Misha steps in first, gun raised, scanning the room in a single sweep before letting out a low whistle. Lukyan follows, slower, quieter—but his eyes miss nothing.
“Shit,” Misha mutters under his breath, taking in the bodies.
Lukyan doesn’t speak. He just watches her.
Carefully.
Like he’s filing something away.
I don’t look back at them. My focus stays on her.
Because everything just changed.
If she was lying—if this was some elaborate ruse—there’s no way men like this would risk breaching my house just to make a point. Not with this level of precision. Not with this kind of force.
This wasn’t intimidation.
This was an execution attempt.
And they failed.
My jaw tightens as the truth settles in, heavy and undeniable.
Someone powerful wants her dead.
Powerful enough to send trained men across borders. Bold enough to hit a Rusnak property.
Reckless enough to start a war if they have to.
Which means this isn’t just her problem anymore.
It’s ours.
I take a step further into the room, my gaze sweeping once more over the bodies, the damage, the calculated brutality of it all. Then back to her.
A slow, dangerous calm settles over me. The kind that comes right before things get ugly.
I misjudged her.
Not completely. But enough.
And that mistake almost cost her life.
It won’t happen again.
I turn slightly toward Misha without taking my eyes off her. “Double the security. Lock the house down. I want every entry point checked and rechecked.”
“Already on it,” he says, moving to step back out.
“Find out how they got in,” I add. “I want names.”
Misha nods once and disappears.
Silence settles again, heavier this time.
More dangerous.
I look at her fully now. Not as a liability. Not as an assignment.
