Page 61 of Wicked Sinner

The warehouse is fairly small, although it has two sets of external stairs leading to upper levels. I can see movement around the outside—armed figures keeping watch.

"How many do you count?" I whisper to one of my men behind me, who's got binoculars trained on the building.

"At least eight that I can see. Definitely more inside."

"Heavy weapons?"

"Assault rifles, definitely. Can't tell what else from this distance."

I study the warehouse, looking for the best way in. The main loading dock is too obvious—they'll be expecting that. But there's a smaller entrance on the east side, partially hidden behind a dumpster.

"Give me ten minutes," I tell Tristan. "Then bring your men in through the main entrance. Make a lot of noise, draw their attention."

"What about you?"

"I'll be inside by then."

Before he can argue, I'm moving. I stay low, using the shadows and debris for cover as I work my way around to the east side of the building. The door I spotted is locked, but it's an old lock, and with the silencer on one of my guns, I shoot it without making too much noise.

Thirty seconds later, I'm inside.

The warehouse is dimly lit, filled with stacks of shipping containers and industrial equipment. I can hear voices echoing from somewhere deeper in the building, but I can't make out words yet. I move carefully, keeping to the shadows, my gun drawn and ready.

Then I hear her.

"—told you, I don't know anything about his business!" Bridget's voice, angry and defiant despite whatever they've done to her. Relief floods through me at the sound, followed immediately by a fresh wave of rage.

"So he’s told you nothing? Interesting. Perhaps I was wrong about how much you matter to him.”

Slakov's voice is coming from a room on the second level. I can see light spilling out of the windows, and shadows moving back and forth. I start toward the stairs, moving as quietly as possible.

"I've known him for a few months. We barely know each other." Her voice is a low hiss, full of the rancor I recognize from the early days of our relationship. The venom in her voice is, I hope, for Slakov. The thought of her still hating me so much burns, especially considering how far I’d hoped we’d come.

"And yet he married you."

I reach the base of the stairs and start climbing, testing each step before putting my full weight on it. The metal groans softly, but not enough to give me away.

"He married me because I'm pregnant. That's all."

I wince at that, but keep moving.

"You don't sound very convinced of that."

Neither am I, but hearing her say it still stings. I push the feeling aside and focus on the task at hand. I'm almost to the top of the stairs now.

"What do you want from me?" Bridget snaps. “You’ve already told me your plan. Leave me alone.”

“Maybe I enjoy your company.” Matvey’s voice is amused.

"You're insane if you think your stupid plan is going to work. Konstantin is going to eat you alive if you get out of this." Bridget sounds derisive, like she wants to spit in his face, and I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. That’s my girl. As much as I worry her attitude might have gotten her hurt at some point, it wouldn’t be Bridget if she weren’t mouthing off to a man who holds her life in his hands.

"Am I? Let me tell you something about men like your husband, little girl. They are predictable. They think with their emotions instead of their heads. Caesar will come here, alone and angry, and he will make mistakes. Fatal ones."

I reach the top of the stairs and move toward the room. Through the crack in the door, I can see Bridget tied to a chair in the center of the room. She looks unharmed—I can’t see any marks on her face. Slakov is standing in front of her, and two armed men flank the door.

Just as I'm about to make my move, gunfire erupts from the main floor. Tristan and his men, right on schedule.

"What the hell—" one of Slakov's guards starts toward the stairs.

That's my opening. I kick in the door and put two rounds in the guard's chest before he can turn around. The second guard spins toward me, bringing up his rifle, but I'm already moving. I dive behind a metal desk as automatic fire chews up the wall where I'd been standing.

"Caesar!" Bridget's voice cries out, filled with relief and fear mixed together.

"Stay down!" I call back, blind-firing around the edge of the desk to keep the remaining guard pinned down.

"I should have known you wouldn't come alone," Slakov shouts over the gunfire. "No matter. You will still die here tonight."

I hear the distinctive sound of a magazine being ejected and slammed back into place. The guard is reloading. I spring up from behind the desk and put three rounds in his chest. He drops like a stone.

Slakov has his own gun out now, a silver pistol that looks expensive. He's got it pressed against Bridget's temple.

"Drop your weapon," he orders. "Now, or I paint the wall with her brains."

I keep my gun trained on him, looking for any opening. "Let her go, Slakov. Your fight is with me."

