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I rush at Rafael, ready to kick him in the head and end this. Ready to obliterate his useless life. He laid hands on the most perfect woman alive, a woman just trying to do her best, use her wits, save her daughter, save me.

“Boss,” Anton hollers as I start towards him.

But that isn’t what stops me. It’s Serena’s raised voice. “No!”

I stop, standing over Rafael. He looks up at me, eyes blurry. I think he hit his head when I threw him into the counter. He stumbles to his feet, trying to smile, but it looks weak and pathetic.

“You fucking idiot,” I snarl. “You rat. Hitting a woman. Thinking you can get away with it.”

Rafael stands, still with that shit-eating grin on his face. Everyone in the diner is turned toward us tensely now. No one knows what’s happening or whether to intervene. I can sense their discomfort.

Perhaps someone’s already called the cops. If not, they will soon.

“Oh, but I can,” Rafael says gleefully. “I can do anything here, Volkov. This is my city. I can do anything I want to anybody, whether it’s a little whore like your woman or any damn bastard in⁠—”

He pulls his gun when I rush him, aiming it at my head.

Somebody screams. Somebody else yells to call 911. Even one of Rafael’s men says, “Boss, not here.”

But Serena’s plan worked too well. She’s made him more than unhinged.

“Are you going to kill me in front of all these fine people?” I say, smirking.

“I could,” he snarls. “And nobody would do a thing. I’ll blow your head off, and everybody will know how weak the prince really is. Prince. Where’s your army? These two? I own this whole city.”

“Do it, then. I’ll give you one chance before I slap some sense into you again. Pull the trigger.”

He prods the barrel against my head. I see a flash of Serena and Zoe in a bright, sun-filled place. Serena’s pushing her girl on a swing, and I’m watching, smiling. They’re happy. Safe.

“Do you think you impress anyone?” Rafael demands. “I will empty your head.”

“Boss,” the same man says. “We have to go.”

“I’ll be back for you,” Rafael says. “And your whore.”

He prods me with the gun again.

I wait for his gaze to move, to flick aside, as if he thinks this ends here. But the moment his attention is away from me, just for a second, I duck and aim the most savage right hook I’ve ever thrown in my life.

All my years of training, all my rage, all my protective instincts for Serena, everything goes into the punch. It makes me realize just how much I hold back in street fights. My core and my legs and my shoulders burn as I throw everything I have into the sheer kinetic force of my fist into his jaw.

There’s a sickening crack as I make contact. He collapses like he’s a puppet and somebody just cut his strings. His gun drops. I quickly grab it, pocketing it, then step back as he begins to seize. Blood is leaking from the edge of his mouth.

A woman screams. Somebody yells that they’ve called 911.

I turn and rush to Serena. Owen has sat her up against the counter. I kneel next to her, tenderly touching her face.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Oh, Serena.”

She taps her chest weakly.

“Your heart?” I say, fear piercing every single part of me.

She smiles tremblingly, shaking her head. “No, my phone. The recording.”

I stroke my hand tenderly down her face. She’s got a slight cut, but no bruise or swelling. Then I check her hand. She must’ve blocked the blow. I was already sprinting across the street by then.

“You’re hurt,” I say.