The predawn sky is as ugly as a bruise above me—purples and blues and nasty, vicious streaks of red.
Not unlike the inside of my mind right now. Hell, all of me is beaten and battered. How the fuck could it not be?
My own father ordered my execution. He hired my best friend to put a bullet in my brain—and he very fucking nearly got what he wanted.
The coffee in my hand has gone cold, forgotten as I stand on the roof of our compound and watch darkness retreat from the sky. I haven’t slept. How could I? With Rowan’s tears still damp on my shirt and the ghost of Arkady’s gun barrel still pressed against my forehead?
Three betrayals in as many days. My wife fled with my daughter. My best friend pointed a gun at my skull. My father orchestrated it all.
Yet, somehow, I’m still standing.
The rage inside me isn’t hot anymore. It’s gone arctic—a frozen wasteland where nothing grows and nothing lives. This kind of cold burns worse than fire ever could.
“I figured I’d find you up here.” Arkady’s voice disturbs the silence as he steps onto the rooftop behind me.
I don’t turn around. “Come to finish the job?”
His footsteps stop. “That’s fair.”
When I finally face him, he looks like shit. Eyes bloodshot, face haggard, shoulders slumped under the weight of his shame.
Good. Let him carry it.
Arkady sighs, looks out at the treeline. “The FBI ultimatum expires in ten hours. We need a plan.”
“Fuck the FBI,” I spit. “They’re insignificant compared to this.”
“Is that what you’re going to tell Rowan? That you’d rather deal with your daddy issues than keep yourself out of prison and around for Sofiya?”
I whip toward him, coffee cup dropping from my hand to shatter on the concrete. “Choose your next words very carefully.”
But he’s right. Goddamn him, he’s right.
Personal vendettas have to wait. My daughter needs me free and breathing, not imprisoned or bleeding out in some abandoned warehouse because I couldn’t control my thirst for revenge.
“We stick to the plan,” I grit out finally. “Give Carver enough to satisfy him. Deal with my father later.”
Fuck, that hurt to say. Delaying my vengeance is almost as painful as the betrayal itself.
“It’s the right call,” Arkady says, placing a hand on my shoulder.
And that’s when it happens.
We both notice a commotion in the trees. Doves and pigeons, spooked by something, go squawking into the air.
Arkady moves before I do. He pushes me backwards as his eyes bulge, and “Vin!”, and—
BOOM.
The crack of a rifle echoes across the morning air. Arkady’s body jerks violently beside me, a spray of crimson exploding from his chest as he staggers backward.
For one suspended moment, I don’t understand what I’m seeing.
Then reality crashes down.
That bullet was meant for me.
I dive for Arkady, dragging him behind the rooftop air conditioning unit as a second shot ricochets off the concrete where I stood milliseconds before.
“Fuck!” I press my hands against the wound in his chest. His blood seeps through my fingers like it’s determined to escape him. “SECURITY!” I bellow toward the door. “SNIPER ON THE EAST PERIMETER!”
Arkady’s eyes are wide, mouth working silently as he gasps for air that won’t come. A bubble of blood forms between his lips, pops.
“Stay with me,” I command. “Don’t you fucking die on me. Not now.”
Alarms blare throughout the compound. Guards pour onto the roof, weapons drawn. Rowan’s panicked voice calls from somewhere below.
“Find the shooter!” I roar at my men as they secure the perimeter. “Bring him to me alive!”
The blood won’t stop. It soaks through my shirt, my pants, pools beneath us both like we’re two sinners baptized in crimson. Arkady’s skin is turning gray, his eyes glazing over.
“Medic’s coming, boss,” someone says from above me.
I barely hear them. All I can focus on is the life draining out of my best friend’s body. The man who couldn’t pull the trigger. The man who took a bullet meant for me.
“You asshole,” I breathe. “You fucking, goddamn asshole. How dare you make me mourn you, you son of a bitch? Don’t you fucking… don’t you fucking…”
I can’t even finish the sentence.
The medical team arrives, pushing me aside to work on him. They’re speaking in urgent tones, calling for blood and plasma, but I can read the grim certainty in their eyes.
He’s dying.
And I know—I fucking know—my father is behind this.
Just as I know what I have to do now.
The rage that’s been building since Arkady’s gun pressed against my forehead finally breaches its frozen containment. It roars through me, volcanic and unstoppable, burning away every restraint, every consideration, every ounce of humanity I’ve cultivated for Rowan’s sake.
I stand, covered in Arkady’s blood, and meet Rowan’s terrified gaze as she appears on the rooftop.
She sees it in my eyes. The change. The breaking point.
“Don’t,” she whispers, stepping toward me. “Vince, please. The FBI—”
“Will have to wait,” I interrupt.
“They won’t wait!” she pleads. “If you go after your father now, you’ll ruin everything. You’ll end up in prison, or worse.”
I look down at my blood-drenched hands. At Arkady being loaded onto a stretcher, oxygen mask strapped to his ghostly-pale face. At the men I’ve chosen to surround myself with, all watching to see what I’ll do next.
The decision rips through me like a second bullet.
“Get my jet ready,” I order my security chief, striding toward the roof access door. “And tell Dimitri to prepare the warehouse. The one my father doesn’t know about.”
“Vince!” Rowan follows me, desperation in her voice. “Think about Sofiya. Think about us.”
I stop, turn to face her. Her eyes are wide with fear—not of me, but for me. For what I’m about to become.
“I am thinking about you,” I tell her, cupping her cheek with a hand still wet with Arkady’s blood. “And also about Sofiya and the world I want her to inherit. I intend to give her a world where men like my father don’t get to destroy families and walk away unscathed. And I’m going to do it my way.”
“And if you get caught? If the FBI—”
“If I get caught, then I get caught.” I press my forehead against hers, breathing her in, memorizing the scent that’s kept me human all these long months. “But I won’t live in a world where I let him take everything from me and did nothing.”
I pull away, and the sudden distance between us feels infinite.
“You have to choose, Vince,” she says, tears welling in those green eyes that have always seen straight through me. “Your vengeance or your family. You can’t have both.”
I look at her for a long moment, knowing the truth that burns inside me. The fire of the choice I’ve already made.
“Why not?” I ask. “I’m Vincent fucking Akopov. I take what I want. I always have. I always will.”
