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Yelena

The knock on the penthouse door is firm. Measured.

I pause, my fingers tightening around the silk robe cinched at my waist. Aithan made it clear—no one should be able to reach this door unless they’re on the list. Only a select few know the location of this penthouse, and I don’t take unnecessary risks.

I approach cautiously, my bare feet silent against the cold floor. "Who is it?"

Silence.

Then a familiar voice. One of Aithan’s security men. “Mrs. Vasilios, it’s Nico. Just need a moment.”

I exhale, shoulders relaxing slightly. Nico has been part of Aithan’s personal detail for years. If there’s anyone I can trust, it’s him.

I unbolt the door and barely have time to register the blur of motion before pain explodes at the back of my skull.

And my vision blacks out.

When I regain consciousness, I feel my body aching in several places. A sharp throbbing at the base of my skull makes me wince as I try to move. My wrists are bound behind my back. The air is thick and damp with the scent of blood and sweat.

I force my heavy lids open, my eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room. A basement? Of course. Where else would a snake like Lazaro Galanis hide when he’s backed into a corner?

“You’re finally awake.”

The voice is calm. Too calm.

I lift my gaze. Lazaro is sitting in a steel chair, legs crossed, twirling a knife between his fingers.

Behind him, his men stand like statues—brutish, faceless enforcers who don’t need names because they’re only good for one thing: killing.

I shift my body, testing my restraints. It’s not too tight.

Lazaro watches, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “Don’t bother, Printsessa. You’re not going anywhere.”

I swallow the sharp pang of fear rising in my throat. I refuse to give this bastard the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.

“You should’ve died when you had the opportunity,” Lazaro continues, his voice laced with mock regret. “Would’ve been easier for everyone.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. As I realize that defiance is my best weapon right now. “I was about to say the same thing to you.”

The smack comes faster than I expect. My face whips to the side, my cheek stinging from the impact. The bastard slapped me.

I slowly breathe in and then follow it with a steady breath out. I won’t give him the reaction he wants.

“You’ve got a sharp tongue,” he murmurs, rubbing his knuckles. “I see why Aithan is enamored with you.”

I spit blood onto the cold floor. “He married me because I’m not a weak little sidepiece like your daughter.”

Lazaro’s smirk vanishes.

The second slap is harder, knocking my head back against the chair.

I laugh. It’s a sharp, cutting sound, designed to enrage him. “Did I touch a nerve, Galanis?”

His grip tightens on the knife, his jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it might snap. He leans in, voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

“I should gut you right now.”

I arch a brow. “Why don’t you?”

He exhales, cuts my rope, and drags me up as he stands to his full height. “Because you are going to suffer first.” He growls.

I shiver inwardly as everything in me begins to think of a way out.

Should I plead for my life? No! That will give him the satisfaction he is looking for. Lazaro has no intention of letting me leave here alive. However, he would want to break me before finishing me off. The only way to delay him is to stay defiant.

If I go soft, the game will become boring to him and that will mean my end. Besides, I want to go down fighting. Aithan will not hear that I went down like a coward.

“You know, I was disappointed when you survived the poison,” he admits, inspecting the blade in his hand. “But now, I’m glad you did. Because I get to do it myself.”

My pulse pounds. Not in fear, but in fury.

This filthy, power-hungry snake thinks he’s still in control. That he has the upper hand.

But he doesn’t truly know me.

Lazaro begins to pace the room, speaking more to himself than to me. Arrogance drips from every word.

“You think you and your husband are untouchable, but you’re not.” He sneers. “Aithan won’t always be there to save you, just like he isn’t right now. I’ll patiently lay his own trap when I am done with you. And one day, he’ll slip. And when he does, I’ll be waiting.”

I tilt my head, feigning boredom. “You sound a little obsessed.”

He ignores me. “Basilis is on his way here now. He’s loyal, unlike your stubborn husband—and he will rule with me.”

Perfect, the plan worked.

I fight the smirk threatening to break free. Basilis isn’t coming to re-strategize with him. He’s leading Aithan straight here.

