I nod. “Of course he did.”
De la Rosa didn’t plan to fight. He planned to survive.
Another agent steps in and uncuffs my hands from behind my back.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until Elena appears beside us, her hand slipping into mine. Her voice is soft, calming. “Hey. It’s over now.”
Yuri glances at her. The nod they exchange is brief, but it carries weight. Understanding. Gratitude.
“Come on,” Elena says, helping me stand. “Med van’s outside.”
My legs buckle once before I find balance. Blood rushes to my head and Yuri wraps an arm around me, supporting me without question. We make our way through the wreckage—overturned crates, shattered glass, broken bodies.
I don’t have the words to explain everything I feel. The terror, the relief, the ache of having almost lost him—again.
All I can say is, “I’m still yours.”
His eyes darken. “And I’m never letting go,” he replies.
The agents swarm the space behind us. Lev is giving a report to the lead investigator. Alexei is checking weapons. Luk’s already on a call.
Spalding is done, but I know this isn’t the end.
Christian De la Rosa walked out of this building untouched.
And there won’t be peace until he’s caught.
CHAPTER 40
YURI
“I’ll give you everything,” he gasps, words tumbling out so fast he chokes on them. “You want De la Rosa’s accounts? The offshore names? The couriers? I’ve got it all. I’ll give it to you. Jesus, just don’t put me in gen pop. Do you know what they’d do to me in there?”
Spalding’s surrounded by a ring of stone-faced federal agents.
From where I stand, just outside the circle, I can see every twitch of his ruined body. His hair’s matted to his skull, eyes wild and rimmed red. He’s begging. Full-on groveling. No pride left, just spit and panic, and the stench of fear rolling off him in waves.
He tries to lean forward on the stretcher but collapses onto one elbow, the motion jerky and pitiful. His wrist is cuffed to the metal frame, the paramedics working briskly around him as they prep for transport.
His body’s wrecked—three clean shots to the shoulder, side, and thigh, courtesy of me—yet he keeps talking, babbling on like desperation might somehow outweigh the blood soaking through the sheets.
The lead agent doesn’t blink. “Start with where he is. Right now.”
Spalding’s mouth opens then closes like a fish on a dock. “I want it in writing. I’m not saying another word until I have full immunity. No jail time. New name. Relocation. Somewhere warm. I’m not dying in a cage.”
He sounds like a man still pretending he has options. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
“If he starts foaming at the mouth,” comes a drawl behind me, “I call dibs on putting him down.”
Alexei steps up, his gait unhurried. He looks like hell, split lip, dried blood on his sleeve, but that signature grin is sharp as ever. He’s enjoying this. Maybe a little too much.
“Charming,” I murmur.
Alexei shrugs. “Just being practical.”
I let out a dry laugh. “I owe you one, bro.”
“You owe me two,” he says. “And I want a gift basket this time. With real brie. None of that waxy shit.”
