We screech to a stop outside the warehouse, and I'm out of the SUV before it fully stops moving. My gun is drawn, safety off, finger on the trigger. Lev is beside me, moving with the same deadly purpose, and we breach the entrance with practiced efficiency.
The warehouse is dim, grimy windows filtering weak afternoon light across rusted metal beams and concrete floors. And there, in the center of the space, I see them.
Eva is bound to a chair, her hands zip-tied behind her back, her blonde hair disheveled, her green sweater dress torn at the shoulder. Her brown eyes are wide with terror, fixed on the woman standing before her.
Irina Titova, elegant even now in her designer coat, holds a knife. The blade catches the light as she raises it, and I watch in frozen horror as she thrusts it downward toward Eva's stomach.
Toward our child.
51
EVA
The knife glints in the weak afternoon light filtering through the grimy warehouse windows, and I know with absolute certainty that I'm staring at my death. Irina's green eyes are bright with anticipation. The blade hovers above my stomach, above the life growing inside me, and terror floods my system so completely, I can barely breathe.
But beneath the fear, something else stirs. Rage. Pure, white-hot fury that this woman thinks she can take everything from me. My future. My child. The man I love.
No. Fuck that.
While Irina has been monologuing like some villain from a bad movie, as she said, I've been working the zip ties binding my wrists. The plastic cuts into my skin, drawing blood that makes my fingers slippery, but the moisture helps. I twist my hands, ignoring the burning pain, feeling the restraints loosen incrementally with each movement.
Irina is too caught up in her own triumph to notice. She's savoring this moment, drawing it out, and her distraction is the only advantage I have.
"Any last words?" Irina asks, her voice almost gentle. Like she's doing me a favor by asking.
My mind races through possibilities, through options, through anything that might buy me more time.
The zip ties finally give way, falling from my wrists with a soft whisper of sound that Irina doesn't hear over her own breathing. My hands are free, but I keep them behind my back, waiting for the right moment. My ankles are still bound, limiting my mobility, but I can work with that.
I just need an opening.
"I love him," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Roman. I love him more than I thought possible. And he loves me. That's something you'll never understand, Irina. Real love. Not the twisted obsession you've been calling devotion."
Her expression shifts, fury replacing the cold satisfaction. "Love?" She spits the word like it's poison. "Love is weakness. It's what's destroying Roman, what's made him soft and vulnerable. I'm doing him a favor by removing you."
The knife rises higher, and I see her muscles tense in preparation for the strike. This is it. My only chance.
The warehouse door slams open with a crash that echoes through the empty space like thunder. Roman and Lev burst through, their guns drawn, their faces carved from stone and fury. Roman's blue eyes find mine immediately across thedistance, and the relief that floods his expression is so powerful it nearly breaks me.
But Irina's already moving. The distraction startles her, throws off her aim, and the knife that was meant for my stomach angles toward my heart instead. I see it coming, see the blade descending, and my body moves on pure instinct.
I throw myself sideways, my freed hands pushing off the chair, my bound ankles making the movement awkward but effective. The knife whistles past where my chest was a heartbeat ago, and Irina stumbles forward with the momentum of her strike, her designer heels catching on the uneven concrete. When I fall sideways, the chair breaks and my legs are free, although still tied to the broken pieces of the wood.
She's off-balance. Vulnerable.
I don't think. I just act.
My foot connects with her ass in a kick that would make my old self-defense instructor proud. The impact sends Irina sprawling forward, her arms windmilling as she tries to catch herself. She hits the concrete hard, the knife skittering away across the floor, and I hear the satisfying crack of her knee connecting with the ground.
Then Roman and Lev are there, moving with terrifying speed and precision. Lev reaches Irina first, his hands yanking her to her feet. His dark eyes are flat, professional, but I see the pain flickering beneath the surface. This woman was his girlfriend for five years. She shared his bed, his life, his secrets. And she betrayed him in the worst possible ways.
Roman is at my side instantly, his hands gentle despite the rage vibrating through his body as he works the zip ties binding myankles to the shards of wood. The moment I'm free, he pulls me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me with desperate strength. I feel his heart pounding against my cheek, feel the tremor in his hands as they slide over my body, checking for injuries.
"Solnyshko," he breathes against my hair, his accent thick with emotion. "I thought I'd lost you. I thought…"
He doesn't finish the sentence, but I hear everything he's not saying. The terror. The helplessness. The absolute devastation of imagining a world without me in it.
"I'm okay," I whisper, my hands fisting in his shirt. "We're okay. The baby's okay."
