My feet pound against the path as I sprint back the way I came, my lungs already burning. I'm a good fighter. My father made sure of that. But taking on three big Bratva men wouldn't be the smartest move. Not when I can run. Not when I can get back to the house where there are guards and weapons and safety.
Behind me, I hear cursing in Russian. Footsteps. They're coming after me, and they're fast. Faster than I expected.
I push myself harder, my arms pumping, my legs eating up the distance. The path curves ahead, winding through the trees, and I take the turn without slowing down. My sneakers grip the ground, and I lean into the curve like I'm racing.
Then I see them.
Andrey and Matvey, running toward me with guns drawn. Relief floods through me so intensely, it's almost painful. I've never been happier to see two people in my entire life.My husband. The word feels strange in my head, but right now, I don't care. Right now, he's exactly what I need.
Andrey's face is flushed with fury, his blue eyes blazing. Even from this distance, I can see the rage radiating off him in waves. His jaw is clenched, his body moving with lethal grace, and he looks like death incarnate.
I risk a glance over my shoulder. The three men are gaining on me, their longer legs closing the distance. The one I kicked is in the lead, his face a mask of blood and fury. They're maybe twenty feet behind me now. Fifteen.
I put all my strength into running, every ounce of energy I have left. My legs are screaming, my lungs burning, but I don't slow down. Can't slow down. I focus on Andrey, on the way he's moving toward me, on the promise of safety in his arms.
Without missing a stride, Andrey raises his gun and fires.
The shot cracks through the air, loud and sharp, and behind me, someone yells out in pain. I don't look back and just keep running.
"Down!" Andrey shouts.
I throw myself to the side, off the small path and into the grass. My shoulder hits the ground hard enough to knock the air from my lungs, and I roll, covering my head with my arms.
Gunfire erupts around me. The sound is deafening, shot after shot echoing through the trees. I press myself flat against the ground, my heart hammering, my body shaking with adrenaline. The smell of gunpowder fills the air, acrid and sharp.
Then, as suddenly as it started, it stops.
The silence that follows is almost worse than the gunfire. My ears are ringing, and I can hear my own ragged breathing but nothing else. Slowly, carefully, I lift my head.
All three men are on the ground. Two of them aren't moving, dark pools of blood spreading beneath their bodies. The third is alive but wounded, clutching his shoulder and groaning. The one I kicked. There's a certain satisfaction in seeing him brought down.
Andrey is beside me in seconds, his hands on my shoulders, his eyes scanning my body for injuries. "Are you hurt?"
I shake my head, not trusting my voice. My whole body is trembling, the adrenaline crash hitting me hard.
"Can you stand?" His voice is gentler now, but I can still hear the fury beneath it, the barely controlled violence.
I nod and let him pull me to my feet. My legs feel shaky, but they hold. Andrey keeps one arm around my waist, supporting me, and I lean into him without thinking. He's solid and warm, and right now, he's the only thing keeping me upright.
Matvey is already moving toward the wounded man, his gun trained on him. Two more guards appear from the direction of the house, weapons drawn, their faces grim.
"Take him to the interrogation room," Andrey orders. "And get the cleanup crew out here for the other two."
The guards move quickly and efficiently. It's obvious that they've done this before. I watch as they haul the wounded man to his feet, ignoring his groans of pain. Blood drips from his shoulder, staining his jacket dark.
Andrey's hand tightens on my waist. "Come with me."
I don't argue, don't protest. I just let him guide me back toward the house, my body moving on autopilot. My mind is still tryingto process what just happened. Three men tried to kidnap me. Three men who knew where I'd be, who were waiting for me.
How did they know? I hadn't told anyone of my plans because it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Had they been looking for a way into the house and then seen me jogging?
The walk back to the house feels surreal. The morning is still beautiful, the sun warm on my face, birds singing in the trees. Like nothing happened. Like three men didn't just try to take me. Like two of them aren't lying dead on the path behind us.
We don't go to the main house. Instead, Andrey leads me to a side entrance I haven't used before and down a set of stairs I didn't know existed. The basement. My stomach clenches as I realize where we're going.
The interrogation room.
I've only been in this room once, when I first arrived. When I'd been bound and gagged to a chair, terrified and alone. The memory makes my skin crawl, and I have to suppress a shudder as we step inside.
