Siena’s POV

Rico’s face on that grainy video burns through me, his smirk a blade twisting in my gut. My ex. The man I once loved, now holding a knife over my father’s bloodied face. The Zurich safehouse feels like it’s collapsing around me, the glass walls too thin to keep out the truth. Aleksandr’s arm is still around my waist, his grip the only thing keeping me upright.

“Rico?” I choke out, my voice raw. “He’s with Kross?”

Aleksandr’s jaw tightens, his eyes dark with fury. “Looks like it.”

“How? Why?” My hands ball into fists, nails biting my palms. “He was a hurdler, not a… a monster.”

Ivan snorts, tossing the phone onto the counter. “Your ex wasn’t just doping, Siena. He’s been running with Kross’s crew for months. Maybe years.”

Aleksandr pulls me closer, his voice low and dangerous. “He’s a traitor. And he’s using you to get to your father.”

My knees shake, but I lock them, refusing to crumble. “What do we do?”

“We move.” Aleksandr releases me, grabbing a duffel from the floor. “Now!”

“Where?” I snap, anger overtaking fear. “Another cage?”

He spins, eyes blazing. “Somewhere I can keep you alive. Stop fighting me, Siena.”

The air crackles, his words sharp but laced with something softer, something that makes my pulse race despite the chaos. I want to scream at him, to shove him away, but his intensity pulls me in, like gravity I can’t escape.

Ivan clears his throat. “We’ve got a safe route to Vienna. Jet’s refueled. But Kross’s men are closing in. We’ve got maybe an hour.”

Aleksandr nods, already moving. “Get her things. We leave in ten.”

I grab my bag, heart pounding. “What about my father?”

Aleksandr pauses, just for a second. “We’ll get him. But you’re the priority.”

His words hit hard, a mix of duty and something deeper, something that makes my chest ache. I hate how much I want to believe him, how much I want him.

We’re out the door in minutes, piling into a black SUV parked in a hidden garage. The city’s a blur of wet streets and neon as we speed toward the airstrip. Aleksandr’s beside me, his thigh brushing mine in the cramped backseat. Every touch is a spark, igniting something I shouldn’t feel.

“You’re staring,” he says, not looking at me.

“You’re bleeding again,” I shoot back, eyeing the fresh red seeping through his bandage.

He glances down, then at me, his lips twitching. “Worried about me, princess?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” But my voice betrays me, softer than I mean it to be.

Ivan’s voice cuts through from the driver’s seat. “Save the flirting. We’ve got company.”

I twist, peering out the back window. Two cars, black and sleek, tail us, their headlights like predator eyes in the dark.

Aleksandr pulls out his gun, checking the clip. “How many?”

“Six, maybe seven,” Ivan says, flooring the gas. “Armed.”

My stomach lurches. “What do we do?”

Aleksandr’s hand finds mine, a brief squeeze. “Stay down. I’ve got this.”

The SUV swerves, tires screeching. Gunshots pop, glass shatters. I duck, heart in my throat, Aleksandr’s body shielding mine. His warmth is a lifeline, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re okay,” he murmurs, and I cling to the words, to him.

The car jerks, skidding onto the airstrip. The jet’s there, engines roaring. Ivan slams the brakes, and Aleksandr yanks me out, half-carrying me toward the plane. Bullets ping off the tarmac, too close. He shoves me up the stairs, his body a wall between me and the gunfire.

“Move!” he shouts, pushing me inside.

I stumble into the jet’s leather interior, collapsing into a seat. Aleksandr’s right behind me, barking at the pilot. “Go, now!”

The jet lurches forward, the force pinning me back. I look out the window, heart racing as the cars chase us down the runway. One explodes in a fireball, Ivan’s doing, I’m sure. But the other’s still coming.

Aleksandr drops into the seat beside me, blood dripping from a fresh cut on his cheek. I reach for him, my fingers brushing his jaw before I can stop myself. “You’re hurt again.”

His eyes lock on mine, intense, unguarded. “Stop worrying about me.”

“Stop making me,” I snap, but my voice cracks, and I’m too close, my hand still on his face. The jet lifts off, the world tilting, and he leans in, his lips crashing into mine. It’s desperate, hungry, all teeth and heat. I kiss him back, my hands fisting his shirt, pulling him closer. His fingers dig into my hips, and I gasp as he pulls me onto his lap, the world narrowing to his touch, his taste.

