NIKOLAI
Istand at the window of our luxury warehouse penthouse, which was bought under a false name that hints the fact it’s us who now own it. We want Sergi’s attention, so we can’t hide too much. It overlooks the Thames, and I watch as fog rolls over the dark river. London in December is all muted greys and icy drizzle, the Christmas lights blurred through mist. A complete opposite to the stunning tropical islands that we’ve been staying at recently, but it’s not just the dismal weather that has my heart heaving. It’s being split from the others, my family. The twice daily check ins aren’t enough. I need to hold Iris and Roman, and let Hunt embrace me in that way he does, which tells me I’m safe like never before.
A huff leaves my lips, fogging up the glass in front of my face. We’ve spent two fucking weeks in the city, and we’re no bloody closer to identifying Sergi’s exact location than when we’d arrived. He’s disappeared, and eyes on the Petrov Estate have revealed nothing.
“Anything from Alexei?” Rowan asks, entering the room with two cups of coffee. The steam curls in the air above them, the fragrant smell making my mouth water even if a part of me feels we’ve just been existing on the stuff and nothing else. Nothing as delicious as Hunt’s cooking anyway, though I wouldn’t tell Dima that. He’s missing Andrei, all sullen and like a dark rain cloud. Not that I can blame him. Rowan and I are no better and poor Bubby has had to put up with all three of us being grumpy arseholes.
I take a cup from him as he stands next to me before looking back out at the dark night beyond the window. “Radio silence for the past forty-eight hours.”
“That’s not good.”
“No, it isn’t.” I take a sip of the bitter coffee, my mind cataloging possibilities. Alexei going dark could mean many things, none of them favourable or good. Fuck. “For now, the timetable remains the same. New Year’s Eve.”
“And if Alexei doesn’t reestablish contact?” I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He’s so different from his twin, all dark to Roman’s light, but there’s an unapologetic nature about him, like he doesn’t give a fuck if he’s a bit of a psycho and people know it. I admire that, his lack of hiding. I feel like I’ve spent my whole life trying to be something else just to survive, and I’m so fucking tired.
“We proceed as planned.” My voice leaves no room for debate, even if my stomach churns inside at having to face this without Alexei’s help. “We’ve come too far to back down now.”
Rowan is still. It’s something I’ve noticed about him these past two weeks. He doesn’t move if he doesn’t need to, like a snake waiting to strike but happy to leave its prey guessing. It’s unnerving. He is always watching. Calculating.
“You’re thinking about his medical centre again,” Rowan says, not a question. It’s the one piece of information we’ve discovered between our various contacts.
I nod. “Three floors of the Harley Street building are supposedly under renovation. Security increased last week. Unmarked vehicles coming and going at odd hours.” It’s too much of a coincidence.
“Could be anything, we don’t know for sure,” he replies, though he sounds uncertain, like he knows even without eyes inside that it’s where Sergi is planning on taking Iris.
“It’s where he’d take her,” I say with cold certainty. My gut tells me I’m right, and with the life I’ve had, I’ve learned to trust my gut. Some days it was the only thing that kept me alive. “Private, discreet, medical equipment already in place. My father thinks of everything.”
Rowan’s reflection in the glass hardens, his jaw a sharp blade as he grinds his teeth. “If Sergi’s preparing for Iris’s arrival, we need to set a trap. Draw him out before the other’s land.”
“That’s precisely what I’ve been considering,” I reply, turning from the window with a grimace. “Hunt will be pissed though. He wants us to wait. Not to risk anything without his backup.”
“I will risk everything if it’s to keep her safe. Fuck what Hunt thinks,” Rowan snarls, and this is why we make a great team. Neither of us let any morals interfere with keeping our girl, our family safe. “What are you thinking?”
“We know my father’s surveillance network has been compromised—Roman’s contacts made sure of that. Now we feed false information.”
“What kind of information?”
I set my coffee down, moving to the secure laptop that rests on the desk. “That I’ve separated from Iris. That she’s being transported alone with minimal security.” My gut churns at that. Just as Hunter hates not being able to protect us, I feel the same about him, Roman and Iris. It makes me feel sick that something could happen and I won’t be there to stop it. Shaking my head, not willing to be frozen by fear when I can’t do anything about it, I type rapidly. “That she’s scheduled to arrive at Heathrow tomorrow night on private medical transport.”
Rowan’s eyes narrow, a gleam entering them. “You’re deliberately drawing Sergi’s men to Heathrow, while the others actually land at—”
“RAF Northolt,” I finish. “Military airfield, private terminal. My father won’t expect it—it’s too official, too exposed for someone trying to stay hidden.”
