Page 25

The urgency of her tone was unsettling, especially with the horrified look etched on her face. I thought we’d grown past the stage where she was afraid of me—but this wasn’t about me. No. It was something else. I just didn’t know what it was, and that bothered me, even though I appeared calm and collected.

For sure, she’d been a little distant since the night she came to me in the bathtub, surrendering her mind and body. But I figured she needed some time to adjust to whatever feelings we both had growing within us. Her action that night was just as shocking to me as well—although I loved every bit of it.

Aside from that, she’d been fine, and we’d been cool; no tension, no awkward moments, nothing. Even this morning, she seemed fine while sitting in the living room, alone with her thoughts. Then what changed? What was the reason for the sudden fear I saw in her eyes, and why did she switch the moment she went to the garden?

She requested to speak with me alone but wouldn’t say a word, even though there was no one else around us. Scarlett insisted that we move to my office. That was when I realized just how important this must be for her. I couldn’t find it in me to shove this under the rug or push the conversation to later. My curiosity was piqued, and I needed to know what this was about. But also, I was worried—concerned about the terror in her eyes. She looked like she’d seen a ghost.

All through the walk back to the main building, she would cast nervous glances over her shoulders every now and then, as if to make sure no one was following us. It was almost like she felt…unsafe.

Strange.

Why would she feel unsafe around me? This place was a fortress, with my men swarming the entire compound. What exactly was going on here?

I led her to my office, and the moment we were inside, she stuck her head back outside, looking toward both sides of the hallway. When she finished surveying her surroundings, she shut the door behind her and locked it. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, arms crossed over my chest as I watched her closely, lending her my ears.

Her feet padded quietly as she approached me, her eyes rapidly blinking, her chest rising and falling with slow breaths.

“Alright, printsessa , what’s going on?” I asked, my eyes never leaving her face.

She halted in front of me, fingers scratching the back of my head, her gaze fixed solely on me. “This is gonna sound weird, but….” Her voice trailed off, her jaw tightening ever so slightly.

I took a step forward, my voice calm and gentle. “Scarlett…spill.”

She drew a deep breath, staring right into my eyes. “Daniel, your life is in danger.” The words tumbled out of her mouth.

My brows rose reflexively, my head tilting to the side with a delicate subtlety. A bit confused, my eyes squinted, and my brows furrowed. “Danger? What’re you talking about?” I asked, curiosity and caution lacing my tone.

She paused, her eyes darting to the window behind me for a fleeting moment before returning to my face. “How well do you trust Ilya?”

Her question was a bit out of the blue, catching me completely off guard, yet the seriousness on her face hinted at something dark and sinister.

“I trust him with my life. He’s my lieutenant, my right-hand man. Why?” I asked, watching her with purposeful intent.

She clenched her jaw, her breath hitching in my throat. Scarlett looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Ilya is plotting to kill you, Daniel.”

Her words struck me like a knife to my heart, and my expression darkened. How dare she suggest something as ludicrous as that?

“That’s some serious allegations you’re making, printsessa ,” I said, my voice low and venomous, a scowl settling on my face.

“I don’t expect you to believe me, but I swear it’s the truth,” she said, her eyes holding a spark of sincerity, her tone dripping with a hint of desperation.

“Stop,” I said, my tone gentle yet dismissive as I turned around, uninterested in listening to her.

“He’s onto something evil. He’s after your life, Daniel,” she pressed on.

“Scarlett, I said stop,” I responded, feeling my chest contrast with a brewing anger.

“Do you not hear me? He wants you dead!” she snapped, pulling me by the wrist.

“Enough, Goddamn it!” I raised my voice, swiveling to suddenly face her. “You’re not making any sense, okay?”

She flinched, swallowing hard, her eyes misting as she stared at me with slightly trembling lips.

I let out a soft sigh, letting my rage dissolve. “Scarlett, Ilya will never do anything to betray me,” I said, my voice much calmer and gentler.

“Do you really believe that?” she asked, her tone soft and mild, mixed with a hint of emotion. “Or are you just in denial?”

I was silent for a moment, a million and one things running through my mind all at once. Her question cut deep, and she was right: I wasn’t ready to face the possibility of this truth.

Vince’s voice, his sound warning, echoed in my head: “Watch your back, Danny Boy…. Trust no one.”

“He’s in league with Liam, Daniel,” she continued, never breaking eye contact. “I overheard them talking in the garden, and these were Ilya’s exact words: Daniel Tarasov will be dead by morning, and I’ll have your bride returned to you.”

