The scarred captain's finger was already tightening on the trigger. He was a shadow against the fog, his rifle aimed squarely at Dimitri's exposed back.
I didn't have a gun. I didn't have strength. But I had the razor.
I lunged, not away from the danger, but toward it. I threw the straight razor with a scream that tore from my lungs. It didn't hit him in the heart—I wasn't an assassin—but the spinning blade caught him across the eyes.
The captain roared in agony, his shot going wide, the bullet sparking off the steel container inches from Dimitri's head.
Dimitri didn't hesitate. He whirled, his suppressed pistol barking twice. The captain slumped into the dark water of the Hudson without a sound.
But the distraction was enough.
"Volkov!" Marco's voice screamed from the smoke.
I turned just in time to see Marco scrambling toward the open bay door of the main warehouse. He was limping, his shoulder a mess of blood, but he was still fast.
"Maya, stay with Yuri!" Dimitri commanded. He didn't wait for an answer. He took off after Marco, disappearing into the burning structure.
"Like hell," I whispered.
I ignored Yuri's shout and ran after them. My lungs burned from the smoke, and my bare feet were sliced by glass, but I couldn't let it end like this. I couldn't let Dimitri face his ghost alone.
The warehouse was an oven. Stacks of wooden crates were already engulfed in orange flames, the heat warping the air. I found them in the center of the floor, standing over a massive pit where the concrete had collapsed into the old sewers.
Dimitri had Marco pinned against a support beam. He wasn't shooting him. He was using his bare hands, his fingers crushed against Marco's throat.
"Finish it," Marco wheezed, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. He looked up at the burning rafters with a crazed, ecstatic smile. "Kill me and become exactly what Sofia hated. A monster. Go on, Dimitri. Do it for her!"
Dimitri's grip tightened. His face was a mask of cold, terrifying beauty—the Ice Pakhan in his truest form. He raised his pistol, pressing the cold barrel into Marco's forehead.
"Dimitri, stop!" I shouted, stumbling through the smoke.
Dimitri's eyes flickered to mine. They were dark, filled with ten years of repressed agony.
"He took you, Maya," Dimitri rasped. "He tried to destroy the only thing that made me feel alive again."
"If you kill him like this, you're doing it for Sofia," I said, stepping closer despite the heat. "Don't do it for a ghost. If you're going to be a monster, be *my* monster. But don't let him win by breaking what's left of your soul."
Dimitri looked at Marco, then back at me. The silence between us was heavier than the fire.
Marco lunged then, pulling a hidden shiv from his boot, aiming for Dimitri's gut.
Dimitri didn't flinch. He caught Marco's wrist, twisted it until the bone snapped, and shoved him back. Marco stumbled, his heels hitting the edge of the collapsed concrete pit.
"This isn't for Sofia," Dimitri said, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the roar of the flames. "And it isn't for the Bratva. This is for touching my wife."
Dimitri fired. Three times.
Marco Romano's body jerked and tumbled backward, disappearing into the black maw of the sewer pit.
"The Romanos... aren't finished..." Marco's voice echoed one last time from the depths. "My father... will end... you..."
Then, silence.
Dimitri stood there for a long moment, the gun hanging at his side. The warehouse groaned, a heavy beam falling just a few yards away.
"Maya," he breathed, turning toward me.
He moved faster than the fire. He scooped me up into his arms, his chest heaving. He didn't say anything as he ran us out of the burning building, through the fog, and back onto the salt-slicked pier.
The sirens were louder now. Blue and red lights reflected off the water. Yuri was there, his team securing the area, but I didn't care about them.
Dimitri sat me down on the bumper of the SUV. He was trembling—the great, immovable Pakhan was shaking as he knelt between my knees. He grabbed a first-aid kit, his hands moving with a gentleness that made me sob.
"I thought I lost you," he whispered, his forehead dropping onto my lap. "I saw you in that chair and I thought... I thought the world was ending again."
"I'm not her, Dimitri," I said, my fingers tangling in his soot-stained hair. "I'm Maya. And I'm right here."
He pulled something from his pocket. The emerald necklace. The clasp was broken, the silk string frayed. He looked at it like it was a holy relic.
"I couldn't protect her," he said, his voice cracking. "But I saved you. I chose you."
He leaned up and kissed me. It wasn't rough. It wasn't about power. It was a kiss of salt, tears, and absolute, terrifying devotion. He draped the broken necklace around my neck, holding the ends together with his fingers.
"This time," he vowed, his eyes burning into mine, "I won't let the world take what belongs to me."
He lifted me into the back of the SUV, pulling a blanket around my shivering shoulders. As we drove away from the burning pier, I looked back at the smoke rising into the New York sky.
Marco was dead. But the war wasn't over. The Romano patriarch was still out there, and he would be coming for the man who killed his son.
But as Dimitri pulled me into his side, his arm a solid weight of protection, I knew I wasn't afraid anymore. I was a Volkov now.
And Volkovs don't just survive. They win.