Something’s wrong.
The moment she walked in, I could tell she’d convinced herself to hide the truth from me. It showed when her lips quivered and her shoulders stood rigid.
My hands dig into my pockets as my frustration brims with anger. I should respect her reasons and wait for her to open up, but seeing her like that, struggling not to fall apart, makes it impossible to stay away.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, turning and heading for her room. I’m close to the stairs when my phone begins to ring. I reach for it absentmindedly, but Leo’s name flashing on the screen halts me.
“She’s home,” I say.
“Yeah,” he replies. “I know. That’s not why I’m calling, though. The intel—” He pauses, then hisses, “It’s real. I have visual proof of Marco Ricci. He’s in one of the laundromats. It’s an hour from your house. The fucker came out of his hiding place alright.”
For a couple seconds, I forget to breathe. It feels like the moment I’ve been waiting for is so close—so close that if I blink, it’ll disappear.
“Are you certain?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he replies. “I’m sending you pictures now. You might want more backup because he managed to get every last gangster money could buy, guarding the place and watching the buildings around.”
My phone vibrates, and I open the message. Sure enough, it’s Marco, with the same ugly smile on his face, standing by the exit of the laundromat with another man.
I place the phone to my ear again. “Where are you?” I ask Leo.
“A couple blocks away. Didn’t want to spook them. But…” He clicks his tongue. “I have a feeling they’re preparing for something, Roman. Maybe he knows, you know.”
It doesn’t matter. As far as I’m concerned, Marco Ricci doesn’t get to leave the building alive.
I meet Leo two blocks out, just like he said. I slide into the passenger seat, gun holstered but hand twitching to draw.
“What’s the update?” I ask, eyes already scanning the street.
Leo nods toward the cracked windshield. “Four men outside. More are circling the block, probably lookouts. The lights are still on inside. The car Marco came in is parked two shops down—a black sedan with no plates.”
I grunt. “And inside?”
“Two confirmed guards posted by the back exit. One on the second floor. Marco’s in the office, far right, behind the wash bay. The room has a reinforced door and no windows.”
Of course it does. He’ll use his men as bait.
I inhale through my nose and hold it for a second. Then I nod. “We move now.”
He whistles once, and the SUV parked half a block behind flashes its lights in response. My men spill out, dark clothing blending with the fading sunset, weapons ready. We go on foot—quiet and deliberate, sliding through the alley beside the bakery next to the laundromat.
The door creaks open.
The heat inside is suffocating, and the air is wet with the sour-sweet stench of sweat, bleach, and cheap cologne. The buzzing fluorescent lights overhead give the space a sickly glow.
Then I see them.
Two men in black coats stand by a stack of dryer units at the far end of the hallway. One is leaning back, smoking, while the other is watching something on his phone.
This is what he murdered my father for. So he could hire cheap gangsters.
Leo raises his silenced pistol and fires once—then again. The first man crumples against the wall with a dull thud. The second slumps forward onto the floor, legs folding underneath him like a broken puppet.
We keep moving past the coin dispensers, rust-stained sinks, and out-of-order sign taped crookedly to a broken machine. A third man steps into view, clearly startled. His mouth opens to shout, but it’s too late. I lunge before he can raise his weapon, my gun slamming on his elbow.
His gun goes off in the air.
Somewhere deeper in the building, a voice yells, “Move! We’ve got company!” followed by the sharp metallic slam of a door being thrown open.
Gunfire tears through the quiet, and I duck behind a vending machine as tiles shatter behind me. My men return fire, resulting in more muffled shouts echoing from within.
I hear a man fall before stepping out and cleanly dropping the other. Another one tries to run, but a bullet to the leg and another to the head stops him in his tracks.
“Keep pushing!” I yell. Marco. That’s the only thing I care about. And he’s in here somewhere.
My shoes trail on blood smeared across the pale linoleum, and I walk past shell casings scattered everywhere. Leo is way behind me, covering my exit and ensuring nobody else gets in.
I walk quietly to the end of the hallway where the office is. Two men armed with guns jump out of nowhere, raising their weapons, but I’m faster. One round slams into the first man’s shoulder, spinning him into the wall. The other fires, narrowly missing me. Leo appears and takes him down with a single shot.
They drop, motionless.
Leo wipes sweat from his brow, his breath ragged as he turns to me. “You ready?”
I nod once.
