Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Renata

"It's alright," I tell Isabella. "You're going to be okay, breathe."

She's experiencing contractions, and it's way, way too fucking early. A few minutes ago, she screamed from the bathroom, telling us she was bleeding heavily. Polina freaked out, her face paling, and she screamed for Lev. I'm standing next to Isabella now, trying to keep my own fear in check.

"Lie down," I tell her softly, guiding her to the couch. "There are plenty of reasons for bleeding, Isabella. Not all of them are dangerous." A woman's body is complex.

My words are steady, but inside, panic claws at my chest, my heartbeat thrumming in time with every second lost. I'm trying to keep calm, but the fear is clawing at me from the inside.

I hear the sound of a door opening, followed by the stomping of heavy feet, and suddenly, the entire male side of the Romanov family is standing in the doorway—or, more accurately, elbowing each other out of the way. Lev bulldozes through the wall of men, eyes wide, wild with fear, and heads straight toward us. His face is pale, his eyes wide with fear as he looks at me. "What happened?" he asks, his voice tight.

I fill him in quickly. "She needs to get to a hospital immediately," I tell him, keeping my voice as calm as possible. "It could be nothing, but we need to make sure."

Someone is on the phone, calling for an ambulance. I hold Isabella's hand tightly. She is such a strong, ruthless woman, but I've never seen her look more afraid than she does right now.

I speak to her in soothing tones, the way I wish someone would if I were in her situation, stroking my thumb across the top of her hand. "Someone get her something to drink," I say aloud.

A moment later, Ekaterina arrives with a glass of juice. She kneels on the floor in front of Isabella and gently presses the juice to her lips. "Here, drink this," she says softly.

She brushes her hand across Isabella's brow, and my heart aches. Ekaterina is everyone's mother. She has seen and endured so much, and yet she still has so much more to give.

The sirens grow louder, their wailing cutting through the tense silence. "Lev, come here and sit beside her," I say, glancing up. "One of you needs to go outside and bring the paramedics in so they know where to find her."

Though my heart hurts for Isabella, I tell myself it's going to be okay. I turn to find Ollie in the wall of men and realize that every one of the men in the room is holding a handgun.

"Put those away," I hiss, staring at them. "You can't have those out now!"

Ollie's gaze meets mine, and a sheepish smile tugs at his lips, as if his instinct to protect was never in doubt. The others follow suit just before the paramedics arrive. "How do you think those are supposed to save her?" I mutter, shaking my head.

"We didn't know why she was screaming," Ollie explains, his voice low. It makes sense—Polina's scream set everyone on edge, and with the looming threat of Carlos, they all came in here ready to kill.

Reality sinks in like ice down my spine—this really is my life now. We have enemies not just in hiding but possibly standing before us with friendly faces.

Take no prisoners. Show no mercy.

Three paramedics, two women and one man, enter the room and quickly assess the situation.

"I studied midwifery in Colombia," I say calmly. "I believe she may have a complication that could explain the bleeding, but we need to be sure. We want to bring her in right away so she doesn't lose any more blood."

One glance from the paramedic, and something feels off. My instincts flare—this isn't right.

Oh God.

Something's wrong. I shake my head, trying to clear it. It's probably just Ollie's suspicious energy rubbing off on me.

"What will you do to treat her?" I ask one of the paramedics.

"We won't treat her, ma'am," he says quietly. "We'll bring her to the hospital where she can be evaluated."

"Have you been working with each other for a long time?" I ask, my eyes narrowing. Ekaterina and Polina look at me sharply. It's not a typical question to ask EMTs, but my instincts are on high alert. Something is wrong here. Something is off.

"Yes," one of them says, just as another says, "No."

The room falls silent. I meet Ollie's eyes and slowly shake my head from side to side.

"Thank you. Could you please give us a minute?" I ask the paramedics, "Please wait in the other room." The paramedics retreat at my request, clearly not wanting to incur the wrath of the Romanov men in the room.

Shit . We need her seen immediately, but I can't send her away with people I can't trust. None of us are capable of helping her though. We don't have the right tools or the right skills. My belly aches.

"Nikko," Mikhail says quietly. "Why don't you go back over the security footage of the ambulance arriving here?"

He turns to Ollie. "Ollie, why don't you go investigate that ambulance."

"We need to get her seen immediately," Lev insists, his voice tense. "What the fuck? You guys are overreacting."

But I meet Ollie's eyes across the room and shake my head again. We aren't overreacting. They're lying.

"What's happening?" Isabella asks, her voice trembling. "What's going on?"

"We just want to make sure you're safe," I say placidly, trying to keep my voice steady." Just trust me."

Maybe Ollie isn't always overreacting. Maybe we really are in grave danger.

I give Isabella a curious look. "What have you eaten or had to drink in the past couple of days?" I ask her.

She lists off a few normal things. "Why?" she asks, fear creeping into her voice. "Do you think I was poisoned?"

"I don't know if I trust anything right now, Isabella," I say quietly. Yes, someone could've given her something that caused cramping and bleeding; it's definitely possible…

Maybe Carlos has found the damn drone and knows he's been fooled.

