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Too many thoughts zip through my head.

Did that domineering asshole find out about last night? Is he going to retaliate? Or is he just taking Ciro to fuck with him?

Either way, I can’t resist the urge to follow.

Throwing on some black jeans, boots, and a sweater over a midriff tank top, I’m out the door. I grab my coat in the hall and head out to the garage, pinging Fyodor’s phone as I get into the Jeep. They are heading toward the docks.

Hm.

Fyo would kill me if he knew I hacked his phone. But this is not the first time I have wanted to know where he is, or isn’t.

As far as Bratva captains go, he is the best. Otherwise, he is a pain in my ass.

In this case, with Ciro and me involved…

He hates anyone who comes near me. And he hates Ciro with a passion. Put those two together and they’ll both be dead by noon.

I keep my distance once I spot their car, finding a good place to park and tailing them across the shipyard. Rooftops are easy access in this part of town. And they give me an overview of the situation.

Up ahead, I spot several boats docking, most unremarkable. But something seems off about them. They do not hold much cargo.

A moment later I hear a gunshot, and I do not have time to wait to see what those boats are carrying. Leaping down, I tumble, roll, and I’m running toward the sound of fighting.

I see my path clearly before I see the altercation.

Off a low overhand, onto a pile of pallets, over a crate, leaping the gap. A man dressed like the ones we met last night stalks below me, his gun raised to fire.

My dagger in the back of his head drops him quietly.

Two more are closing in on Fyodor. I spot him struggling with three attackers behind a stack of lobster cages. So I assist, dropping right behind the incoming assault, drawing my pistols and double tapping them in the skulls.

Out in the open, Ciro is fighting for his life.

Rushing the first enemy I see, I slash the back of his knee, dropping him and popping off another bullet at a shooter taking aim from atop a shipping container. Fyo shouts as the body drops beside him, followed by a cheer.

“Help has arrived! You bastards are fucked now!” He hoots, laughing maniacally.

Someone screams and my attention is back on Ciro.

“Where the fuck did you get a machete?” I yell, hurrying to join him against the press of enemies.

“Sometimes I think I just make wishes and weapons fall out of the sky!”

“I cannot tell sometimes if you are joking.”

Both of us grunt as six assailants circle in on us. And Shakal falls into a dance of death like he was meant for this.

He’s fucking magnificent.

Parrying, dodging, disarming, and maiming. We fall into sync, providing openings for one another, killing the ones the other missed, blocking wayward blows that would surely incapacitate or kill.

It’s honestly the most romantic thing I’ve ever felt.

No one has ever been able to keep up with me in a fight, let alone complement me. Before long, we are pushing them back, several dead. But more are on the way.

“This seems a little less like a smuggling operation and a lot more like a?—”

“Down!” Fyo bellows, unloading a shotgun in a spray as he kicks the last of his own opponents to the ground. It clears a path for us.