Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
She spins toward the shots, gun raised.
Then she looks at me.
Time stops..
Everything goes still. And sharp.
Her eyes find mine. Wide. Disbelieving. Hopeful.
And then—
She nods.
No time for words.
We move.
Two more men behind the fence. I signal with two fingers, then tilt left. She covers right. We flank like we’ve done this a hundred times.
But we haven’t.
Not really. This was supposed to be our practice session, our trial run.
Still—our rhythm is perfect.
She drops one with a clean shoulder shot.
I finish him before he can scream.
Smoke and blood coat the air.
Backup swarms in between us—Matvei and Rodion, Rafail and his lieutenant.
We drag Luka behind the back entrance. Thank fuck the little guy didn’t see what happened, didn’t know this was real. I press his head into my chest and feel his tiny hands grip my shirt.
“You did good!” he says with a grin. My heart pounds so fast I’m dizzy. I don’t trust myself to speak.
Ruthie slams the bolt shut behind us and leans back against the door.
She’s breathing hard and sweat runs down her temple.
I hold Luka to me, feeling his warmth seep through my fingers, reassurance that he’s okay.
“You did good, too, buddy,” I finally manage to say, my voice hoarse.
“Yeah, so that wasn’t supposed to go that way,” she mutters.
I meet her eyes. “You did great.”
She swallows. “You protected me.”
I step close.
Her breath hitches.
“Of course I did.”
Luka smiles up. “You said I did good, too, Papa?”
I fall to one knee and hold him to me. “So good, buddy. I’m so proud.” My voice shakes. “You’re a real hero.”
The tenderness cracks something in me.
Sirens now, distant, and gunshots have stopped. Backup closing in and doing their job. We need to move… We need to get out of here.
I kiss her.
It’s not violent this time but soft, reverent.
Luka hugs our legs, and we pull back. She cradles him, and I watch her wrap around him like she’s always been his shield.
And something inside me clicks.
It was never supposed to be her.
But it always had to be her. She’s mine, his—we’re family, and we love each other. She loves him unconditionally, the way he deserves.
The door bursts open behind us—Matvei’s voice is shouting instructions to burn the fucking Irish warehouse in the harbor to the ground. Send a message. Strike back.
I lift Luka into my arms. He’s still oblivious to how real this got.
We’re heading back to the Kopolovs’.
Ruthie follows, gun still in hand, her eyes still scanning.
We walk out as one.
And the Irish are going to bleed.
Chapter 23
RUTHIE
We’re in the evacuation van, and Luka’s asleep against my chest. He’s still convinced it was a game, just like we told him. Miraculously shielded from the terror and danger.
For now. Jesus. For now.
Vadka is beside me, his fingers brushing mine on the seat.
Neither of us speaks. We both know how close of a call that was, how dangerous that could’ve been.
Vadka leans in just enough that our shoulders touch.
We park the van, and it’s like we’re moving in slow motion. Everything happens quickly, but not fast enough.
Through the front door. We don’t have to ask Luka to be quiet because he knows intuitively. At first, he laces his fingers with mine, but his steps are slow, and timing is urgent. Wordlessly, Vadka swings him into his arms. My heart turns over in my chest.
I don’t even realize I’ve been holding my breath until the front door locks behind us.
Click.
It’s the sound of something final, like a trigger pulled.
Vadka moves us through the house to the room we’ve been staying in, with his usual quiet precision—checking windows, arming the system, making sure no one followed. His black shirt is smudged with soot and something darker. Luka’s still in his arms, thumb in his mouth, his tiny fist curled in the fabric of Vadka’s collar.
He hasn’t let go since the ambush.
And neither have I.
We’re safe. For now.
I sit on the edge of the couch and press my fingers to my temples. The whole world tilts slightly to the left.
I hear the sound of Vadka’s boots. Then silence. Then—
A soft rustle.
He’s wrapped Luka in a blanket and laid him down in his room next to ours. The boy doesn’t stir. Just breathes deeply and slowly, like he’s finally allowed to.
Vadka crouches in front of me, his knees wide and hands braced on either side of mine.
“You’re shaking.”
I open my mouth. Close it.
I don’t have anything brave to say. No bite. No barbed-wire wit. I told him I wanted to run, told him I wanted to hide, but now the future ahead of us—for many reasons—seems uncertain and scary.
I just whisper, “I don’t know how to come down.”
He nods like he gets it. Of course he does. He’s lived in war longer than I have.
“Then don’t,” he says. “Just sit. Let me.”
He stands and walks into the kitchen. I expect him to disappear into tactical planning, into his endless storm of protective rage.