Maybe this was Carlos's plan all along—make someone sick, call paramedics, infiltrate. How else would they get in here? They can't get into this fortress.

"Everything checks out," Lev says a few minutes later. "There's nothing suspicious out here."

But I don't know… He wants his wife safe, but is he overlooking the obvious? I look at Ollie again.

"Wait until Nikko gets back from checking everything."

"I heard the sirens. Then, for a few seconds, nothing else happened. They didn't come any closer. There was a pause before the paramedics got here," I say softly. "Something could've happened then."

I beckon the paramedics back into the room. I turn to the paramedic standing in front of me, a tall, thin woman with blonde hair in a severe bun. "Is there anything you need to tell us?" I ask, watching her closely.

"No," she says too quickly, her voice strained. "We need to get her to the hospital, ma'am."

Hmm. I can't quite read her. She's iffy.

I turn to the next paramedic, a young man who looks like he's barely holding it together.

"Is something wrong with you?"

His eyes widen. "No, not at all," he stammers.

He's lying. I know the signs immediately. I stand up, feeling as if I'm throwing him under the bus, but I can't ignore what I see. "He's lying," I say softly to Ollie.

Ollie moves like a shadow, silent and deadly, gripping the paramedic's neck with a vice-like force that says more than words ever could. Isabella screams, and Lev rushes to hold her.

Ollie pulls out his knife, and for a moment, I think he's going to slice the man's throat right here. Nobody breathes as Ollie slashes at the man's clothes, tearing off his shirt to reveal a tattoo I recognize all too well.

"Cartel," I say, shaking my head. "Oh my God. How ?"

Ollie turns to the rest of the paramedics, still holding the one in his grip. "He can't hurt you now. Tell us what's going on."

One of the women nods, her face pale. "You'll find our associate in the passenger seat," she begins in a quiet voice just as Nikko bursts back in. "They have a hostage in the ambulance."

"Can we trust the rest?" Lev asks, his voice tight.

Ollie grips the traitor by the neck. "I have him." He gives him a shake. "Is there anyone else with you?"

"No!" the man cries out, but I can tell he's lying. I feel sick to my stomach as I turn to Ollie. "He's lying."

"Who can we trust here, Renata?" Lev says, his wide eyes locked on me.

"The two women. They're the real paramedics. Go with them, Lev. One of you—Mikhail? Nikko? Somebody go with them."

Ollie is going to interrogate this man, and I need to be here to help him.

I feel like I'm going to be sick.

I can do this. I have to. For Isabella. For Ollie.

For me.

They gather up Isabella, placing her on a stretcher. They take her out to the ambulance, and the cold reality of the danger we're in sends a shiver down my spine.

We can't even call an ambulance and be safe. What are we going to do? How are we going to navigate this?

The ambulance leaves, and the fragmented remains of the Romanov family stand in front of us. Mikhail jerks his chin toward everyone but Ollie. "Get your weapons and come with me," he says, the tone of his voice chilling me to the bone. "Renata, leave us."

The man screams, begging for mercy. I remember the video Ollie played in the hotel room—the tone of the man's voice sounds familiar. It's the desperate pleas of a man who knows he's going to die, and painfully.

"Everybody get the hell out of here, Renata stays," Ollie barks.

Mikhail opens his mouth, but Ollie cuts him off. "She can tell when people lie. It will make things go much quicker." Mikhail's face darkens as he considers Ollie's demand but finally agrees, then steps out of the room.

"Ollie," Ekaterina says quietly, her pretty face pinched as she leaves the room, "Please mind the carpet. It's new, dear."

"Jesus," Ollie mutters. "This is why the other rooms are concrete."

Within moments, it's just the three of us—Ollie, the traitor, and me.

Ollie sent one of his brothers to go get what he needs, and he'll will be back in a moment.

He grabs the man and shoves him face-first against the wall, his hand on his neck. The man's face grows purple, and he smacks with his hands fruitlessly. Ollie is impassive, his face a blank, emotionless mask.

I try to summon a level of anger. This asshole used my best friend to get to Ollie. He was going to kill the man who I love. But even now, while I logically know this to be true, I'm sick to my stomach, knowing what I'm about to witness.

Ollie is my husband. Time and time again, he has brutally hurt people, and I've even seen it. He's murdered. His hands have been stained with blood. Even in Colombia, there were whispers of the lone wolf, the silent one, a man of Russian descent who lived in New York and had come to enact brutal, bloody revenge. He was feared by the biggest, most powerful man I knew in the LSD.

Everybody feared him.

I fear him.

"Stay here," he says as he drags the man to a corner of the room. "You won't leave my side, Renata, but I don't want you to have to witness everything."

I close my eyes and remind myself how quietly and gently he touches me. His hands as soft and tender as could be. What if I were the one who did something to betray him? It wasn't that long ago when he thought I had.

I close my eyes and cover my ears but can't completely block out the sound of the man's cries and Ollie's harsh voice, the blows he delivers. I open my eyes when he drags him back in front of me. Ollie moves with cold precision, drawing the shades. His broad shoulders loom, blocking out the only sliver of light. With ruthless efficiency, he ties the man to a chair, the ropes cutting so deep into his flesh, fresh blood stains them.

