"Vasily—"
"Ah. The Pakhan himself."
The voice came from behind her. A man stepped out of the shadows—older than I'd expected, silver-haired and distinguished, wearing a suit that would have been appropriate in a corporate boardroom. His eyes were cold and calculating, utterly without mercy.
Aram Pankratov.
He pressed a knife to Gabrielle's throat, the blade dimpling her skin.
"Put down your weapon," he said calmly. "Or I open her throat."
I froze. My gun was raised, aimed at his head, but the angle was wrong. He was using her as a shield, only a sliver of his body visible behind her. Even if I hit him, his reflexes might drive the knife home before he died.
"Let her go." My voice came out steady, controlled. "This is between us."
"Between us?" Pankratov laughed softly. "No, Vasily. This stopped being between us the moment you made her a weakness. The moment you showed the world that the great Chernov Pakhan could be brought to his knees by a woman."
"She has nothing to do with our business."
"She has everything to do with it." The knife pressed harder, and Gabrielle made a small sound of pain. A thin line of red appeared on her throat. "You destroyed my shipments. Killed my men. Took territory I'd spent decades building. And for what? Because I had the audacity to challenge your precious empire?"
"You started this war when you went after civilians. When you targeted her."
"I targeted your weakness." Pankratov's eyes glittered. "That's what war is, Vasily. Finding the soft places and pressing until your enemy breaks. And you—" He nodded toward me, toward the desperation I couldn't hide. "You're already broken. I can see it in your eyes."
"Let her go, and we end this. You walk away. Leave New York, leave the Aegean, disappear somewhere I'll never find you. You have my word."
"Your word." He spat the phrase like a curse. "Your word means nothing. You killed my nephew, did you know that? Lucas—the boy you tortured to death—he was my sister's son. I raisedhim after she died. Trained him, guided him, placed him in your organization like a seed that would one day bear fruit." His voice hardened. "And you butchered him."
"He betrayed us. Sold information that got good men killed."
"He was loyal to his family. His real family." Pankratov smiled coldly. "And now I'll take from you what you took from me. A legacy. A future."
His eyes dropped to Gabrielle's stomach, and I understood what he meant.
"Don't." The word came out raw, desperate. "Whatever you want—territory, money, the entire fucking empire—it's yours. Just don't hurt them."
"Them." Pankratov's smile widened. "So it's true. She's carrying your child. Your heir." He pressed his face close to Gabrielle's, inhaling deeply. "Do you know what that makes her, Vasily? The most valuable hostage in the world. I could keep her for years. Raise your child as my own. Turn your legacy against everything you've built."
Gabrielle's eyes met mine. Even with a knife at her throat, even bound and helpless, there was fire in them. Defiance. She wasn't broken. Wasn't giving up.
And in that moment, I saw her mouth form a single word.
Ready.
I didn't know what she was planning. Didn't have time to ask. I just shifted my weight, adjusted my aim, and waited.
She moved.
Her head snapped back, slamming into Pankratov's nose with a crack I heard across the room. He recoiled, the knifepulling away from her throat, and she threw her weight sideways, toppling the chair, taking herself out of the line of fire.
I pulled the trigger.
The bullet caught Pankratov in the shoulder, spinning him backward. The knife clattered to the floor. He stumbled, reaching for a gun at his waist, but I was already moving—crossing the distance between us in three strides, my weapon forgotten, my hands reaching for his throat.
I hit him like a freight train.
We went down together, crashing into a bank of dead monitors. Glass shattered around us. I felt shards bite into my arms, my back, didn't care. All I cared about was the man beneath me, the man who'd threatened my wife, my child, everything I lived for.
