“I don’t care if Arkady is impressed. I want to go home, Razvan. I want to see Theo.”
“Two more days, and then we?—”
The world explodes.
A sudden, deafeningcrack-crack-crackshatters the silence. The side window of the Maybach spiderwebs into a thousand silver lines but doesn’t break—reinforced glass.
“Get down!” Mike bellows, his voice a roar.
Before I can even process the sound, I’m tackled.
Razvan doesn’t think. He doesn’t check his perimeter or wait for Mike’s signal. He lunges across the seat, his massive frameslamming into me, shoving me down into the footwell. He covers my body with his own, his weight a crushing, protective shield.
Another volley of gunfire hits the car. I can hear the metallicpingof bullets ricocheting off the armored plating. I’m hyperventilating, my face pressed into the floor mat, my hands over my ears.
“Razvan!” I scream.
“Stay down,” he snarls. He isn’t looking at me. He’s twisted, one hand reaching for the holster at his small of his back, the other hand pinned firmly over the back of my head, shielding my skull.
The car swerves violently. Mike is flooring it, the tires screaming against the asphalt. I hear the roar of another engine—the attackers—then more gunfire.
Razvan doesn’t move an inch off me. He is a wall of muscle and Kevlar, taking the vibration of every impact. There is no calculation in his eyes, no strategic hesitation. He is simply a man standing between a bullet and the woman he owns.
The shooters don’t stay for a fight. As Mike executes a hard J-turn and guns it down a side street, the secondary engine noise fades.
“They’re breaking off, boss!” Mike shouts. “They didn’t want a siege, just a hit-and-run… Follow them?”
“No,” Razvan says, his voice vibrating through his chest into mine. He finally shifts his weight, his breathing heavy, almost pained. “Get us back to the hotel. Now. And Mike?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Find out whose car that was before the sun comes up. I want a name, then I want a head.”
Razvan pulls me up from the floor. I’m shaking so hard my teeth are literally chattering. My gown is ruined, the silk torn at the shoulder, but I don’t care. I’m alive.
The ride back is a blur of blue and orange streetlights. I’m huddled in the corner of the seat, my arms wrapped around myself, shivering uncontrollably. The shock is setting in, making my limbs feel like lead.
I feel a hand on my shoulder.
I flinch, but the touch is gentle. Razvan pulls me toward him. I want to resist. I want to tell him to stay on his side of the car. But I can’t. My body is failing me, and the only thing that feels solid in a world that just tried to kill me is him.
He pulls me into his lap, his large hands rubbing my arms and back with a rhythmic, soothing pressure.
“Shhh,” he whispers into my hair. It’s the softest I’ve ever heard him speak. “You’re okay. I have you, Lena. I have you.”
“They tried to kill us,” I sob, burying my face in the crook of his neck. The scent of gunpowder and his cologne is a terrifying, intoxicating mix. “They were right there.”
“They failed,” he says, his voice hardening for a second before softening again. “They will never get to you. I promise you that on my son’s life.”
He continues to rub my back, his thumb tracing small circles over my shoulder blade. He’s whispering soft, low words in Russian—not commands, but reassurances. I know I should pull away. I know the guilt is waiting for me in our hotel room. Iknow that every second I spend in his arms is a betrayal of my father.
But as the Maybach pulls up to the hotel and Mike kills the engine, I don’t move. I don’t want to leave the circle of his arms. I want to stay right here, in the heart of the storm, with the man who would take a bullet for me without even asking why.
I’m in so much deeper than I ever imagined. And as Razvan carries me out of the car and into the lobby, his eyes burning with a protective fire that defies logic, I realize that the “Republic of Lena” hasn’t just been invaded.
It’s been conquered.
23