The door opens without much coercion, and I step into a dimly lit room cluttered with cigarette butts and a half-empty bottle of bourbon. I hear a safety going off just as I see him—Marco Ricci.
His voice comes out dry as he smiles. Smugly. “Well,” he mutters, pointing his gun at me, “you finally made it.”
“You’re a dead man,” I rasp as my thumb hovers over my trigger. I could put the bullet between his eyes and end it here, but I need him to admit it. I need to see the look in his eyes when he realizes he has nowhere else to run. “A dead man who has been running like the coward he is.”
Marco shrugs. “Maybe I am a coward, but I doubt you’ll be leaving here with my body.”
I shake my head as rage turns my blood into molten lava. I grit my teeth as I speak. “You still think you have a card to play here?”
“Yes.” He nods. “You see…” He waves his gun around. “I knew she would tell you where I was. That’s why I had her brought to me—not because I wanted to use her to find you.”
My brows furrow in confusion. What is he talking about?
“She was bait,” Marco says. “All I needed was for her to lure you here so I could send my men to your house. Right now, they should be there”—he steps closer, eyes glinting, lips curving into a wicked grin—“with a gun to her forehead.”
Isabella.
A crack opens in my chest. That’s what he means.
That’s why she looked like she’d already cried before she walked into the room. Why she kept glancing away. Why she wouldn’t say what happened.
He took her.
“You mother—” I surge forward, fury turning my limbs to fire, my only instinct to wrap my hands around his throat and crush the smugness out of him. But he sidesteps, laughing under his breath like this is a game.
He’s enjoying it. Shooting him would be merciful. And I don’t want mercy.
I want to watch the panic flicker in his eyes. I want him to feel every second of dread like I’m feeling it now before the life drains from his eyes.
Marco tsks, raising a hand. “Careful,” he says. “You don’t want to do that. Because if I don’t make a call to stand down in the next twenty minutes…” He draws an invisible line across his throat. “They kill her.”
My fists curl so tight I feel my skin split.
“So,” he says, tilting his head with mock curiosity, “what’s it going to be, Roman Volkov? Will you let me walk out of here…or will you let your wife die?”
My voice tears out, raw. “She’s your daughter.”
He doesn’t flinch.
“She’s your blood. How the fuck can you do that to your own—”
“She chose you!” he roars, his composure fracturing like glass. “She chose you over me!”
Silence. Then, a cold breath leaves his nose.
“That’s how I knew,” he says, quieter now. “That you’d fallen in love with her. Because the only way my daughter would love a man like you…is if you made it possible for her to trust you. And you were so blinded by it that you couldn’t see there was a mole in your own house. You’re weaker than your father was, Roman. At least he saw through my act way before I killed him. You thought you were one step ahead, even though I led you on.”
Leo.
Sergei.
The two men I’d trust to protect Isabella are here with me. There’s only Polina—and I don’t know if she’s held a gun before.
My hands are tied. God—I have him right here, yet I feel so helpless.
“Walk away, Volkov,” he taunts. “Walk away like the weak man you are. It’s pathetic, really. How you came so close to killing me, but you have to walk away with your tail tucked between your legs because of a woman. You should’ve never taken her.”
A month ago, I might’ve agreed with him. But Isabella has come to mean more to me than anything else. And walking away now—as painful as it might be—doesn’t mean Marco gets to keep his pitiful life forever.
“I’ll find you,” I say calmly. “I will find you, no matter how far you run. And you’d better run, Marco.”
The slice of fear that flashes through his eyes is enough to show me just how weak he still is. My gun drops as my hand falls to my side. I gesture to Leo, who refuses for a second, then turns and leaves the room.
I hesitate, and my fingers tremble, itching to finish the job before I turn.
“Good boy,” Marco says. “For obeying, I’ll tell you one thing you never knew. I was there when your father died. I saw the moment he realized he’d underestimated me. I savored—”
My gun goes off before he can finish his sentence, and his eyes widen in shock moments before his body hits the ground.
Leo rushes into the room again. “What did you do?”
There’s no time to ask questions. “Get the car,” I order, already racing past him and out of the building. “Call Polina!” I yell at Sergei.
Please. Please let her be alive.
I kick down the door, my heart pounding like a war drum, my voice ripping through the silence as I race inside. “Isabella!” The bodies sprawled by the entrance—my men—are lifeless, and cold dread claws at my chest.