“And too well-protected to risk an extraction.” Rowan nods, a small tilt of his lips appearing as he follows the logic of my plan. “But if Sergi’s men move to Heathrow based on your false information…”
“We’ll have confirmation of their presence in London, potential identification of key personnel, and most importantly, evidence they’re actively targeting Iris.” All information that, until this point, we’ve not been able to get, which has been frustrating, to say the least. My fingers pause over the keyboard. “It’s time to activate our contact in the Met’s counterterrorism unit.”
“You want to bring pigs into this?” Rowan asks, and I cut a glance to see his brows lifted as surprise fills his voice.
A smile blooms on my face, but I know it’s cold. “Leverage, Rowan. As Hunter would say, there are lines we don’t cross, but there are also resources we shouldn’t overlook, contacts that I’ve spent years nurturing that he does not know about. My father has spent decades avoiding official attention. Having Scotland Yard take interest in his organisation’s movements would be…problematic for him.”
“And helpful for us,” Rowan concedes, his lips pursed.
“Precisely.” I resume typing, then pause again, my brows dropping. “Have we heard from Hunter today?”
Rowan checks his watch, his own face tight. We’re both worried. They leave today, and all we can do is hold our breath and wait for them to land at Northolt. “Not since his 0600 check in. They should depart Singapore within the hour.”
I nod, but a knot of tension forms between my shoulders. I want to snarl like a rabid beast at all the scenarios that keep running through my mind, ranging from the plane crashing to it being hunted down by Sergi’s men. No amount of deep breaths will ease the tension until we’re all here in London together.
“She’ll be here soon,” Rowan says quietly, as if reading my thoughts. “They’ll be here soon.”
“Not soon enough.” I need my Solnishko, my sun who makes even the dullest day brighter. The same for Roman, Moy Lev, my lion. And Hunter, the man who I never knew I needed but who makes me feel like everything will be okay as long as he’s here. Huffing a breath, I turn the laptop screen to show Rowan what I’d been working on—detailed schematics of Sergi’s suspected medical facility. “Tonight, we need to get a closer look at this building. If this is where my father plans to hold Iris, we need to know every entrance, exit, and weakness before she lands on UK soil.”
Rowan studies the plans, his expression grim. “And if we’re spotted?”
“Then we’ll give my father something new to think about.” Rowan’s lips tip up into a grin that is downright scary. I close the laptop with a decisive click, my smile growing as a part of me hopes we get to show my father that we’re not that easy to dominate. “Get your gear ready. We move at midnight.”
IRIS
The steady beep of the blood pressure monitor has become the soundtrack to my fucking existence. I equally loathe the sounds, and am relieved by it because it tells me I’m okay, that my baby is okay. Or not. But at least I know.
I stare out the small window of the private medical jet, watching clouds drift beneath us, trying to focus on anything but the constant reminder of my silent condition.
Thirty-six weeks pregnant now, my body feels foreign, swollen, a vessel for both life and danger. It doesn’t feel like my own, and I sometimes wonder if I’m a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off. The preeclampsia hasn’t improved despite weeks of bloody medication and resting. If anything, the stress of constant movement, the constant threat that hangs over our heads like an axe waiting to fall, has made it worse.
“How are you feeling?” Roman asks, settling into the seat across from me, his brows creased as he looks me over. I swallow, wanting to shout at him for looking at me like that, like I’m already broken and falling apart at the seams, but I don’t have the energy, so instead I just huff a sigh.
“Like a fucking science experiment,” I snap, gesturing to the various monitors attached to me. “How much longer?”
“About twelve hours to our refuelling stop, then another ten to the UK,” Roman replies as Andrei walks over with my medical chart, checking the latest readings, his expression carefully neutral. Too neutral.
“Your blood pressure is elevated again.”
I can’t stop the growl that falls from my lips, and I close my eyes, taking in a measured breath. “It’s been elevated for weeks, Andrei.”
“This is higher.” He adjusts my IV drip, no doubt increasing the medication dose slightly. “Try to rest. Doctor’s orders.”
What the fuck does he think I’m doing?
“Difficult to rest when you’re flying toward a confrontation with a psychopathic Russian mobster,” I mutter, but with a look from Roman, which tells me I’m being a grumpy bitch, I lean my seat back obediently as Andrei walks off towards the cockpit.