“My fight is with the entire hierarchy of Miami,” Slakov spits.

“And I will find a place in it, even if I have to make peace with Abramov before I find a way to cut him down eventually. You sit there on your high horse, while I was left with nothing. You chose to leave, but I was forced to. I will have what I am owed, and I will start with what you think is yours!”

“You’re a piece of shit like your father was,” I growl. “And I’ve had enough of your bullshit.”

"Shut up!" He presses the gun harder against Bridget's head, making her wince. "You don't get to judge me."

"You're right," I hiss, taking a step closer. "I don't get to judge you. I just get to kill you."

The sound of footsteps on the stairs distracts him for just a moment. His eyes flick toward the door, and that's all the opening I need.

I dive to the left as his shot goes wide. My own bullet catches him in the shoulder, spinning him around and sending his gun clattering across the floor. He stumbles but doesn't go down, reaching for a knife on his belt.

I'm on him before he can draw it. My fist connects with his jaw, snapping his head back. He stumbles into the wall, blood streaming from his mouth.

"You should have stayed gone." I grab him by the throat and slam him against the concrete wall. "Stayed in whatever hole you ran to like the fucking rat you are. You’d have died less painfully then, when it came time for you."

Slakov's eyes go wide with rage. He tries to knee me in the groin, but I twist away and drive my elbow into his ribs. I hear bones crack. Behind me, I hear Bridget’s gasp.

"Please," he gasps, his eyes widening as the gravity of his situation begins to dawn on him. "I can pay you. Whatever you want."

"There's nothing you have that I want." I pull out my knife, the blade gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light. "Except maybe watching you die."

"Caesar." I hear Bridget’s voice, soft and urgent, pleading. "Just finish it and get me out of here. Please."

I look over at her, cuffed to that chair, staring at me as if she knew I would come for her. As if she trusts I’ll get her free. My wife. The mother of my child. And for the first time in my life, I understand what it really means to love someone more than your own life.

Slakov tries to use my distraction to grab for his fallen gun. I catch his wrist and twist until something snaps. He screams.

"You thought you could get the better of me," I growl, pressing the knife against his throat. "Of everyone who runs Miami. You hurt my wife."

"I was trying to—" he starts.

"I don't care what you were trying to do." The blade bites into his skin, drawing a thin line of blood. "You failed."

Tristan appears in the doorway, breathing hard and covered in blood that doesn't look like his own. "Building's clear. We got them all."

I don't take my eyes off Slakov. "How many?"

"Twenty total. Two on our side."

Slakov's face goes pale as he realizes his entire crew is dead. "You can't kill me," he whispers. "I'm the only one who knows about all my father's old contacts. His suppliers, his routes, his—"

"Konstantin already absorbed whatever there was to take. And if there’s anything left, I don't want any of it." I meet his eyes, letting him see his end reflected there. "I just want you gone."

The knife slides between his ribs, smoother than I could have hoped. His eyes go wide with shock, his mouth opening on a gurgle of pain as I twist it, dragging upward as the life bleeds out of him. He slumps to the floor, and I wipe the blade clean on his shirt before sheathing it.

"Jesus Christ," Tristan mutters. "Remind me never to piss you off."

I ignore him and grab the keys out of his pocket before I move to Bridget, unlocking the handcuffs that bind her to the chair. She falls into my arms, and for a moment I just hold her, breathing in the scent of her hair and feeling her heart beat against my chest.

"Are you hurt?" I ask, pulling back to examine her face. There’s nothing visible, but that doesn’t mean she’s entirely okay. "Did they—"

"I'm fine," she says quickly. "They didn't do anything except tie me up and threaten me. And Matvey talked my fucking ear off. The baby's fine too."

Relief floods through me so intensely that my knees almost buckle. I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs tracing over her cheekbones. She's alive. She's safe. She's still mine.

"We need to go," Tristan says from the doorway. "Better we get out of here in case anyone heard and made calls, or if Slakov might have some backup coming. He’s dead, but he might have loyal men somewhere."

I help Bridget to her feet, keeping one arm around her waist to support her. As we head toward the stairs, she looks back at Slakov's body.

"Is it over?" she asks quietly.

I follow her gaze to the man who tried to destroy everything I care about. "Yes,” I tell her firmly, turning slightly to look into her eyes. "It's over."