Page 191 of Celestial Combat

“I still had to pay back the Yakuza. Dropped out of school. Started working for them. They taught me everything. And I turned out to be good at it. Too good.”

I sighed, feeling the heaviness of the statement.

They made me the butcher. After I paid my debt, I went on my own for a while. Became Python. And at twenty-seven, I gave up looking for him. After thirteen years.”

Silence stretched between us, thick with shared grief and understanding.

Zane’s voice came again, quieter but stronger.

“I am going to find Aslanov. Ivanova. And every other man that was in that room. And I’m going to kill them.”

Finally,I turned my head to the side, feeling his nose graze my cheek.

“Tell me you’ll be by my side.”

I didn’t answer with words.

Instead, I turned around in his arms and pressed my face into his chest. The rhythm of his heart beat with my own, steady and alive.

Zane exhaled in what I could only describe as relief. He slid a hand into my hair, his fingers sinking into the strands as he pulled me closer, holding me like a lifeline, like something he’d die to protect.

He breathed me in.

And I let him.

Chapter 48

Present

Moscow, Russia

THEFLIGHT FROM HONOLULU TO Moscow felt like drifting through a void – fourteen hours in a sky that never seemed to end, our bodies trapped somewhere between time zones and emotions.

I barely spoke.

Zane didn’t press.

We existed in a weird…Fragile, glass bubble above the clouds, both of us pretending it hadn’t already cracked.

When we landed at Vnukovo International Airport, the sky outside the jet was the color of cold steel. A dull, iron blue that made the snow on the tarmac look even harsher.

It was the early hours of January eighth – deep winter. The kind that gnawed at the bone. Minus ten Celsius, biting wind that sliced through wool and leather alike.

As we stepped out into the cold, it was like the heat of Hawaii was something I’d only imagined.

The city loomed in the distance, glittering under its heavy sky. Moscow was beautiful in a brutal way – glass towers coatedin frost, wide avenues buried beneath powdered snow, icicles hanging like teeth from balconies. Our driver was waiting, sleek black SUV humming with warmth. I stayed silent during the ride, watching the snowy blur through tinted windows, cheek pressed against the cold glass.

The hotel was a modern sky-rise, all sharp angles and dark glass, its lights glowing like fire against the blue-tinged dusk. The lobby shimmered in gold and black marble, too quiet, too polished. A warmth that felt artificial.

Zane walked beside me, close but not touching, and that space between us felt so much louder than the soft jazz piping through the speakers.

We reached our room. High ceilings, sweeping windows with a view of a frozen city below. The chandelier above us flickered like ice catching fire. Everything smelled like cedarwood and expensive cologne.

Zane shut the door behind us, tossing the duffel bags onto the velvet bench by the entry.

“You should rest,” he said gently. “I want to go to the club tonight. Talk to Aslanov face to face.”

He stepped toward me, reaching to touch my arm.

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