Page 27

My blood boiled in anger as the realization set in: The Bianchis were behind the attack. They were the ones responsible for kidnapping my wife.

“Those fucking assholes,” I snarled, my jaw tightening. “I give them back their son, and this is how they repay me?”

“Kidnapping my daughter was a wrong move—too extreme to ignore. Those bastards crossed the line, and they’re now gonna pay,” Ronan growled, rising from his chair, his eyes red with fury.

He walked over to stand in front of me, a deep scowl settling on his face.

“All isn’t forgiven, Sergei Tarasov. I still hate your guts,” he said, locking eyes with me. “But for once, we have a mutual enemy.”

My lips curled into a dangerous smirk as I watched him in silence, knowing exactly where he was going with this. At this very moment, a rather rare and strange alliance between both of our families was about to be made.

Ayla, being at the center of all of this, was the top priority to me and her father. Ronan O’Hara may be an asshole, but he was an asshole that was willing to burn the world to find his daughter. He’d earned my respect for that, at least for now.

“For some weird reason, it appears my daughter’s safety is of genuine concern to you,” Ronan continued. “Now, I do not appreciate the idea of working with the Russian Bratva, but joining forces and combining our resources is the fastest way to find Ayla.”

“He’s right, Boss,” Kuzma chipped in, eyes on me. “We’re running out of time. This is our best shot.”

No kidding. There were no other solid alternatives left. If Ronan could set aside his pride and hatred for me just until we find her, then I could do the same. This was more important than anything else in our lives.

“Let’s get something straight, Ronan,” I began, “If we do this, it’ll be—”

“Because of my daughter,” he cut me off, his expression stoic and unreadable. “I told you, all isn’t forgiven. Now, let’s skip to the part where we kill those fuckers.”

Everything happened in a blur. Two rival gangs came together as one, making phone calls, asking favors from more powerful people, and pulling strings that hadn’t been tugged on for years.

Time went by in a flash, but at last, our tech geniuses were able to provide us with a location.

It was confirmed that Italians were holding Ayla in a rural property at the outskirts of town, isolated and discreet.

Perfect for hiding something or, in our case, someone.

The Russian Bratva and the Irish Mafia, now united under the command of Ronan O’Hara and me, rolled out like a heavily armed militia.

Armored SUVs and blacked-out trucks moved in a tight formation, engines growling as we tore through the streets like soldiers during a siege. Our movement was precise and purposeful, a long convoy that drew unnecessary attention. But we couldn’t care less.

Men in tactical gear sat stone-faced inside, armed to the teeth—their weapons locked and loaded. It felt like a scene ripped straight out of a war film—two criminal empires marching into battle, not for money or power, but for love.

Something of such magnitude didn’t happen every day, a husband and a father ready to burn the fucking world to the ground to save one woman.

Ronan and I sat in the back seat of the same SUV, silent as a graveyard. What was there to say to each other anyway?

Just outside the gates of the hidden Italian compound, tucked away in the middle of a forest, Kuzma, riding shotgun, leaned back and handed me a tablet. “Live feed from the drone we sent to survey the building,” he said.

I held it up so Ronan could see, too.

We watched as the drone hovered silently above the treetops, its camera sweeping over the Italian compound, cloaked in shadows. The full moon was at its peak in the sky, and the stars twinkled like diamonds.

Men stood guard along the edges, some roaming the compound, alert and armed. Others sat in groups, smoking, chattering, and laughing, rifles slung lazily over their shoulders.

Then, the drone tilted upward, its lens zooming in through a high window on the second floor. Inside, something horrendous was happening. Something so dark, it stole my breath and fueled my rage.

A man was hunched over a woman on a filthy mattress, his strong arms pinning her hands over her head. She cried, struggling beneath him as he tried to force himself on her.

“Wait a minute,” Ronan murmured, eyes fixed on the scene, his voice dripping with venom.

The woman’s fiery red hair, tangled and unmistakable, confirmed both our fears. It was Ayla.

By the wall, four other men stood there laughing like hyenas, one already unbuckling his belt. Just across was Lucas, his back against the wall, smirking as he recorded the whole thing on his phone.

My jaw tightened, as did my grip on the tablet, whose screen soon cracked under the weight of my grip. Ronan looked at me, rage flickering in his gaze. “Let’s kill every last one of fuckers,” he growled.

“Burn this fuckin’ place to the ground!” I commanded, balling both hands into fists.

The compound gate exploded inward immediately, and soon, our armored vehicles stormed in, tires raising dust. Chaos erupted as a deafening barrage of gunfire filled the air. Our men, united, swept in military precision, flanking, breaching, and shooting down every enemy in their eye line.

Ronan and I stepped out of the vehicle, moving through the chaos like seasoned predators. Back to back, we held up our rifles, firing relentlessly, our movement in perfect sync. We cleared out corridors and corners, raining bullets on the enemies.

