"No. He's not." Volkov knelt in front of me, his eyes meeting mine. "But he is in love. And love makes even the smartest men do foolish things."
They brought me upstairs.
The house was an abandoned farmhouse—or it had been, once. The walls were peeling, the floors rotting, the windows boarded up. The men led me into the main room, my wrists still tied, my legs shaking beneath me.
And there he was.
Aleksander.
He was standing in the center of the room, his hands raised, his face calm. He was wearing a suit—dark charcoal, the same one he'd worn the first night I'd met him. There was no blood on it this time. No bullet holes. Just the man I'd come to love and hate in equal measure.
He looked at me. His grey eyes met mine, and I saw something in them that I'd never seen before.
Fear.
"Let her go," he said. "She's not part of this."
"She's the only part of this that matters," Volkov said. "You killed my family. My brothers. My sons. You took everything from me. And now I'm going to take everything from you."
Aleksander didn't flinch. "I killed your family because you killed mine. Elena. Our child. You took them from me. And I've been hunting you ever since."
"You think that justifies it?" Volkov laughed. "You think your grief is more important than mine?"
"It's not a competition," Aleksander said. "It's a reckoning."
They moved so fast I didn't see it.
26
The Rescue
The farmhouse erupted in chaos.
I heard the gunfire before I saw the men—sharp cracks that split the silence, followed by shouts and the sound of breaking glass. I was still standing in the yard, my wrists raw, my body shaking, when the door burst open and Nathan appeared.
He was covered in blood. His suit was ruined, his face splattered with red, his eyes wild and searching. He saw me and crossed the distance in three strides, his hands grabbing my shoulders.
"Are you hurt?"
"No. I'm—I'm fine."
"You're lying." His fingers dug into my arms, his grip almost painful. "You're shaking."
"I'm fine, Nathan."
He pulled me into his arms. It was not a gentle embrace—it was fierce, desperate, the embrace of a man who had been terrified he would never see me again. I felt his heart pounding against my chest, his breath hot against my ear.
"I thought I'd lost you," he said. "I thought—"
"I'm here. I'm okay."
He pulled back, his eyes searching my face. There was something in them I'd never seen before—something raw and unguarded. "You're not okay. But you will be."
He took my hand and led me back toward the house. The scene inside was carnage—bodies everywhere, the walls splattered with blood, the air thick with the smell of cordite and death. Pavel was standing in the corner, his gun still drawn, his face a mask of calm professionalism.
"The old man?" Nathan asked.
"Inside. He's got Volkov."
