Page 38

VADKA

We train for days, we listen to intel, and we scan our surroundings, but we’re not ready. Nothing feels like it’s enough. It never does, but this time, there’s more weight to the uncertainty.

I can’t keep Ruthie and Luka holed away, dependent on the Kopolovs for life. I tell myself it won’t last forever, that we will find a way through the dangers and threats around us. I tell myself this is what it means to be at war. Uncertainty, waiting. Survival.

I promised her.

But a part of me loves every second of this, savors these precious, stolen moments where we’re safe, and Ruthie can’t run and hide.

After a long day of training, I slide into bed beside her or bring her into the shower with me.

I can’t help being her caretaker. It’s who I am, what I know, and it fills me with no small amount of comfort to know I can take care of her and Luka, even in small ways.

No one here questions that we share a room, and even though we don’t talk about it, there’s no wonder in anyone’s eyes anymore about who we are and where we stand.

Three days into the training at the Kopolovs, Rafail invites me to the balcony for a drink. He pops the top off a beer and hands it to me. My body’s tired from training hard, my muscles sore, but in a way that feels like a good day’s work.

I sit beside him and take a long gulp.

“Where’s Ruthie?” he asks quietly.

“With Zoya.” Zoya wanted her to read over an essay or something.

Rafail leans back, his eyes assessing, but the glimmer of a smile on his lips. “What are your intentions with Ruthie?” As the pakhan of the Kopolov Bratva and my best friend, I know he has the right to ask.

But it still feels too personal, too sacred.

I look out over the balcony. The sun is setting, hints of gold and red touching the buildings that loom in the distance. The wind kicks up with a bite of cold, and somewhere not far from here, a dog barks. I sip my beer. Swallow. Lean forward with my forearms on my knees and meet his gaze.

“I love her, Rafail.”

He nods. Waiting. I haven’t answered his question.

I look down at the bottle as a bead of condensation rolls down the amber glass .

“And I know she loves me.”

“Has she told you?”

“Yes.”

Another beat passes.

“And her mother? What’s the latest news with her?”

I shrug. “She’s stable, for now, but declining. She’s losing her memory, and that scares her. Makes her combative. But she’s in good hands, it seems.”

Ruthie doesn’t know it, but I paid good fucking money to ensure that happened.

“Yeah.”

“So this isn’t just comfort, then. You’re not slipping into her bed because it’s warm and familiar. You’re thinking about the future.” Is he baiting me? I nod slowly, my shoulder tense.

“I didn’t plan any of this, not with Ruthie.

But the more I’m around her, I realize… she fits.

We fit.” I glance up at him. “She challenges me. Sees me. Doesn’t flinch.

” I look away. “With Mariah, it was different, yeah, but I was different.” I take another sip of beer.

“Drives me fucking mad some days knowing I’d burn down the fucking city if it meant keeping her and Luka safe. ”

What I don’t say out loud is that it scares me to lose any control, and Ruthie undoes me.

Rafail leans forward, his tone low. “And do you think that’s enough? That you’re ready to protect them, no matter the cost? ”

I stare at the beer in my hands. “It’s a start, isn’t it?”

He watches me for a long moment, then looks beyond me, back at the house. “I think she’s scared.”

I look back at him, my gaze sharp. “What are you talking about?”

He purses his lips, thinking over his words before he responds. “Women need to know that you’re all in, Vadka. You loved her sister first, and that’s got to be something that’s in the back of her mind. She doesn’t want to be Mariah’s replacement.”

My voice is vehement, my temper rising. “Fuck, Rafail, she isn’t. ”

He swivels his gaze to mine. Challenging. Hard. “Does she know that?”

Does she?

I never knew I could love someone again. But now, she’s everything. Fucking everything.

Rafail stands. “Look, brother. It’s my job to make sure my men are stable and secure, that they don’t make decisions with a woman that could impact their loyalty to the Bratva.”

We don’t date casually and never have. It’s all in with us, and for good reason.

“And it’s my job to make sure that if you are all in, that you make it official. You know she has greater protection inside our family if you make her yours officially.”

I nod. I do know it. I’ve thought about it. I don’t give a fuck about what others might say, but I don’t want to push Ruthie.

He taps his beer bottle to mine. “Tomorrow, I’m separating you two.

We need a trial run to defend ourselves in the event of an attack.

I need to see you in action, make sure your judgment isn’t affected by your concern for Ruthie.

” His eyes grow distant, his lips turning down into a scowl that strikes fear in the hearts of anyone who crosses him.

“Rafail, for fuck’s sake, you know?—”

“I don’t,” he finishes, his tone hard. “I don’t, but I need to.”

I take another angry gulp of my drink, blood burning in my veins.

“An attack is coming,” he says, his voice laced with warning. “Matvei says it’s imminent.”

Imminent.

I’ve known it, of course, but hearing the words out loud makes it seem so much more possible.

I lean back in my chair, my shoulders tense. My beer is still half full, untouched. Cold condensation drips to the floor.

Rafail watches me, hard and calculating. Loyal to the bone. He’s watching to see if my judgment’s clouded by grief.