His lips trail down my neck, rough, urgent. “Siena,” he growls, his hands sliding under my shirt, calloused fingers sparking fire across my skin. I arch into him, needing more, needing to forget the fear, the betrayal. My nails rake his shoulders, and he groans, low and primal, his mouth claiming mine again.

The jet shakes, turbulence or something worse, and we break apart, panting. His forehead rests against mine, his breath ragged. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Then stop starting it,” I whisper, my voice trembling with want.

He pulls back, eyes dark, conflicted. “You’re going to ruin me.”

Before I can respond, Ivan’s voice crackles over the intercom. “We’ve got a problem. Kross hacked the flight plan. He knows we’re headed to Vienna.”

Aleksandr’s on his feet, all business again. “Reroute us. Now.”

“Where?” the pilot calls back.

“Lisbon,” Aleksandr says, his voice hard. “And cut all comms.”

I grab his arm. “What’s in Lisbon?”

“A chance.” He doesn’t elaborate, just checks his gun again.

Lisbon’s safehouse is a cramped apartment overlooking a cobblestone alley, the air thick with salt and fish from the nearby docks. I’m pacing, nerves raw, when Aleksandr bursts in, his face grim.

“We’ve got a lead on Kross,” he says, tossing a burner phone onto the table. “But it’s risky.”

“How risky?” I ask, stepping closer. His heat draws me in, even now.

He looks at me, eyes searching. “It means walking into a trap to spring one of our own.”

I swallow hard. “For my father?”

“And for you.” His voice softens, just enough to make my heart stutter.

Ivan barges in, holding a laptop. “Got something. Kross is meeting Rico tonight. Warehouse by the port. They’re planning to move Enzo.”

My blood runs cold. “We have to go.”

Aleksandr grabs my shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. “You stay here. I’ll handle it.”

“No way.” I shove him back, anger flaring. “That’s my father. I’m not sitting this out.”

“Siena, you’re not trained for this.”

“I don’t care. I’m going.”

He curses, running a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” I snap, stepping into his space. Our breaths mingle, the tension thick, electric. I want to hate him for controlling me, but the way he looks at me, like I’m both his salvation and his doom, makes my knees weak.

Ivan clears his throat. “We don’t have time for this. We move in an hour.”

Aleksandr nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “Stay close. You do exactly what I say.”

“Fine,” I say, but my voice is softer, the fight draining as his gaze holds me.

The warehouse is a hulking shadow by the docks, the air damp and heavy with rust. We’re crouched behind crates, Aleksandr’s body pressed against mine, his gun ready. My heart’s in my throat, but his nearness keeps me grounded, even as it sets me on fire.

“Ready?” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear.

I nod, my pulse racing for all the wrong reasons. We creep forward, shadows among shadows. Voices echo, Rico’s, smug and sharp, and another, colder, crueler. Kross.

“You promised me her head, Kross,” Rico says. “I want her ruined.”

My blood freezes. Aleksandr’s hand finds mine, a silent promise.

Kross laughs, low and vicious. “Patience, Marquez. You’ll get your revenge. But first, we break Enzo.”

I stifle a gasp. Aleksandr signals Ivan, who’s circling around with a silenced rifle. We’re close, too close, when a floorboard creaks under my foot.

Silence. Then chaos.

“Intruders!” Rico shouts. Gunfire erupts, bullets splintering crates. Aleksandr tackles me to the ground, his body shielding mine. His weight is heavy, protective, and I cling to him, my hands fisting his jacket.

“Stay down,” he growls, firing back. His arm’s bleeding again, but he doesn’t flinch.

I spot Rico through the chaos, his eyes locking on me. He smirks, raising his gun. But before he can fire, a shadow moves behind him, fast, lethal. A woman, hooded, slits his throat in one clean motion. Rico collapses, blood pooling.

Kross roars, firing wildly. The woman vanishes into the dark.

Aleksandr pulls me up, dragging me toward an exit. “Move!”

We burst into the alley, rain pelting us. Ivan’s behind us, cursing. “Who the hell was that?”

“No idea,” Aleksandr says, his voice tight. “But she’s not with us.”

We reach the SUV, piling in. My heart’s pounding, my mind reeling. Rico’s dead. My father’s still out there. And that woman, who was she?

Aleksandr’s phone buzzes. He answers, his face going pale. “What?”

A voice crackles through, female, cold. “You owe me, Volkov. I saved your precious Siena. Next time, I won’t be so generous.”

The line goes dead. In the rearview mirror, I see her, a hooded figure watching from the alley, a red envelope in her hand.