They're coming.
Another impact. The door frame cracks. Screws pull loose from the wall. The reinforced steel groans but holds.
For now.
"Zakhar—" My voice breaks on his name.
"I know." His voice softens. Gentle in a way Zakhar rarely allows himself. "I know,solntse. Hold on. Just hold on for us."
The door splinters. Cracks. The top hinge gives way with a shriek of metal.
I close my eyes.
Count my heartbeats.
And wait.
40
MAKSIM
The SUV's engine rumbles, steady and relentless. September rain streaks across the windshield, Chicago's lights blurring into smears of red and gold.
Zakhar sits beside me, phone pressed to his ear. His voice is low, urgent, stripped of its usual calm.
"Victoria. We're coming. Do you hear me? We're coming for you right now."
Then I hear her voice through the phone and something in me fractures.
Her voice.
Breathless. Terrified. Alive.
Air fills my lungs again.
I hadn't realized I'd stopped breathing until this moment. Until the confirmation that she's still there, still fighting.
"Hold tight," Zakhar says, and his voice cracks. "We're coming. We love you."
The control I've maintained for the past twenty minutes threatens to shatter completely.
Victoria.
I want to be the one on that phone. Want to hear her voice directly, not filtered through Zakhar's receiver. Want to tell her myself that nothing will stop us, that every man standing between me and her is already dead.
"Maison Lyra," Zakhar confirms.
The same address Luan sent. Her territory. Her safe space.
Ramiz violated it.
Something primal ignites in my chest.
He took her. He took my wife.
He's going to die for it.
"ETA three minutes," Alexei says from the front seat. His voice is flat, emotionless, but I know him. I know what that flatness means. He's gone somewhere cold and remote, the place where killing is mechanical and mercy doesn't exist.
