Page 16 of Bride of Vengeance

"For now." I stare at the water. "But he'll surface again. Men like Pavel always do."

In the aftermath, as sirens wail and federal agents swarm the scene, Mariana and I stand together watching the conclusion of a war that started before either of us understood what we were fighting.

"It's over," she says, and I can hear the exhaustion in her voice.

"This part is over. But we still have Harrison to deal with. And your career to rebuild."

"We?"

The question carries weight beyond its simple words. She's asking if our partnership survives the crisis that created it. If the little wolf and the phantom can build something real on the foundation of shared danger and mutual trust.

"Together," I confirm, and mean it more than I've meant anything in fifteen years.

Because sometimes the most dangerous man alive is exactly what you need to feel completely safe.

And sometimes the phantom you've been hunting is the partner you never knew you needed.

Chapter five

When Shadows Strike

Mariana

The hallway outside my apartment feels wrong at this hour—too quiet for 9 PM on a weeknight. Mrs. Chen should be watching her Korean dramas with the volume too loud. The college kids in 3A should be playing music. Instead, there's nothing but the kind of heavy silence that happens when people are trying very hard not to be heard.

I've been staying at a motel in Queens since Harrison announced the IA investigation three days ago. Yesterday morning, I couldn't bring myself to face Harrison for that formal interview. I asked Rodriguez to reschedule it, claiming a personal emergency. My instincts were screaming that something was wrong—how could I sit across from Harrison when I suspectedhe was setting me up? After what Ghost confirmed at Pier 17 last night, I know I was right.

But I needed to come back tonight; needed my files, my research, everything on my Ghost wall. If I'm going to fight back against the frame job, I need ammunition. Real evidence, not the breadcrumbs Harrison's been feeding me for two years.

I'm reaching for my keys when my phone buzzes.

Three teams. Roof, street, and interior. Move now or die in the next sixty seconds. - MK

Shit.

My blood turns to ice water as I stare at the message. Sixty seconds. Not twenty minutes, not five minutes. Right now.

The hallway smells wrong. Industrial carpet cleaner and Mrs. Chen's cooking from 4B, like always. But underneath that, something that doesn't belong.

The faintest scent of cigarettes. The kind that smells like burnt paper and bad decisions.

My Glock clears its holster before I've consciously decided to draw it. Muscle memory takes over as I press my back against the wall beside my door, listening for any sounds from inside.

Nothing.

But the silence feels wrong too. My apartment is never completely quiet—the old building creaks, the radiator clanks, and there's always the hum of traffic from the street below.

They're already inside.

The smart thing would be to call for backup. Get Rodriguez and a full tactical team down here. Follow protocol and wait for qualified personnel to secure the scene.

But if someone's inside my apartment, they've already seen everything on my Ghost wall. All my theories, all my evidence, all the connections I've been building for two years. And if Harrison really is dirty like my gut keeps telling me, then calling for backup might be the same as signing my own death warrant.

Besides, if they wanted me dead, they would have shot me the second I walked into the hallway.

Which means they want something else. Information, maybe. Or they're waiting for someone else.

Like Ghost himself.