For a moment there, I thought we made a pretty team, fueled by the same burning rage.

“Get down,” Ronan said to me, and the moment I ducked, a bullet whooshed past my head. Ronan fired twice, striking the shooter in the chest. “You’re welcome,” he added, a glint of sarcasm lacing his tone.

Kuzma and the others were downstairs, taking control of the situation, while we searched the second floor for Ayla.

A man, twice my size, bellowed as he speared into me from the side, his impact sending us crashing to the floor. My rifle clanked away, and before Ronan could pull his trigger, someone else attacked him, kicking his gun away.

Both our opponents engaged us in hand-to-hand combat.

Blows were exchanged, kicks and punches were thrown, and the air was thick with the grunts of angry men.

My attacker unsheathed a dagger from his waist, expertly swinging the blade at me.

I was quick enough to evade all his advances, and with one practiced move, I sidestepped his thrust, trapping his arm in mine.

I twisted hard until a sickening crack echoed through the corridor, accompanied by his wails.

Like a twig, I cracked his fuckin’ bone, breaking his arm.

While he staggered back in agony, I rolled over to the rifle on the other side of the corridor, snatched it off the ground, and shot him in the fuckin’ head.

Ronan was still busy struggling with his attacker when I shot the man in the head as well, his blood spilling over Ronan’s face.

“You’re welcome,” I said to him and turned around, the rifle held up in front of me.

He picked up his gun and followed behind me. We located the room we believed Ayla was held in and then leaned on both sides of the door. I looked at him, and he nodded, understanding the assignment. In sync, we kicked the door down and barged into the room, bullets flying in the air.

Amidst the chaos, I saw her—Ayla, shuddering on the floor, both hands clasped over her ears, screaming. At least she was safe. That was all that mattered.

We stained the walls with the blood of her kidnappers, their dead bodies pooling at our feet.

When the shooting stopped and the chaos died down, only Lucas was left standing, shaking like a leaf.

Ronan ran over to his daughter, helping her to her feet and asking if she was okay.

She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks in a way that broke my heart.

I turned toward Lucas, whose hands were raised in surrender with a deep cut across his face. The last time he was in my custody, he didn’t have that—I assumed that was Ayla’s little gift to him. “You piece of shit. I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

“No, no, please, show mercy….”

He was still begging when I aimed at his abdomen and squeezed a round. The bullet punctured his spleen, and he screamed, dropping to the floor in pain. I walked over to him, my boot stomping on the phone he used to record the video. The damn thing shattered, destroyed.

By now, Ronan had taken his daughter out of here, leaving this asshole to me.

“Please…we can strike some sort of deal,” he strained, wheezing, blood filling his throat. “I can pay…you…off….”

I squatted in front of him, watching him slowly bleed out.

“You think this is about money or power?” I clicked my tongue in contempt.

“You kidnapped my wife, tortured her, and almost let your men take turns on her.” My words were spoken quietly, laced with venom and sheer fury.

“Nothing can save you from death now.” I jacked him up by the collar, his legs flailing in the air, blood streaming from his abdomen.

He begged, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

I tossed him out the window, glass exploding as he crashed through.

I walked over to the edge and looked down.

He’d landed on the roof of a parked vehicle, the metal curving inward beneath his weight.

Glass shards embedded in his skin as he lay there, motionless.

When the dust settled and the chaos ended, I stepped out of the building, my gaze landing on Father and daughter a short distance away.

“You don’t have to stay with him, Ayla. Come back home with me,” Ronan urged her, holding her hands with a glint of affection in his eyes.

She stood before him in silence, wrapped in her father’s coat, shoulders slumped.

Ayla turned in my direction, and the moment she saw me, her eyes widened, a smile spreading across her face.

She limped up to me, as if her leg was hurt.

Ayla threw her arms around my neck, her head resting on my chest. I stood frozen in place, shocked by this reaction.

“You were right,” she whimpered, her voice breaking under the weight of the pain in her heart. “He is a monster.” Ayla sobbed, her grip tightening around me like I was a lifeline.

I held her close, smoothing down her tangled hair. “He’s never gonna hurt you again,” I whispered, “no one ever will. Not on my watch.”

She pulled her head back just enough to look up at my face. “Promise?”

I held her gaze, allowing access to the sincerity in my eyes. “I promise, you will never go through this again.” My hands cupped her face, her breath warm against my skin.

Her lips curled into a radiant smile that melted my heart, and I pulled her closer. I just realized how precious she was to me and how I’d never let her out of my sight again.

Ronan watched from where he stood, and when our eyes met, he gave a silent nod. He had this look of reluctant acceptance in his gaze, but there was nothing that he could do at this moment; she had made her choice.

And I’d made mine too. I was going to take full responsibility for this woman and make sure she never lacked anything good in life. All she ever craved was happiness and freedom. Now, it was my utmost priority to see her be the best version of herself.