My expression darkened, my fingers combing through my hair as a jolt of rage surged through my body, boiling my blood. I turned my back on her, seething in silence. As much as I wanted to delude myself into thinking she was wrong or that she was probably lying to turn me against Ilya, her sincerity spoke volumes.

“I swear to God, I’m not making this up,” she added from behind. “Think about it: How did Liam manage to get that letter through to me? You and I both know this place is a fortress. Unless, of course, he had an inside man this entire time.”

I felt my rage intensifying by the second, the weight of his betrayal settling heavily in my stomach, churning my emotions into a toxic storm. Why would he do this? Why would he turn his back on me?

I’d been harsh toward him a few times, but was that enough reason to plot with my enemy—to want me dead? Ilya knew everything about me; he’d been in charge of all that concerned me because he was the one person in the world outside my family whom I thought I could trust.

If Scarlett hadn’t warned me, Ilya probably would have succeeded, considering how much he knew about me. But why? Why did she warn me? Shouldn’t she hate me for all that I’d done—all that I’d put her through? For someone who’d mastered the art of deception, the worry on her face sure looked genuine.

I exhaled sharply and turned around, my hands framing her face with a swift motion. She flinched at first, her body stiffening, unsure of what I was doing until my lips crashed against hers. Slowly, she melted into me, her breath warm on my skin as she kissed me back. This was the confirmation that I needed. She wasn’t faking. She wasn’t deceiving me. No. Whatever emotions she felt for me were true and genuine; her kiss told me so.

“They can plot all they want, but no one can take you away from me,” I whispered, fingers caressing her hair. “You’re mine, Scarlett.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, her eyes boring deeper into mine, affection dancing in their depths. “What’re you gonna do now?”

I’d yet to come up with a strategic plan, considering how sudden this situation had snuck up on me. But one thing was certain: Ilya would pay for his betrayal. The Bratva brotherhood lived a code, one that clearly stated how unforgivable betrayal was. It didn’t matter the fuck it was; betrayal was punishable by death.

Ilya had made an enemy out of me. He’d bitten more than he could chew, and now he was going to pay. I would make sure of that.

“Daniel, what’re we gonna do? He said you’d be dead by tomorrow, and we don’t know where or when he’d attack you,” Scarlett said, her voice soft yet laced with urgency. “What’s our plan?”

The “we” and “our” in her statement was a clear indication that she had joined herself with me. It was a testament to the fact that she’d officially accepted me as her husband. My problems were now hers. The pain of Ilya’s betrayal couldn’t be compared to the satisfaction that came with hearing Scarlett say those words.

Nothing could ever separate me from her—not Ilya, not Liam, and not even her father, Sean.

Just before I could provide an answer to Scarlett’s question, something caught my attention—the muffled footsteps and thick voices outside the door. My eyes narrowed, my senses on high alert, and I felt a prickle at the back of my neck. Something was wrong. Really wrong.

And then, BOOM !

The front door got knocked down with a sickening thud, armed, masked men barging into my office, guns held up in front of them.

“Get down!” I bellowed, adrenaline kicking in as I sprang into action.

My hands wrapped around her waist, and with a swift motion, I shoved her down behind my desk, out of the line of fire. She gasped, hitting the polished floor just as the first shot rang out—a loud bang that forced a scream from her lips.

I moved with lightning speed, counting five armed assailants, all wearing masks.

The first one aimed at me—too slow. I lunged, grabbing his arm and twitching hard until he wailed in pain, his elbow snapping like a twig. Reflexively, he dropped his pistol, and I caught it midair, fingers wrapping around the handle.

I squeezed the trigger, firing three times—three precise shots to three different men’s heads. Before the one with the broken arm could reconcile with the pain of his newfound pain, a shot to his chest struck him down.

More barged into the office, pelting bullets all over the place, the sound of gunshots mingling with Scarlett’s fearful screams. I hid behind the towering bookshelf, the rich wood absorbing the shots fired at me. My eyes darted toward Scarlett, where she lay on the floor, palms over her ears, her body shaking like a leaf.

Soon, the shooting stopped for just a moment. Perhaps the bastards were reloading. This was my window, and I took it, sprinting out from behind the shelf, shooting down anyone in my eyeline.

I did a calculated somersault over one of the dead men, snatching his body off the floor and using it as a shield. The bullets thudded into flesh as the body sagged against me. I fired twice—each shot, swift and precise, taking down an opponent.

