The place is a mess of shattered glass and spilled cargo. Two of my men lie dead. One slumped over a crate, the other face down in a pool of red. I don’t pause. I don’t mourn. There’ll be time for that later—after I tear apart whoever did this.
Then I see it.
On the floor, one of the dead attackers has a knife still clutched in his hand. I kneel and pry it free, turning it over. The handle is carved with something I haven’t seen in a long time. A coiled snake.
An old enemy’s mark. The Cobras.
I stare at it, fury rising like smoke in my lungs. This wasn’t just about stolen goods. This wasn’t a random hit. It’s a message. And not for me—not exactly.
They’re targeting my pressure point.
Zoe. Maria.
My baby.
My teeth grind together as I rise.
There’s one man still breathing—barely. He’s young, bleeding, trying to crawl away. I step over the bodies and kneel beside him. His eyes go wide when he sees me. He knows who I am. And more importantly, he knows why he should be afraid.
I grab him by the collar and drag him closer. Blood bubbles from his lips as he tries to speak.
“Don’t bother,” I mutter, voice low and lethal. “I’m not here for answers.”
I lean in, grip tight around his throat.
“Tell your boss,” I whisper, slow and steady, “if he touches what’s mine—if he even breathes in their direction—next time, I won’t leave a single fucking soul alive.”
I drop him, stand and watch him stumble quickly away. Then I turn to control the rest of the madness.
Chapter Twenty-One - Zoe
It’s past 2:00 a.m.
The storm slams against the windows, rain lashing like angry hands. Thunder cracks so loud it rattles the glass panes. I sit up in bed, heart pounding, but I don’t know if it’s the storm or the silence inside me that’s louder.
I can’t sleep.
I’ve been tossing and turning for hours, the sheets twisted around my legs like vines. My body feels too tight, too aware—like I’m waiting for something to happen. Like I already know something has.
Earlier, I saw Lukin leave the house. He had looked right at me and then moved down the hallway without a word. Shortly after he left, I heard one of the maids whisper what I already feared. An attack in one of Lukin’s warehouses. A serious one. Men dead. Blood spilled.
Now the image won’t leave me. I keep seeing him lying somewhere in that chaos, surrounded by smoke and bullets. And I hate myself for thinking it. For feeling this… this ache. I press a hand to my stomach, palm warm over where a life is growing. His child. Ours.
What if he doesn’t come back?
The thought slashes across me like a blade. I try to breathe through it, but all I taste is panic. I close my eyes, and another memory takes shape—uninvited.
Another storm. Another house.
I was a girl then. Curled beneath the dining table, heart in my throat, while gunshots rang through the hallway. My parents’screams. The silence that followed. The blood on the marble floor, bright and shocking.
I open my eyes. I can’t do this.
Not again. Not alone.
I shove off the blanket and stand, arms wrapped tight around myself. My feet move before my mind does—out of the room, down the hall, past the flickering sconces. I take the stairs one at a time, barefoot and quiet, the air thick with the smell of rain and old wood. Rather than be alone tonight, I’ll go to the hall where the house staff are usually gathered. I need the company of people.
I’m halfway down the stairs when the front door swings open with a crash of wind and rain. Lukin steps in like a storm himself—soaked to the bone, blood at the corner of his mouth, bruised knuckles, a scrape on his cheek. My breath catches when he looks up and sees me. He looks a mess, but that doesn’t stop that maddening grin from taking up his face.
