Chapter 30
I’m furious Elena is with us.
Furious at myself for letting her come.
Furious at her for being so damn stubborn.
Furious at the world for making it necessary.
But when we pull up outside the dive bar where Leonid Kuznetsov is hiding, something in me settles.
Because she’s here.
Because the woman who walked through gunfire and trauma and the hell of her childhood still chose to stand beside me.
Dante is already waiting, leaning against an SUV with arms crossed. He pushes off when he sees us approach—and then stops dead when Elena steps out behind me.
His brows lift. “You brought your wife to a hit, Sandro?”
Before I can snap something back, Dante turns to her—his entire expression shifting softer, warmer.
“Good to see you,Elena Moretti.”
She freezes. He said it deliberately.
Moretti.
Not Volkov.
Not something belonging to her father.
Dante jerks his chin toward the bar. “You’re never going back there, sweetheart. You’re family now.”
Something in Elena’s eyes glimmers—relief, gratitude, something breaking open and finally healing.
And it hits me like a punch:
I’m glad she’s here.
I need her here.
But the next words out of my mouth are still, “You’re staying in the car.”
She glares, but climbs in. Good enough—for now.
Because inside that bar? There will be blood.
The place smells like stale beer and rot.
Leonid doesn’t even look surprised when we step inside.
He glances from me to Dante to Rocco—exhausted, cornered, defeated.
Then he smirks. “Finally,” he says.
We don't answer.
Because there’s no speech here.