Lazaro keeps going, his ego blinding him to the noose tightening around his neck. “I am thinking of the best way to cause you pain.” He trails a blade down my cheek, pressing just enough to draw a thin line of blood. “I want you to feel the pain I felt when all my plans went up in flames because of your marriage to Aithan.”

I don’t flinch.

Instead, I hold his gaze, my electric blue eyes boring into his soulless ones. “You talk too much,” I bite out, voice steady despite the chaos raging inside me.

His smirk falters just slightly, and that’s all I need.

I don’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, I slam my forehead into his nose with a sickening crack.

Lazaro stumbles back, cursing, as blood trickles from his temple.

The guards react immediately, gathering around their leader.

Big mistake.

They ignore me, thinking I am helpless, but what they don't know is that some of the best fighters in the Makarov Bratva properly trained me in self-defense.

One of Lazaro’s men lunges for me in fury.

At the last second, I twist, grabbing the knife from his belt and driving it deep into his stomach. His body stiffens, eyes wide with shock. I yank the blade free, spinning just in time to slash at the next one’s arm before he can grab me.

Blood sprays across the floor. Adrenaline surges through me. And I know I am at the point of no return.

A gunshot echoes through the room, bringing me to a halt. I close my eyes, waiting for the pain and warm feeling of blood. But nothing, so I open my eyes only to find Lazaro pointing the gun upward.

He did not shoot me, not yet.

Lazaro is breathing hard now, nostrils flaring. He wipes the blood from his face, eyes blazing with pure rage.

"You little bitch," he snarls. "I should’ve shot you in the damn head the first time."

Before I can answer, something hard slams into my back, and for a second I thought I'd become crippled.

I hit the ground; the knife slipping from my grasp, my vision swimming with dark spots.

“Tie her up. Fucking chain her and bring her to me,” Lazaro says, limping to a chair in the far corner.

One of his men yanks my hands behind me and ties me up so tight I can feel the rope peeling the skin on my wrists. He drags me to where Lazaro is sitting and forces me to my knees. As if that is not enough humiliation, Lazaro pushes me to lie flat before him.

I try to push up, but a boot presses into my back, pinning me down. My body screams in protest, but my mind is still working, still calculating.

I see Lazaro standing over me, gun aimed right at my head. "This is how it ends for you, little princess," he taunts.

I refuse to close my eyes. If I die, I will die looking him in the damn face.

Aithan

My phone buzzes, and the second I see Dimitri's name flashing across the screen, a cold dread slithers down my spine. I answer, my voice sharp. “What?”

“There’s a problem, boss.” His breath is ragged, and in the background, I hear the shuffle of movement, the scrape of a gun being drawn. “Penthouse is compromised. Yelena’s gone.”

The world narrows to a pinpoint. “What the fuck do you mean, gone?” My grip tightens around the phone, knuckles going white.

“I just got here to switch out with Nico—he’s dead, sir. Shot in the head. The place is torn apart, and there are signs of struggle, but she’s not here.”

A roar builds in my chest, but I choke it down. Panic is useless. I force myself to think, to move. My mind sharpens like a blade.

“Send me the surveillance feed now!” I’m already switching calls, my voice a lethal growl as I bark into the receiver. “I need the coordinates on Basilis’ route!”

This isn’t a coincidence. It stinks of Lazaro. This is what he meant when he told Basilis that he has yet another plan up his sleeve. That he still had pieces to play. The next attack he said was already in motion was to have my Yelena kidnapped.

Lazaro was no longer playing to fix himself as the most important figure in the Elliniki. He knows his gig is up. What he is playing at now is to cripple me. He knows getting Yelena will not only cripple me, it will kill me.

Beads of sweat form on my forehead as I try not to imagine the worst.

As soon as we arrive, I take in my environment out of share force of habit. It is a secluded, rundown building. I head straight for what looks like the entrance, trusting the men with me to secure the environment and deal with any other external interference.

The sight of Yelena under Lazaro’s feet is like gasoline to an already burning inferno. Maddening anger rages inside me, dark and merciless. My heart pounds with violent purpose, every step reverberating with the rage simmering in my veins.

She’s restrained, her arms bound behind her back with his left foot on her spine. Her dark hair spilling over her face in wild disarray. Her porcelain skin is bruised, a thin cut marring her cheek. Fury detonates inside me like an explosive charge.

