Page 40 of Bound in Possession

"The fire started from the inside," Dmitri mutters, stepping over a fallen iron beam as we look over the damaged shipment.

As we inspect the scene closer, the grim reality becomes undeniably clear. This wasn't a random hit. It was planned with terrifying, surgical precision. The attackers bypassed the outer security sensors completely, knowing exactly which blind spots to exploit.

They didn't just burn the building; they targeted the specific vault containing our highest-value international contraband, leaving the cheaper freight untouched. They knew our schedules, our security rotations, and precisely what to destroy to make the financial and structural loss look utterly humiliating for the Bratva.

"They had inside intelligence," Dmitri says, his voice low and tight as he shines a flashlight on a severed security wire. "Only a few people knew this shipment arrived this morning."

Before I can answer, a sudden, unnatural silence falls over the immediate area, the distant sound of crackling flames the only noise. My instincts flare, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.

"Dmitri," I growl under my breath, my hand instinctively flying inside my jacket to grip the butt of my pistol.

A sharp click-clack of an automatic rifle echoes from the shadows of the adjacent shipping containers.

"Ambush!" Dmitri yells, diving behind a stack of steel crates just as the night explodes into a hail of gunfire.

Muzzle flashes illuminate the darkness as armed men move out from the smoke, their weapons trained directly on us. Bullets rip through the air, sparking violently against the metal containers and shattering what little glass is left around us. I pivot instantly, dropping low behind a concrete pillar, my pistol drawn and raised as the docks turn into a lethal crossfire.

I raise my weapon, peeking out from behind the concrete pillar, and fire three blind shots into the smoke. A heavy thud echoes through the gunfire as my first bullet finds its mark.

"Dmitri, flanking right!" I roar over the deafening noise of automatic rifles.

We don't try to hold the line; we fight to move. This is a kill box, and if we stay pinned down, they’ll surround us. Dmitri pops up from behind the steel crates, laying down a heavy wall of cover fire with his submachine gun while I advance, shifting from the pillar to a rusted forklift.

Two armed men step into the open, trying to cut off our retreat toward the SUV. I don't give them the chance. I fire twice, dropping the first man with a shot to the chest and catching the second right between the eyes before he can pull his trigger.

Dmitri moves fluidly beside me, clearing the blind spots. We drive a brutal, bloody wedge straight through their line, killing enough of Viktor’s men to break their momentum before the trap can fully close around us.

Breathing heavily, we scramble back into the armored SUV. My driver hits the gas before the doors are even fully shut, the tires screeching as we blast out of the burning shipyard and back onto the dark, abandoned highway.

I eject my empty magazine, slapping a fresh one into the pistol with a harsh click, my face an unreadable mask of cold, focused fury.

"Call the secondary suppliers in Chicago," I order, turning my eyes to Dmitri, who is already wiping a streak of soot from his forehead. "I want a replacement package arranged and moved into the city as soon as possible. Use the southern routes. Double the security detail on the transport."

"Consider it done," Dmitri nods, pulling out his secure satellite phone.

I lean back against the leather seat, staring out at the passing streetlights. I understand exactly what Viktor is playing at. This wasn't just a tactical strike on my supply lines; it was a psychological one.

He wanted to hit me on my wedding day to make me look weak, distracted, and incapable of protecting my empire right when I took a wife. He wants the other families to think the Pakhan is vulnerable.

A smile touches my lips as I look down at my hands. Viktor thinks he just started a war to humiliate me, but all he's done is guarantee that when I tear his world apart, I won't leave a single piece standing.

But right now, I need to get back to my house—and my bride.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CAMILLA

The silence of the master bedroom is deafening, broken only by the sound of the brush moving through my hair. I stand in front of the vanity mirror, still trembling slightly from the sheer whiplash of the evening.

The ivory wedding gown sits discarded on the chaise lounge, and I am dressed in a simple, silk camisole and matching pajama shorts, trying to process the fact that my new life is officially a war zone.

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors click and swing open.

I whirl around, the brush freezing in my hand as Maksim steps into the room. He looks like a man who just walked straight out of hell. His tuxedo jacket is gone, the sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up to his forearms, stained with soot and a faint smear of dark blood. His hair is disheveled, and his jaw is set in a rigid, lethal line.

"Are you okay?" I breathe out, stepping toward him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "What happened at the docks?"

But he doesn’t speak.