Page 26

Chapter 26

Code Black

Galina

T ime slows to a crawl as Matvei’s footsteps echo through the shattered penthouse. Glass crunches beneath his boots. He’s hunting us.

I press closer to Vasiliy, our sweat-slicked skin still tangled in the sheets. The room reeks of smoke and gunpowder. The bed won’t shield us for long—we need a plan. Fast.

Vasiliy tugs on my elbow, dragging a fallen throw blanket with us as we slide behind the low wall dividing the sleeping area from the rest of the suite. We’re naked, exposed. Vulnerable. I scan the wreckage—our clothes are scattered across the floor from earlier. Vasiliy grabs his boxers and tosses me his shirt. We cover ourselves quickly.

Bullets shred another window, spraying glass and plaster like confetti. Somewhere far below, there are shouts, sirens, the building finally waking to the savagery tearing through its top floor. But until help arrives, we’re on our own.

“Come out, come out,” Matvei taunts, his voice slithering through the chaos. “Let’s finish what we started in that storage room.”

Rage burns hotter than fear now. This man tried to destroy me. Now he’s defiling the only space that’s ever felt like safety. He turned our sanctuary into a war zone.

Vasiliy’s muscles coil beside me, ready to strike, but I grab his arm. “Together,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the ringing in my ears.

He looks at me—really looks—and nods. No hesitation. No argument. Then he slides toward the closet, lifting a floorboard I hadn’t even realized was loose. A hidden compartment.

Two guns. One lands in my palm.

“You know how to use this?” he breathes.

I glance at him. “You’ve seen me shoot.”

It’s enough. He nods once, trusting me completely.

Vasiliy rolls across the floor, popping up behind the kitchen island with his gun raised. He signals—three fingers. Not just Matvei. There are others.

I steady my breathing. Grip tight. Focus.

“One,” Vasiliy mouths.

I crouch low, angling toward the bed’s shredded remains.

“Two.”

There’s a shuffle in the hallway. Someone’s preparing to come in.

“Now!”

He moves first, drawing fire. A bullet clips his thigh, but he’s already firing back. I leap up, aim, and squeeze—two shots, two down. The gun kicks harder than I remember, but I don’t hesitate.

Vasiliy dives for cover, reloading without looking. I pivot, using the half-collapsed bedframe for cover. A man bursts through the doorway. I drop him with a clean shot to the chest. No hesitation.

No mercy.

This isn’t panic. This is control. My father trained me for this, even if he never meant to. The range. The drills. The hours spent pretending I’d never need to fire at something real.

Now it’s all instinct.

I move toward the window just in time to spot another attacker raising his weapon. I fire first. He stumbles, arms pinwheeling, and disappears out the shattered glass.

“On your left!” Vasiliy yells.

I dive as bullets tear through the air behind me. Roll. Come up. Face-to-face with Matvei.

He lunges.

I bring the gun up, but he knocks it away. It clatters out of reach.

Fine. Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.

He swings. I duck. But before I can strike back, Vasiliy barrels into him, slamming him against the wall. The fight devolves fast—grappling, fists, blood. Snarls and impact and rage.

I scan the hallway. More shadows. More men.

We’re out of time.

“Vasiliy!” I shout, edging toward the stairwell—barefoot on broken glass. “We have to go!”

He hears me. Lands one final punch that sends Matvei crumpling, then turns—just as Matvei surges to his feet and tackles him. They stumble toward the open window, teetering at the edge.

With a vicious twist, Vasiliy breaks free, lands a bone-snapping left hook, and sprints for me. I dive first into the emergency stairwell just beyond the shattered wall, heart in my throat. The steel staircase spirals downward, slick with blood and dust. Vasiliy lands beside me a heartbeat later, limping, blood dripping down his thigh.

We run. Forty stories. Bare feet pounding over steel steps and concrete platforms, the sound of sirens growing louder with every floor we descend. We finally reach the bottom.

“Over here,” he barks, cutting through the alley to an old van. He reaches under the wheel well, grabs a key, and throws open the door. We climb in, breathing hard and rattled but alive.

He jams the key into the ignition.

“Where are we going?” I ask, still gripping the pistol.

“The club.” His jaw tightens. “Jaromir’s calling in the men. We’re in Code Black.”

My stomach knots. Total war. Total chaos.

But we’re still here.

And we’re not going down easy.

Sitting back, I force my heartbeat to slow as I set the gun on the floor. I don’t need it right now. When Vasiliy reaches out, I take his hand. That seems to calm him a little, though it does nothing to soothe the fury still burning in my chest—a slow, righteous fire that won’t go out until every last threat to us is ash.

“Check the back,” he says, nodding toward the hatch in the partition. “See if there’s a jacket or something.”

I glance down at my borrowed shirt, damp with sweat and adrenaline. “I’m not exactly naked.”

“No, but you’re still distracting,” he mutters, eyes on the road. “And we’re trying not to get pulled over. So unless you want to explain your current state of undress to a nosy patrol car…”

I huff, twisting around despite the ache in my muscles. There’s not much in the back, but I eventually find a hoodie that smells faintly of leather and Vasiliy. I pull it over my head, the weight of it oddly comforting, the warmth seeping into my chilled skin.

The city blurs past as we weave through traffic. My adrenaline slowly fades, leaving me shaky but clearheaded. We just survived an assassination attempt.

“Your uncle won’t stop,” Vasiliy says after a while, his voice grim. “Not until he gets what he’s after.”

“I know.” I stare out at the passing streets, my hand still resting protectively over my stomach. “But neither will we.”

He takes my free hand, bringing it to his lips. The gesture is surprisingly tender given the blood still drying on both our skins. “No, we won’t. This is war now.”

“It’s always been war.” I turn to face him fully. “But now we’re fighting on the same side.”

His eyes meet mine briefly before returning to the road. In that moment, I see everything we’ve become to each other—partners, lovers, warriors. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.

The club comes into view, its familiar facade a welcome sight. Vasiliy pulls around to the private entrance. Instead of going through the club, we go for the tunnel to avoid attracting unnecessary attention. He takes me straight to his office.

As soon as the door shuts behind us, my legs give out. Vasiliy holds me up, supporting my weight as I tremble and sob. No tears come, but I can’t contain the emotions. The wave of terror and pent-up adrenaline is overwhelming.

“It’s okay, lisichka ,” he soothes. “We’re okay.”

We’re okay. Two words I’d never expected to hear. But it’s the truth. Through all the danger and gunfire, we are alive.

“Take a bath. Relax,” he tells me, nodding at his private bathroom. “I’ll bring Jaromir up to speed, and then I’ll join you.”

“You’ll stay with me? Don’t go anywhere.”

“Don’t worry, Galina, “ Vasiliy answers and kisses my forehead. “Never.”

With a nod, I walk into his bathroom and run water into the huge tub. Sitting on the cool tile, I breathe deeply, trying to bring my emotions under control.

The world has tried to break me for years. This is far from over. My uncle, Matvei, all our fucking enemies combined—they’re still out there, plotting their next move. Let them come. We’re done running, done hiding. They wanted a war? They’ve got one.

And this time, we’re fighting together.