I look back at Noah.
“Close your eyes,” I tell him.
Izzy pulls him against her and covers his ears.
She nods.
I turn back to Vladimir Pavlov.
“For my mother,” I say. “For my queen. And for my son.”
I shoot him between the eyes.
The second Vladimir’sbody hits the ground, everything else in the warehouse fades away.
The other Dons are still moving. Their men sweep the room, securing exits, checking corners. Voices rise and fall around me. But I barely hear any of it.
I see only them.
Izzy.
Noah.
My family.
I cross the distance between us quickly. By the time I reach them, my hands are shaking. Not from adrenaline, not from rage—something deeper. Something I haven’t felt in years.
Only Izzy notices.
Her eyes soften immediately.
“Hey,” she says quietly.
I cup her face before I even think about it, turning her gently toward the light. There’s a bruise forming along her cheek and a split at the corner of her lip. My jaw tightens as my thumbs brush carefully over her skin.
“Did he hurt you anywhere else?” I ask.
“I’m okay,” she says quickly.
I study her for another second anyway, checking the back of her head where she was hit earlier, making sure she’s steady on her feet.
“Can you walk?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
For a moment we just stand there, close enough to feel each other breathing again, both of us realizing how close this came to ending very differently.
“I thought—” she begins, but the words catch in her throat.
“I know,” I say softly.
Before she can say anything more, a small body slams into my side.
“Dad!”
The word hits me like a blow.
I barely have time to react before Noah throws himself into my arms. Instinct takes over; I drop the gun and lift him easily, holding him tight against my chest.
