And if he makes it through tonight, I’m going to tell him that myself.
I want Kirill to be my Forever Daddy, and I’ll do anything to make it happen.
Chapter 19
Kirill
Fuck.
No time to think.
But I need to keep a clear head…
Gunfire cracks through the park like thunder.
I sprint hard across the open grass, legs pumping, lungs burning. Bullets whip past me—one so close it tears a chunk out of the tree trunk inches from my head.
“Out of my way,” I bellow. “Find cover!”
Pedestrians are screaming, diving for safety, mothers grabbing children and running in every direction. Chaos explodes around me, but I block it all out.
Focus.
Stay alive.
Get Teddy clear.
I risk a quick glance over my shoulder as I duck behind a colorful ice cream stand. The wooden structure shakes as two rounds slam into it, sending splinters flying.
Across the park, I catch sight of Teddy—small, fast, and typically agile as he sprints toward the exit. He doesn’t look back. Good boy. He’s following my orders exactly.
Relief hits me like a physical force as he disappears from view.
My boy is clear. For now, he is out of the line of fire.
That single thought sharpens everything. He’s not necessarily safe in the medium term, but for now he is out of harm’s way and that’s all that counts.
I refocus, breathing steady despite the adrenaline flooding my system. Firing back is not an option. I am outnumbered—at least three shooters that I can see, possibly more. Even if I managed to drop one, the others would pin me down and finish me.
And one thing is for absolute certain, I amnotdying in a public park because of pride.
I peek around the edge of the stand for half a second. One of the shooters is closer now—heavily tattooed arms and neck visible under rolled-up sleeves and an open collar, the distinct style of a cartel enforcer. If I wasn’t sure before, I am now. There’s no doubt who sent them.
My hand is already moving.
I pull out my phone and fire off a single emergency SOS to both Viktor and Ivan, three short words that will tell them everything they need to know:
KIRILL: Park. Under fire. Cartel.
I don’t wait for a reply.
On the count of three in my head, I break cover and run.
Bullets chase me again. One grazes the grass near my foot. Another punches through a park bench as I vault over it. My heart is a war drum, but my mind is ice cold.
“Fuck,” I growl, almost tripping over myself as I swerve and duck. “Not today. Today I live.”
I zigzag, using trees and statues for momentary cover, every step calculated to reach the far exit.