His face is bruised and swollen, bleeding from multiple contusions that make it hard to recognize him.

Do I recognize him?

Ollie circles him, calm and methodical.

"Do you know him, Renata?" When his eyes meet mine, I have a terrifying shock of recognition.

"Yes," I whisper. "He went to school with Carlos, but I can't remember his name."

"It doesn't matter what his name is," Ollie says, his eyes narrowing. He remains calm as he traces his thumb along the edge of a huge blade. I try to breathe, reminding myself that this is necessary, that there is no peaceful way forward. But the bile still rises in my throat, a stark reminder of the scene that's about to unfurl before me.

Ollie steps in front of the man and tips his head to the side, inspecting him as if he's a specimen in a biology lab. I've seen that cold gaze in his eyes many times before, the one that chills me to the bone. This is the Ollie they whisper about, the one who enacts revenge without mercy or hesitation.

"Who sent you here?" His voice is low, but the threat unmistakable. The man groans, barely able to lift his head, but Ollie grabs him and forces him to look up.

"Was it Carlos? Tell me."

"I—I don't know anything!" the man sobs.

"Fucking hell, let me be the type who stands up to a fucking interrogation and doesn't shit his pants," Ollie murmurs with disdain. "You're a big, tough guy when you're swaggering down the streets of Colombia, aren't you? But here, when it's just me versus you, you're a child." He shrugs. "My brothers aren't even here."

The man's eyes are wild and desperate. "He knows you betrayed us," he says to me with a sneer. Ollie backhands him so hard that the man's head snaps back, and I feel the crack of his hands in my bones. I flinch.

"Who?"

The man clenches his jaw and doesn't respond, turning away. Ollie's expression doesn't change. With ruthless precision, Ollie's blade flashes in the dim light, cutting through flesh with a swift, practiced strike. No room for mercy. The scream that follows tears through the air.

"The carpet, Ollie," I whisper.

Ollie violently kicks the man's chair to the side as the tiled pathway that leads to the doorway narrowly catches the falling blood.

I have to bite my lip to stop from crying out myself. Is this what I've become? Immune to violence and more concerned with Ekaterina's carpet than a man's life?

"Where is he? What is he planning next?"

"I—I don't know anything!" the man sputters, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. His eyes are wild with fear, darting from Ollie to me as if hoping I'll intervene. I look away, unable to meet his gaze because deep down, I know exactly how this is going to end.

"Is he telling the truth, my love?" Ollie asks me.

I have to shake my head. I can't look in the man's eyes. "No, of course not," I whisper.

Ollie's blade moves with surgical precision, cutting into flesh, severing tendons. The man's cries turn into desperate sobs.

"Tell me."

His body jerks against the restraints as if he's trying to escape the agony, but there is no escape from Ollie.

I force myself to watch the way Ollie's hands work—steady, controlled—as if he's done this a thousand times before, and his hands function on sheer muscle memory. The way he twists the knife and lifts it before inserting it again is almost surgically clinical.

This isn't just about getting answers, it's about making sure this man suffers as much as possible in the process.

"Ollie," I whisper. My voice breaks. He doesn't hear me, or maybe he does, and he just doesn't care. He's too far gone, too dedicated to the work in front of him.

The man finally breaks, sobbing out names, places, anything to make it stop. But Ollie doesn't stop. He doesn't even slow down. All I can do is stand and watch, sick to my stomach, as the man I love turns into a monster before my eyes.

I try to close my eyes and block it all out—the sickening noise of flesh being destroyed, the slosh of blood, the man's screams—but I can't. This is who Ollie is. This is the man I love. And no matter how gently he touches me or how soft his caresses, no matter how lightly he whispers my name, this is the side of him that will always haunt me.

He turns to me and must see the nausea or fear because his demeanor softens for a moment. He wipes his hand, the mask slipping enough to let me see the man beneath the killer. "Are you alright, Renata?" His voice is soft, but his eyes are again hardened steel, a reminder that this violence is an irascible part of who he is.

"Yes," I whisper.

His face falls. "I thought you were the only one who could detect lies, but even I know that's not the truth."

I swallow hard. "I'm fine," I insist.

With a look of concern, he wipes his hands on a cloth like one might wipe them after an oil change rather than a man who just tortured someone mercilessly. He reaches his hand to me and places it on my shoulder. To my credit, this time, I don't flinch.

"Go sit down, Renata," he says softly. "We're almost finished here."

He holds the man upright in front of him and asks one more question. "Where is Carlos?" Ollie's voice is low, deadly calm, every syllable a promise of pain if the answer doesn't come quickly.

"He's here," the man says in a sob. "He's here. It's too late."

He slumps over in the chair dead. Blood thrums in my ears, and ice pulses in my veins. I stare at Ollie, who pulls out his phone and dials Mikhail. They have a hurried, intense conversation in Russian where Ollie relays all the information he's just extracted from the corpse seated in a chair in the tiled pathway of the room. The carpet is immaculate, not a drop of blood anywhere.

"We have what we need," Mikhail says. "Lock everyone down."