I cup her face with both hands, forcing her to meet my gaze. "He came after you to hurt me. This is my fault."
"No." Her hands cover mine, her dark eyes blazing with fury that makes heat pool low in my stomach despite everything."This is Matvey's fault. Don't you dare take responsibility for his choices."
The fierce way she defends me, even now, even after everything, makes something crack open in my chest. I lean down and capture her mouth with mine, the kiss desperate and claiming. She tastes like fear and adrenaline and something uniquely her that I'm starting to crave like oxygen.
When I pull back, her lips are swollen and her breathing has gone shallow. "I'm getting you out of here. Somewhere safe."
"Where?" She glances around at the destruction, at her kitchen in ruins. "This was supposed to be safe."
The defeat in her voice makes rage build in my chest like pressure in a sealed container. Matvey did this. Destroyed her sanctuary. Put her and our child in danger. Crossed a line that can never be uncrossed.
Cyril appears in the doorway, his gray eyes taking in the scene with clinical assessment. "Boss. We need to move. Police are three minutes out."
I nod and guide Aria toward the exit, my hand at the small of her back. She's still trembling, shock finally setting in, and I pull her closer against my side.
"What happens now?" she asks quietly.
I stop walking and turn to face her, my hands framing her face with a gentleness that contradicts the violence still singing through my veins. "Now I end this. Permanently."
Understanding flashes across her features, followed by something that might be fear or might be relief. "How?"
My voice drops to something cold and absolute as I meet Cyril's gaze over her shoulder. "Assemble every captain and soldier we have. Tonight, I'm personally leading the final assault on Matvey's stronghold. This war ends in blood."
43
ARIA
Ipace the length of the master bedroom, my fingers pressing against the bandage on my temple where the glass caught me. The cut throbs with each heartbeat, a physical reminder of how close Matvey's men came to ending everything. Three inches to the left and the shard would have hit my eye. Six inches and it might have caught my throat.
I can't stop replaying those terrifying minutes. Katya's face going pale as she pulled me into the walk-in cooler, her whispered warning making my blood turn to slush. The frantic phone calls to husbands and boyfriends, my voice shaking as I tried to explain that armed men were outside. The sound of furniture scraping across tile as we barricaded ourselves inside Thyme & Tide, using prep tables and industrial refrigerators to create barriers that felt pathetically inadequate.
The Bratva wives transformed before my eyes. Irina grabbed the largest chef's knife from my block, her expression going cold and focused. Svetlana positioned herself near the back exit, a meat cleaver gripped in both hands. Mila's tears dried instantly as she armed herself with a boning knife, her young face hardeningwith determination I didn't know she possessed. These women knew how to survive in a world built on violence.
The shooting started three minutes later.
Glass exploded inward in a shower of glittering shards that caught the light like deadly confetti. Bullets punched through walls with sounds like thunder, leaving holes the size of my fist. My hands moved instinctively to protect my stomach, curving around the subtle swell where our baby grows, and my heart hammered so hard I thought my ribs might crack.
Then Nikolai arrived like a force of nature.
I watched him move through my kitchen with brutal efficiency, his eyes cold with lethal purpose. Each shot was precise and final, no wasted motion, no hesitation. He was terrifying and beautiful all at once, this man who would burn the world to keep me safe.
Now I wait, my body still humming with residual adrenaline and something else I refuse to name. Something that makes my skin flush with heat despite the cooling night air. Something that has everything to do with the way he looked at me across that destroyed kitchen, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
The door opens and Nikolai enters.
My breath catches in my throat.
His white shirt is soaked crimson, the expensive fabric clinging to his chest in a way that makes my pulse quicken. Blood spatters across his face and hands, dark against his pale skin. Some of it is his. I can see the gash on his forearm still seeping,the fabric torn where a bullet grazed him. But most of the blood belongs to others.
He crosses to me in three strides, and I'm struck by how he moves even now. All coiled muscle and controlled violence, the predator beneath the expensive clothes fully emerged. His hands frame my face with surprising gentleness despite the violence still clinging to his skin, and I feel the tremor running through his fingers.
"It's finished." His voice is rough, his accent thicker than usual. "Matvey is dead. The war is over."
The words settle over me like a weight lifting. "You're sure?"
"I put three bullets in his chest myself." His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, careful to avoid the bandage. "He won't threaten you again. Won't threaten our child. It's done."
Relief floods through me so intensely, it makes my knees weak. I sag against his chest, breathing in the scents of gunpowder and copper and him. His arms come around me immediately, holding me steady, and I feel his heart hammering against my cheek.
