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When we finally reach her bedroom, she runs over to her bed, lifts her pillow, and pulls out a small pink bracelet made of plastic beads and string. She holds it up proudly.

“I made it for you!”

I crouch down to her level and take the tiny bracelet in my large hand. It’s bright pink with little heart beads. Absolutely ridiculous on a man like me.

Anya jumps in place, eyes wide with hope. “Do you like it?”

I look at the bracelet, then at my daughter’s expectant face, and feel something warm crack open in my chest.

“I love it,” I tell her honestly. “Thank you, baby.”

“Wear it!” she demands.

I glance at the tiny thing, then at my wide wrists. She tilts her head, studying my hand like she’s just realized how big it is compared to hers.

I carefully slide it onto my pinky finger. “Look,” I say, holding my hand up. “It fits perfectly.”

Anya claps excitedly, beaming with pride. “Yea!”

I kiss her forehead again. “I’ll wear it the whole time. I promise.”

As I rise, I catch Rosie standing in the doorway, watching us with a soft smile on her face. My chest tightens at the sight of her.

“I have to go,” I say quietly.

I walk over and kiss Rosie on the cheek, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “Get some rest.”

Rosie’s hand briefly squeezes mine before I pull away.

I take one last look at them, commit the sight to memory, then turn and head for the door.

I head downstairs. My men are already assembled in the foyer, geared up and waiting. Dmitri steps forward the moment he sees me. “Everything is set, boss.”

“The men watching the Irish?” I ask.

“I checked in with them a few minutes ago. He’s still holed up in that safe house, hiding like the coward he is.”

I nod. “And Viktor? Have you heard from him?”

Dmitri shakes his head. “No.”

A dark unease settles in my gut. Viktor is never unreachable. Something feels off.

“Let’s move,” I order.

We file into the armored SUVs in silence. As we pull out, I dial Viktor again. It goes straight to voicemail. I end the call. This isn’t like him. I don’t like it.

The drive to the outskirts is quiet. The safe house is an old, unassuming warehouse tucked away in an industrial wasteland, smart choice for a hiding spot. No one would think to look here. Moonlight cuts through the darkness, casting long shadows as we park a safe distance away.

We move out on foot, splitting into the positions we planned earlier. I remind them in a low voice, “O’Brien stays alive. Everyone else is expendable.”

We breach the property from multiple directions, slipping through the shadows. The first guards never see us coming. Suppressed gunshots whisper through the night. Bodies drop soundlessly to the ground. But the moment we push deeper into the building, all hell breaks loose.

Gunfire erupts from inside the house. Bullets rip through the air, shattering windows and chewing into concrete. My men return fire. I move through the chaos putting rounds into anyone who steps into my path.

One idiot tries to flank me from the right; I put two bullets in his chest before he can even aim. Another comes screaming around the corner with a shotgun. Dmitri drops him before I have to.

Blood sprays across the walls. Bodies drop with heavy thuds. The air fills with the sharp smell of gunpowder and copper.