Hunter appears from the front cabin. His wounded side has finally healed enough that he’s only got a small bandage which is hidden under his T-shirt, which clings to his muscles and has heat curling in my core. Fucking pregnancy hormones. Murderous rage one moment, complete hussy the next. He nods to Roman, who relinquishes his seat without comment, going to the one on the opposite side of the plane and sitting next to Bubby, who once again is white-knuckling the armrests. Poor kid.
“Captain says we’re cleared all the way to UK airspace,” Hunter tells me, leaning forward and taking my hand. Damn, he’s too pretty. “No flight plan anomalies, no unusual air traffic communications.”
“So we’re safe for now?” I question, the tight band encasing my chest easing just slightly. Though I know better than to fully believe it. Sergi is a master at lulling us into a false sense of security, only to jump out like a fucking clown and yell surprise. I fucking hate clowns, creepy bastards.
Hunter’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes, the skin around them bunching. “As safe as anyone can be when they’re challenging Sergi Petrov, but yes, this part of the journey is secure.”
I study his face, the new lines around his eyes, the hardness that hadn’t been there before the island. All of us have changed in these past weeks—becoming sharper, more focused, the unspoken fear for me, for Nik, and our baby driving us to extra levels of vigilance. I can’t help but wonder what will be left once this is finally over. Will we even recognise each other? Or will we be changed beyond repair, moulded into creatures who don’t know how to live without fear, without that ever present anxiety that someone is coming for us?
“Have you heard from Nik today?” I ask to distract the morbid turn of my thoughts.
A flicker of something—frustration? worry?—crosses Hunter’s face before he controls it. “Brief message this morning. They’re in position, preparing for our arrival.”
“But?” I press, sensing the unspoken concern, my stomach churning.
Hunter hesitates, then sighs. “But he’s taking risks. Rowan says they’re planning some kind of reconnaissance tonight, at what they believe is one of Sergi’s medical facilities.”
Fear tightens around my heart, the monitor beeping faster in response. “They’re deliberately getting close to Sergi? Before we even arrive?”
Stupid fucking men!
“Nik believes it’s necessary intelligence gathering,” Hunter says, his tone making it clear that he doesn’t agree, but what can any of us do? We are not with them, and this is precisely the reason I didn’t want to split up. “Rowan will keep him in check.”
“Like he’s not just as bloodthirsty and fucking crazy to want to hurt Sergi?” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice. The separation had been Nik’s idea—divide our group to divert Sergi’s attention. Then he took Rowan, leaving Hunter and Roman to protect me. It was a tactical decision that feels more like abandonment with each passing day.
Hunter squeezes my hand, his emerald eyes locked onto mine. “Nik knows what he’s doing, Iris. He always has.” His jaw is tight, and I know he hates this as much as I do, if not a little more. Hunt needs to be in control, needs to know that he’s able to protect us all, and right now, he’s not.
“That’s what scares me, Daddy,” I whisper. “He’s always had to deal with Sergi alone, and yes, he can play angles we don’t even see, but what if this time he’s miscalculated? What if Sergi is expecting exactly this move?”
Before Hunter can answer, Andrei emerges from the cockpit, his face grim. “We have a problem. Singapore Air Traffic Control just contacted us with an urgent security notification. Someone filed a flight plan identical to ours, departing thirty minutes after we did.”
My heart jolts inside my chest, bile stinging the back of my throat.
Hunter gets on his feet instantly. “Coincidence?”
“Not likely,” Andrei replies, his brows low. “Same aircraft type, similar call sign. They’re shadowing us.”
“Sergi,” I breathe out, one hand going protectively to my belly as my breaths shorten, the feeling of the walls getting smaller making my vision blur at the edges.
Hunter’s expression hardens. “Change course. Now. Roman!”
Hunter and Andrei hurry toward the cockpit, but the plane banks sharply, sending medical equipment sliding. I grip the armrests, feeling the baby kick vigorously in protest at the sudden movement.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to my unborn son, unsure if I’m trying to convince the child or myself. “We’re almost there. Almost safe.”
Roman is suddenly in the seat next to me, buckling in and grabbing my hand.
“Nothing will happen to you or our baby, Princess,” he vows, his brown eyes serious and currently the only thing anchoring me here and keeping the panic attack from overwhelming me. “I swear it. We will protect you both. He will not have you.”
But as the plane continues its evasive turn, the medical monitors start beeping in alarm around me, no doubt because of my current stress levels. I knew safety was still a distant hope. Between what feels like my failing health and Sergi’s relentless pursuit, simply reaching London alive would be victory enough for now.
The actual battle—the one Nik and Alexei have been planning for months—still lies ahead. New Year’s Eve. The night that will determine all our fates.
