police officer. Another one tries to sneak up on him, but Evie’s quick, sending a volley of knives his way. Luca and Carina stand back-to-back, fending off their attackers with coordinated precision.
Damon’s voice cuts through the chaos. "We need to keep moving, find the others."
We navigate our way through the hidden passages, glancing into the kitchen and the library as we come upon them. Both empty.
As we move through one of the hallways, we stop still as we come upon several officers herding Lulu and Rowan along.
Where the hell is Vivi? She was with them. Frustration makes me grind my teeth, and I don't stick around to watch as Damon and Enzo slip out to intercept the officers and take the women. I have my own mission, I won’t stop until I find Vivi.
The lights in the walls flicker as a body slams against the outer wall. I creep along, peeking through the holes whenever I can. The tension is suffocating. A police officer gets so close to my hiding place that I can see the sweat beading on his brow. As he raises his gun, his sleeve pulls back, revealing a tattoo on his wrist. The symbol of Azrael.
These aren’t police, but we already knew that. They’re Azrael in disguise.
I move faster now, driven by a mix of fear and determination. Vivi. I have to find her. The hidden passages seem endless, but finally, I reach the sitting room. I spot her first, surprisingly calm amid the chaos. The double doors are barred and guarded. She’s not alone.
Waylon Vigneault is with her.
I slide the panel open quietly, emerging beside the fireplace. As I step out, the cold, unmistakable click of a bullet sliding into a chamber freezes me in my tracks. Waylon's gun is trained on me.
"I’m sorry for all of this, but a man has his orders," he says, his voice steady.
I meet his gaze, defiant. "And who do you take them from?"
He shrugs, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Depends on the day. Now, both of us are losing people out there. I think we need to find a way to end this."
"Back down and leave," I demand, trying to keep my voice steady despite the fear gnawing at my insides.
"You are not in a position to give orders, Romanov," Waylon replies calmly. "I know you have been operating as the de facto head of the Five Families. The Commission has demands, and they need to be met."
I narrow my eyes, my mind racing. "And what are those demands?"
"All of the current heads step down. All of you leave this behind. The Commission will replace all of you with men loyal to the ideology of the Commission."
"And the Commission would just let us go? I have a hard time believing that," I say, my eyes locked on Waylon's.
Waylon’s expression remains unchanged. "There have been men who have been able to step away. The Commission can be merciful."
"It is an impossibility," I retort, my voice tinged with bitterness. “Mercy is not in their vocabulary.”
Waylon sighs as if speaking to a stubborn child. "You are not a trusting man. I understand this. But hear me, Romanov…this is your only way out."
I glance at Vivi, sitting unmoving and quiet on the chair. Pride surges in my chest, along with a breath-stealing kind of awareness.
I love her. I love her with such conviction it scares me.
None of this has been easy for her. Raised to be a mafia wife, she has nonetheless struggled with every moment of our chaotic, dangerous marriage. My Vivi is a sensitive soul—that softness was part of what drew me to her years ago. This world we live in…it is not for her, as deeply entrenched as she’s always been in it. She loves romantic stories, tales of heroes and happy endings, and God help me…she needs to be—deserves to be—protected from men like me. I’ve never been the kind of hero she deserves, but maybe…just maybe…she could have a life like the ones in her stories.
She looks up at me, making eye contact. Her eyes are unreadable, a mixture of fear and resolve.
Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, Vivi leaps from the chair. Her palm smacks Waylon on the side of his face, momentarily distracting him. It’s all the opportunity I need. I take out my gun and raise it, but before I can fire, Waylon tackles me. We hit the floor hard, grappling for control.
Tables are knocked over in the struggle. Every time one of us tries to aim our gun, the other knocks it away. Vivi tries to help, but Waylon shoves her back. I see her fall to the floor, and a surge of fury ignites within me.
With a roar, I grab Waylon by the balls and twist, causing him to scream in agony. He backs off, clutching himself. I seize the moment, grabbing one of the upturned tables and smashing it over his head. The table breaks apart, and Waylon crumples to the ground, dazed but only for a second. I’m scanning the floor, trying to find my gun, when I sense movement from the corner of my eye.
Waylon has gotten up and clutches the leg from a broken table, his movements quick and swift as he strikes me across the face. Pain explodes in my vision, and I stagger backward, struggling to keep my balance. Before I can recover, Waylon raises his gun, ready to finish me off.
A vase shatters against his head, sending shards flying. Vivi. She stands there, breathing hard, determination in her eyes.
I spring up and tackle Waylon to the ground. This time, I have the upper hand. My hands wrap around his throat, squeezing with all the strength I have left. Waylon's hands come up, trying to pry mine off, and soon, we're both choking each other, a deadly contest of endurance and willpower.
Stars begin to dance in front of my eyes. My vision blurs, and I can feel my grip weakening as the lack of oxygen takes its toll. Just a little longer, I tell myself, pouring every ounce of strength into my hands.
Suddenly, I can breathe again. Waylon’s hands fall away from my throat, his grip slackening. I watch as the light fades from his eyes, and he goes limp beneath me.
I collapse onto the floor beside him, gasping for air. Vivi kneels beside me, wrapping her arms around me in a fierce hug. Her breath shudders out, a gasping sob that she tries to contain. I put a hand against her hair, holding her close, feeling the warmth of her body against mine.
“It’s okay,” I mutter. “You’re okay.”
We sit there, the world outside the door a chaotic symphony of gunfire and shouts, but in this moment, in this room, we are alone. I can feel her trembling, but she’s safe. For now, we’re safe.