Lazaro towers over her, a gun dangling from his hand. He looks surprised at first, but that is quickly replaced by a smirk. The kind that makes my trigger finger tighten, but I keep my movements steady, my aim unwavering. The bastard doesn’t know that both my men and men from the Bratva have this place totally surrounded.

“Get your filthy leg off my wife.” I say, ignoring his men, who are already shaking with dread.

“Aithan!” Lazaro says, trying to cover the surprise on his face. “I was wondering when you’d show.”

I don’t answer. Instead, my gaze flicks to Yelena.

Her blue eyes burn with defiance, sharp and alert. She’s afraid—I can see it—but she’s not broken. That alone fuels my bloodlust. I will tear through this entire place for her.

“You must love her a great deal,” Lazaro muses, leaning back in his chair. “To come storming in here without thinking of the consequences.”

I tilt my head, letting a smile—a cold, merciless one—curve my lips. “I’m not the one who should be thinking about consequences.”

His expression flickers, just for a moment, before he regains his composure. “You’ve always been reckless, Aithan. Just like your father. And now look where it’s gotten you. Your little Russian princess is mine.”

The air between us crackles with tension, thick and suffocating.

I take a single step forward. “She isn’t yours. And she never will be.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Lazaro sneers. “The funny thing is, I should’ve been rid of you years ago when I had the chance. Did you know I orchestrated your first wife’s death?”

My blood runs cold.

He chuckles. “Poor little woman. Didn’t even see it coming. Neither did their kid. And you? You were too blinded by grief to realize you’ve played right into my hands.”

Rage ignites inside me.

This man. This little monster. He’s been lurking in the shadows, playing God, pulling strings, orchestrating deaths.

And now, he’s going to fucking pay for every single one.

Before I could lunge at him, he yanks Yelena up, an arm snaking around her throat, his gun pressing to her temple.

Everything inside me stills. The world tunnels, narrowing down to the barrel of the gun against my wife’s skin. A primal, bone-deep rage mixed with fear rises from the pit of my soul, clawing its way out with brutal intent.

Lazaro chuckles, amused by the murderous fury on my face. “How does it feel, Aithan? Knowing she’s about to die because of you?”

My lips part, words forming, but before I can say anything—

Yelena moves.

Like a viper striking, she slams her heel down on Lazaro’s foot. He stumbles back with a curse, his grip loosening just enough, and she breaks free from his grasp.

I don’t waste a second.

I raise my gun and fire.

The bullet pierces his knee, sending him crashing to the ground with a guttural scream. His gun clatters to the floor. His men outside have been taken care of, and the two inside try to run. I do not bother to go after them, knowing Leon and the men outside will handle them.

Yelena breathes heavily, her chest rising and falling with adrenaline as she watches Lazaro writhe in pain. She looks at me then, something unreadable in her gaze, before she takes a shaky step back.

Lazaro groans, clutching his bleeding leg, cursing between clenched teeth. “You—”

I don’t let him finish. I step forward, pressing my gun to his forehead.

“You stole from me,” I say, my voice low, lethal. “You betrayed my family. You tried to take my wife.” My teeth grind together, my grip tightening around the gun. “And for that, you die.”

He glares up at me, hate in his eyes. “All you had to do was marry my daughter, and everything would have been perfect. My family would have ruled alongside yours.”

I lean in closer, my lips curling into a smirk. “It’s a pity you will never get the position you crave.”

I pull the trigger.

Blood splatters across the floor as Lazaro’s body slumps backward and lifeless.

I exhale, my grip on the gun loosening only slightly. My gaze shifts to Yelena, who is watching me, her expression unreadable.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The weight of what just happened—of what could have happened—settling between us.

Then Yelena takes a step forward. And then another. Until she’s right in front of me.

She reaches up, brushing a blood-splattered hand across my jaw, her fingers trembling slightly. “You found me,” she whispers.

I cup the back of her neck, my hold firm, grounding her. “I will always find you.”

And then, I pull her to me, hugging her trembling body as she clings to me.

The war is over.

And she is safe.