There were two hefty dudes left, and coincidentally, all our guns clicked empty. One of them unsheathed a blade and rushed at me, swinging his knife in my face. I dodged his advances, my fingers deftly snatching a sharpened pencil off the mahogany table. This was my makeshift weapon as I deflected the enemy’s attacks while calculating the best time to strike.

The other guy joined in—two against one, hardly a fair fight, but I was a worthy opponent. The air was charged with our thick grunts, mingling with the scent of sweat and blood. The fight was intense, blades slashing the air, kicks and punches connecting with bodies.

I sidestepped an attack, jabbing my pencil into the enemy’s eye with a precise strike. He wailed, staggering backward, blood spilling uncontrollably from his eye.

The other guy bellowed, a blur of rage as he speared into my side, tackling me hard. We hit the floor with a thunderous crash, the air jolting from my lungs.

I stole a glance at Scarlett, and my eyes widened when I saw yet another man lifting her body off the ground. She was motionless—passed out. My blood boiled with rage, but before I could make any moves, the previous guy unsheathed a dagger, its blade glinting in the light.

The knife arched down toward my throat, and in a split second, my hands snapped up, catching the man’s wrists just in time. I struggled against him, muscles straining, breaths hot and ragged as the steel trembled inches from my skin.

My attacker pressed down, the tip of the blade hovering mere inches above my pulse. One wrong move, one careless slip, and I was done for. I glanced toward the door where the other guy was heading out with Scarlett slung over his shoulder. Rage coursed through my veins, and with all my might, I turned my attacker over, my hands driving the blade through his throat.

His body convulsed on the floor as he drowned in the pool of his own blood. With hands crimson red, I rose to my feet, standing tall, triumphant over the dead men around me.

By the front door, Ilya stood, his gaze fixed on me with a sly smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Hello, Daniel.”

“Son of a bitch,” I cursed, my eyes red with fury.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said, drawing closer into the room, shoes clicking softly against the blood-stained floor. “You brought this upon yourself.”

I glared at him, my chest heaving, rage surging through my veins. “Why? How much did he pay you to turn your back on me?”

“Funny how you think this is about money.” He chuckled, eyes drinking in the mess around us. “The money is but an added advantage. It’s not even close to why I agreed to fuck you up.”

“Then what’s your reason? Why are you doing this?” I asked, watching him with purposeful intent.

His lips curled into a sly grin. “Hatred. Power.”

“You ungrateful bastard, I gave you my trust—I gave you everything,” I snarled, my voice laced with fury.

“That right there is the problem!” he yelled, eyes blazing red. “It’s all about you, Daniel. You think you made me. You think you own me!” He drew closer, his scowl deepening. “Do you have any idea what it’s like living in your shadow, doing your dirty work—your bidding—at every command? Do you?” He clicked his tongue contemptuously, shaking his head. “Nah, you don’t. To make things worse, you’ve never for one day appreciated—not even once, Daniel!”

My jaw tightened, and my brain was busy analyzing the different ways this would end.

“I got this defending you!” he growled, pointing at the scar across his face. “I put my life on the fucking line every fucking day of the week. Do you think that you’re more important than me? That your life means more than mine?”

“So you think betraying me will somehow bring you some peace?” I asked, my voice low and even.

“You see, Daniel, Liam and I struck a deal. I’ll help him finish you off and have his woman returned to him. In exchange, he’ll put me in a position of power, honor, and authority, which is more than you’ve ever done for me.”

I shook my head at his level of idiocy. It was one thing to be ungrateful and an entirely different thing to be stupid. He was both.

“Killing you will rid the world of one monster.” He drew nearer to me, eyes blazing with anger. “The monster that I hate.”

“You’re a fool, Ilya,” I said, my voice deep and husky, filled with rage and disappointment. “You let Liam trick you into doing his dirty work and fell for a promise that will never be fulfilled.” I snorted, holding his gaze, watching his anger simmer beneath the surface. “You’re nothing but a puppet, Ilya, one to be used, tossed around, and discarded by the real men that matter.”

His jaw clenched, his breathing turning ragged as the weight of my words pressed down on him.

Good.

I continued, “You’re an even bigger fool if you truly believe that Liam Callahan will ever see you as anything more than a peasant dog.”

The plan was to get him so upset that he’d engage me in a fight, a brawl he’d rush into without thinking. The angrier he was, the more likely he was to lose.

“Fuck you, Daniel,” he cursed, aiming his cocked pistol in my face.