“You’re questioning me. Because, again, I’ve got something to lose.”

A beat passes. He gulps the rest of his beer and looks out beyond. “That’s exactly why I’m questioning it. Tomorrow, we have a trial. You’ll take sector east. Ruthie goes with Semyon. ”

“Rafail—”

“No.” His word is law. “Tomorrow, I separate you two. This is war, Vadka. They say she knows her way around a gun.”

She does. Her sister taught her, and I agreed. In our world, it helps to be prepared.

Rafail continues. “You have to depend on your brothers to protect everyone. And I need to know your loyalty to the Bratva hasn’t been diluted.”

“You know I?—”

He stands, his gaze sharp. “Words are cheap, brother,” he says. His hand falls on my shoulder. “Fucking show me.”

But we don’t get a chance to execute. We suit up for it, we separate, and I do exactly what Rafail fucking tells me to do, but it’s too late. The time has come. There are no more practice sessions.

The first scream doesn’t come from the street.

It comes through the earpiece.

“Two black vans. East alley. Move. Now. ” Ice churns in my veins.

Zoya’s voice is calm, but I know what calm sounds like when you’re terrified.

Luka’s inside .

Zoya confirmed it on the comm not two minutes ago before the shit hit the fucking fan. But I haven’t seen Ruthie in eight hours.

We planned it this way. We needed a trial, needed to practice how to take them on in the event of an ambush.

I slam the door behind me and run, gun already warm in my hand. My men fan out across the block, but my pulse only locks onto one point.

Please still be there. Please ? —

I round the corner, and it hits me like a fucking truck.

She’s there.

Ruthie.

Too-big tactical vest thrown over a tank top, hair a mess, eyes pure fire. Oh god.

She’s already outside, kneeling by Luka.

Luka?

When did he come out here? He wasn’t supposed to be here.

She tucks him behind a dumpster. Her hand is steady on his shoulder, the other gripping a pistol like it’s second nature. Her stance is wrong—she favors her ankle. Still hurt. Still moving.

Rafail was right. She does know her way around a gun.

When she sees me, she nods and smiles. Pretending everything’s okay, that we’re practicing just like we planned. Luka waves. Then I know. She’s doing this for him. We’re playing a game. It’s just a game.

But I see everything. And I know the second everything shifts. My blood simmers, and my instincts snap into place.

Three figures are coming from the alley. Tight formation. Coordinated.

Irish . Not Bratva. No colors, just quiet killers.

Not a fucking drill.

I don’t think. I move.

“Get him down!” I scream at Ruthie.

Gun up, the first shot lands clean—center mass. The second hits the runner’s thigh, and screams erupt. Luka curls tighter into Ruthie’s side, her hand over his ears, his head against her chest.

She spins toward the shots, gun raised.

Then she looks at me.

Time stops..

Everything goes still. And sharp.

Her eyes find mine. Wide. Disbelieving. Hopeful.

And then?—

She nods.

No time for words.

We move.

Two more men behind the fence. I signal with two fingers, then tilt left. She covers right. We flank like we’ve done this a hundred times.

But we haven’t.

Not really. This was supposed to be our practice session, our trial run.

Still—our rhythm is perfect.

She drops one with a clean shoulder shot.

I finish him before he can scream.

Smoke and blood coat the air.

Backup swarms in between us—Matvei and Rodion, Rafail and his lieutenant.

We drag Luka behind the back entrance. Thank fuck the little guy didn’t see what happened, didn’t know this was real . I press his head into my chest and feel his tiny hands grip my shirt.

“You did good!” he says with a grin. My heart pounds so fast I’m dizzy. I don’t trust myself to speak.

Ruthie slams the bolt shut behind us and leans back against the door.

She’s breathing hard and sweat runs down her temple.

I hold Luka to me, feeling his warmth seep through my fingers, reassurance that he’s okay.

“You did good, too, buddy,” I finally manage to say, my voice hoarse.

“Yeah, so that wasn’t supposed to go that way,” she mutters .

I meet her eyes. “You did great.”

She swallows. “You protected me.”

I step close.

Her breath hitches.

“Of course I did.”

Luka smiles up. “You said I did good, too, Papa?”

I fall to one knee and hold him to me. “ So good, buddy. I’m so proud.” My voice shakes. “You’re a real hero.”

The tenderness cracks something in me.

Sirens now, distant, and gunshots have stopped. Backup closing in and doing their job. We need to move… We need to get out of here.

I kiss her.

It’s not violent this time but soft, reverent.

Luka hugs our legs, and we pull back. She cradles him, and I watch her wrap around him like she’s always been his shield.

And something inside me clicks.

It was never supposed to be her.

But it always had to be her. She’s mine, his—we’re family, and we love each other. She loves him unconditionally, the way he deserves.

The door bursts open behind us—Matvei’s voice is shouting instructions to burn the fucking Irish warehouse in the harbor to the ground. Send a message. Strike back .

I lift Luka into my arms. He’s still oblivious to how real this got.

We’re heading back to the Kopolovs’.

Ruthie follows, gun still in hand, her eyes still scanning.

We walk out as one.

And the Irish are going to bleed.