Mila.
I’m on the other side of the hallway in seconds, bursting into her room. She’s awake, terrified, clutching the wolf.
“Closet. Now. Stay quiet no matter what you hear.” I grab her hand, pulling her to the walk-in closet, shoving her behind hanging clothes. “Don’t come out until I say it’s safe.”
“Izzy—”
“Do it.” I kiss her forehead fast and hard. “Trust me,ptichka.”
Her eyes are huge, but she nods. I close the closet door, lock it from outside and head downstairs.
Glass shatters in the kitchen. I flatten against the wall, breathing controlled, Glock raised. Two sets of footsteps. Heavy boots. Professional.
The first one rounds the corner, and I fire.
The shot catches him in the shoulder—not where I aimed, center mass, but close enough. He goes down hard, cursing, and his partner returns fire. Bullets punch through drywall inches from my head, and I dive behind the couch.
Breathe. Stay calm. You’ve trained for this.
I peek around the corner. The second intruder’s advancing, gun raised, searching for me. Dark mask, tactical gear, the kind of setup that costs money.
Matthew’s money.
I wait until he’s close. Until I can see his eyes through the mask slits. Then I put three rounds into him—chest, chest, head. Exactly like Sergei taught me.
He drops.
The one I wounded is crawling toward the exit, leaving blood smears on the hardwood. I’m on him before he reaches the door, my foot on his back, gun pressed to his skull.
“Who sent you?”
He laughs, wet and pained. “Go to hell.”
I press harder. “Matthew Ashford sent you. Tell me where he is.”
“You’re dead. Both of you. The Wolf and his bitch?—”
I pull the trigger.
The sound echoes in the sudden silence. I stand there, breathing hard, staring at two corpses bleeding out on my safe house floor.
I killed them.
No hesitation. No mercy. Just eliminated the threat and moved on.
What am I becoming?
“Izzy?”
Mila’s voice, small and terrified from upstairs. I’m moving immediately, taking the stairs two at a time, unlocking the closet.
She launches herself at me, wrapping around my waist, face buried in my stomach. “I heard shooting?—”
“It’s over. We’re safe.” I hold her tight, one hand in her hair, the other still gripping the gun. “Bad men came. I stopped them.”
“Did you—” She pulls back, looking at me. “Did you kill them?”
Truth. She deserves truth.