Like lightning, I dodged a bullet, and it whooshed past my ear after he pulled the trigger. I grabbed his wrist, arching the gun upward with trembling hands as more shots rang out. I pushed against his strength, the air thick with the sound of our grunts until his back slammed against the shelf behind me. The impact sent books falling off to the floor while we wrestled, gunshots filling the air.

I bashed my forehead into his face with a powerful nod that broke his nose. He groaned, staggering backward, his grip around the gun loosening ever so slightly. I clutched the damned thing out of his hold, but he was quick to kick it out of hand before spearing into me with a thunderous bellow.

I trapped his neck in my arm, straining against his weight as I lifted him off the ground, flipping him over my head. He crashed onto the mahogany table behind, his waist slamming onto the edge. Our deep groans filled the air as we struggled to stand, weak but resilient.

That crash had affected his waist, and now he could barely get off the floor. I lunged at him, striking my knee into his face. His head jerked upward at the impact, and I rushed at him with skull-crushing blows.

He deflected the ones he could, his face turning against those he couldn’t. I grabbed his head, denting his skull into the table with a sickening thud. Swiftly, my fingers scratched a pen off the surface, and I drove into his palm, pinning it to the table. His loud wails filled the air, his body shaking in tremendous pain.

I had him trapped for a moment, bleeding profusely from the wound in his hand. With ragged breaths, I glared at him, his face battered from my heavy punches. “You fucked up, Ilya…big time,” I growled, feeling that jolt of anger coursing through my blood.

He laughed, his gaze devoid of remorse.

“Where is she?” I demanded, towering over him. “Where is Scarlett? Where’s your man taking her?”

Again, he laughed. “You might not see it, but that bitch has changed you.” His voice was low and even. He raised his head and met my gaze. “You’re weak, Daniel—unfit for the position you occupy. She should be halfway to Liam’s by now. You’ve lost her forever, Daniel. You lose.” He sneered.

My lips twitched at the corners, eyes darting toward a discarded gun on the floor. Casually, I strolled over there, picked it up, and checked the magazine. It was loaded. Returning to Ilya, I squatted in front of him, placing the barrel on his forehead. “They call me the devil for a reason, Ilya,” I whispered, my smirk retained. “You know why?” The question was rhetorical. “I never lose.”

He traced my gaze out the window where a vehicle pulled over in the compound. More of my men alighted, one carrying Scarlett over his shoulder. I saw the flicker of shock in Ilya’s eyes as he wondered what was happening.

“One of the benefits of being the devil is that you have people everywhere, eyes and ears, foot soldiers always ready for battle,” I explained, reveling in the fear dancing in his eyes. “Loyal men still exist, Ilya, and unfortunately, you’re not one of them.” I cocked the gun and whispered in his ear, “Betrayal is unforgivable,” then pulled the trigger.

His head snapped back at the loud bang, the bullet boring a hole in his skull, his brain splattering over the floor. Ilya’s limp body sagged against the table, his palm still pinned to the surface.

I rose to my feet and reached for the white handkerchief in my pocket, wiping my face, stained with droplets of his blood. I hated that I had killed him, but he left me with no choice. It had to be done.

My men barged into the room, their guns held up in front of them, and their watchful eyes scanned the place.

“Boss, are you okay?” Dmitry, one of them, asked with Scarlett’s body flung over his shoulder.

“I’m fine. How is she?” I questioned, approaching him, my heart filled with worry for her safety.

“She’s breathing, sir. Just passed out,” he said, his eyes settling on Ilya’s dead body. “I should’ve been here,” Dmitry added, regret and anger lacing his tone. “Ilya, he lied to us, tricked us into leaving the house.”

“How did you find her?” I asked, staring at Scarlet’s peaceful form, fingers caressing her hair.

“The maid, Sofiya, alerted me the moment the invasion began,” he explained. “Thankfully, we arrived just in time to save your wife from the maniac who’d kidnapped her….” His voice trailed off, his eyes drinking in the mess: the dead bodies and blood-stained floor. “Clearly not in time to stand by you.”

“Take her to the bedroom, Dmitry,” I said, exhaling softly. “And have this place cleaned up.”

“Yes, sir,” came his swift response as he signaled a few other men before leaving.

I stood there, triumphant, in the pool of blood and dead bodies, knuckles hurting, bleeding from the intense fight that almost claimed my life. The most important thing was that Scarlett was not just okay; she was still here…with me.