The war is still raging behind me, but for this moment, it’s just us. Her heartbeat, her fear, her stubborn strength. And my vow, silent but carved into my bones: I will never let her out of my sight again.
When I’m finally in front of her, I stop. Just to look. Just to breathe her in.
Her wrists are red, raw from the ropes, her hair a mess around her face. She should look broken. She should look defeated. But she doesn’t. She looks at me like I’m salvation—and damn it, maybe I am.
I crouch low, bringing myself eye level with her. My hand hovers near her cheek before I force it back down, because if I touch her now, I’ll lose myself completely.
“You’re safe now,” I murmur, my voice rough, barely more than gravel. “I’ve got you,solnishko. No one will ever touch you again. Do you hear me? No one.”
Her lips part, trembling like she wants to speak, but nothing comes. So I lean closer, letting her see it in my eyes, letting her feel the vow I’m carving into the air between us.
“You ran from me once,” I continue, low, dangerous, but threaded with something softer that only belongs to her. “Don’t you ever do it again. You’re mine. And I will burn the whole fucking world before I let anyone take you from me.
Her breath hitches, a single tear slipping down her cheek. That’s all I need. I take out my knife, slice through the ropes in one clean motion, and catch her wrists gently, like they’re made of glass.
The second she’s free, she collapses forward, and I wrap my arms around her without hesitation, pulling her against my chest like she belongs there—because she does.
“I thought I was going to die,” she whispers, the words breaking, shattering. Her breath is hot against my skin, her fingers digging into me like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
I close my eyes, holding her just as fiercely, one hand splayed across her back, the other cradling the back of her head. My chest aches, and not from the fight. From her. From almost losing her.
“Shh,ogonek,” I murmur into her hair, my voice rough but steady, as if sheer will can make it true. “No. Never. Not while I’m breathing.” I pull her tighter, crushing her to me. “I will never let that happen. Not on my watch. Not ever.”
Her body shudders in my arms, and I tilt my head just enough to press my lips to her temple, sealing the promise.
“Do you want to go home?” I ask, low, my thumb brushing along her cheekbone.
“Yes,” she breathes, then swallows hard. “But first…I need to speak to Kirill.”
I search her eyes. Every instinct screams to deny her, to shield her from another second of this filth. But she’s unyielding, steel beneath the tremble. She deserves that much—to look the bastard in the eye.
My hand slips to the small of her back, guiding her as I lead her out of the wreckage of the warehouse. The air outside is damp and sharp, headlights from our convoy cutting through the fog.
Demyan is there, shoving Kirill toward one of the armored SUVs. The old dog is barely upright, blood caking his nose, one eye already swelling shut. He looks nothing like the smug bastard from earlier—he’s just a beaten man now.
“Hold,” I command.
Demyan freezes mid-push, glancing at me before stepping back. Kirill lifts his ruined face, and when his gaze finds Noelle beside me, his lip curls, even through the blood.
I keep my hand firm on her back, anchoring her. She wanted this moment—I’ll give it to her. But he doesn’t get one inch closer than I allow.
“So the daughter shows her teeth at last,” Kirill rasps, his voice broken but laced with malice.
I feel Noelle stiffen beside me, but when she speaks, her voice doesn’t shake. “You think I care about what happened between you and my mother? I didn’t even love her. She left me behind, remember? Abandoned me. You want me to carry her sins? I won’t.”
“But here’s the thing,” she presses on, each word sharper than the last. “A noble man—a real man—would never kill an innocent person for the mistakes of someone else. What you did,what you planned to do, it doesn’t make you powerful, Kirill. It makes you pathetic.”
His jaw flexes, but the fire in her doesn’t waver. She steps closer, my hand still firm on her back, and spits the words like poison:
“You’re not a man—you’re just a scared little boy who let shame eat him alive. And now? You deserve nothing but to rot in it. To live the rest of your days in disgrace. That’s worse than death, and that’s all you’ll ever know.”
Kirill’s face twists with fury, but the fury is hollow—it’s the rage of someone already broken.
I watch him, my own rage tempered by pride in her. My little dove, spitting venom at the very man who wanted to destroy her. Kirill spits blood in the dirt, but his glare follows us, burning and hollow. I don’t give him the satisfaction of a second glance. He’s already finished.
I turn Noelle away from him, my hand firm at the small of her back. She trembles, but her chin is still high, her words still hanging in the air like a blade buried in Kirill’s chest.
“Enough,” I murmur, low, meant only for her. My voice is rough from battle, but steady. Possessive. “You’ve said what needed to be said. He’ll choke on those words for the rest of his miserable life.”