“Bella!” I scream again, voice ragged, raw with panic.
My skin prickles with icy fear, and my throat tightens until it feels like I’m choking on my heartbeat. “Proshu…” I choke out, voice breaking. Desperation pours from every word as I slam up the stairs, every step fueled by terror. “Please, Isabella.”
“Roman?” Her soft voice cuts through the chaos like a lifeline, and I nearly stumble to a halt, spinning around.
There she stands—wild-eyed, hair untamed like a storm, tears glistening in her gaze.
“Isabella.” My voice is hoarse but fierce, a growl of relief and rage mixed.
I crash into her, pulling her close with trembling hands, desperate not to let go.
“You’re alive.” The words break free in a shaky whisper, repeated like a prayer. “You’re alive.” I cradle her face, eyes burning as I search hers for any sign of pain or loss.
“God—I thought I lost you.” My throat seizes, thick with tears I refuse to shed. Every breath is a battle, ragged and shallow.
“My father is dead?” she whispers, her hand trembling as it cups my cheek.
I nod, voice barely a whisper. “Yes.”
A shaky, almost bitter laugh escapes her lips. “They got into the house. But I finally got to put the skill he tortured me to learn to good use. Joke’s on him—being locked in a gun range before I turned thirteen actually worked out for me.”
My fingers find hers, and I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a desperate kiss. “He kidnapped you,” I say, voice thick with guilt and fury. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
Isabella shakes her head, her smile fierce and honest, reaching her eyes. “You dealt with him. I couldn’t. That’s what matters.”
She knew he was dead. I didn’t even have to tell her.
“Yeah,” I confirm quietly. “He’s gone.”
“Come,” she says, taking my hand and, for the first time, taking the lead without a stumble in her step. I let her lead me to the couch, where she brings me into her embrace, guiding her head to my chest. “Thank you.” She kisses my hair. “For saving me.”
“No,” I refute gently, lifting my head. “I didn’t save you. It was revenge. He said that if I killed him, you’d die too. And I killed him because he spoke about my father.”
I allowed my rage to take over. Not because it was the only way to protect Isabella, but for selfish reasons. The reality of my action slams into my chest like a freight train, and the truth has me pulling away in guilt. “I—” I shake my head. “I almost had you killed.”
“But you didn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I rasp. “You protected yourself, Isabella. I took every form of defense that I could trust with me, underestimating the danger I exposed you to.”
Oh.
Oh.
It was all for me. Leaving when I got the call, even though I knew something was wrong with her. Taking that shot without hesitation…I was thinking about myself.
“Roman?” She calls my name as her brows furrow.
I might not be as despicable as Marco was, but I’m not good for her either. Not good for her loving gaze and her forgiving arms. I might promise the world, but when it comes down to it, I’m no better than the lessons my father instilled in me.
“It’s over,” I say flatly.
“What’s over?”
“This,” I explain, turning away from her. “Us.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice rings with impatience as she steps in front of me, not willing to be dismissed. “You can’t just say us like it’s a contract you’re voiding. We’re married.”
My jaw grinds so hard it almost shatters, and my fingernails dig into my skin. “I can,” I say coldly. “Because you were part of a revenge plan. Now that it’s over, I have no need for you.
She stares, blinking like I slapped her. “Of course,” I add, my voice now deliberately cruel, “I’ll provide for the child. As much as you need.”
“Stop,” she says, voice cracking. “That’s impossible. You can’t say that and expect me to believe it. You don’t get to push me away like this.”
“You should,” I reply quietly. “You should remember who I am, Isabella. A brute,” I say, reminding her of her words. “Ruthless. Cruel. Whatever you saw the past couple weeks was all a lie.”
She folds her arms. “It’s a lie. I refuse to believe it.”
I see. “Then I’ll tell you this.” Don’t. Don’t say it, Roman. “Your father killed your mother. I knew about it, and I hid it from you.”
That does it.
I twist the knife so hard it brings a gasp from her lips. Isabella staggers back. “No.” She shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. “You’re just saying that to hurt me. You’re lying.”
Yes, I am. I want to take back my words, but this is the only way I know to stop myself from hurting her any further. She’ll get over me. It might take a while, but I’ll become a memory. She’ll meet someone else and live the life she dreamed of as a child.
And I—
I’ll carry the memories and the guilt for as long as I breathe.
