Page 64 of The Enforcer's Vow
He underestimated how far I'd go to protect what's mine.
The moment she walked down those stairs and crossed that street to speak with me, she lit a fire she couldn't control, and that ring on her finger changed the entire course of her future, and her brother's. Tonight, Damir learns the cost of betrayal. Tonight, this finishes.
27
ZOYA
The abandoned metro station breathes cold air against my face as I descend the cracked concrete steps. Water drips from somewhere in the darkness above, each drop echoing through the hollow space. The fluorescent lights that once illuminated this place have long since died, leaving only the pale glow from my phone's flashlight to guide me deeper underground.
I hear him before I see him—the scrape of boots against debris, the sharp intake of breath that sounds familiar. When my light finds him, I freeze.
Damir stands beneath the arched tunnel entrance, and for a moment, I don't recognize the man in front of me. His face has hollowed out, cheekbones sharp beneath skin that looks too pale, too thin. Dark circles ring his eyes, and a fresh cut splits his lower lip. His jacket hangs loose on his frame, and dried blood stains the collar. This isn't the brother who used to bring me hot tea when I worked late counting money. This isn't the man who promised to keep me safe.
"Zoya." His voice breaks on my name, and he steps forward. "You came."
I don't move. My hand grips the file folder against my chest, and I watch him approach with careful steps. He moves differently now—wounded, wary, checking the shadows behind me as if expecting company, and though he may deserve it, I would never purposefully lead Maksim or any of his other enemies to him.
"You look terrible," I say.
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I've had better weeks." His gaze drops to the folder in my hands, then back to my face. "I'm sorry. For all of it. I never wanted you to get pulled into this."
"But I did get pulled in." I hold up the file. "Because of you."
His eyes flicker to the documents, then away. "Whatever they told you, whatever they showed you?—"
"They didn't tell me anything." I step closer, my voice steady despite the tremor in my chest. "They gave me proof."
I hold out the file, and he takes it with reluctant hands. His fingers shake as he opens it, but he barely glances at the pages inside before snapping it shut. He has no light, so it's not like he can see it down here, but he doesn't seem to want to know. "This is forged. All of it. The Vetrovs are turning you against me, Zoya. They're using you to get to me."
"The payment trails are forged?" I ask. "The voice message where you order them to take me?"
Something shifts in his expression—a flicker of recognition, of guilt. His jaw tightens, and I see his hand drift toward his jacket. The movement is subtle, but I catch the glint of metal beneath the fabric.
My breath catches. "You're armed?"
"I have to be." He drops the file at his feet, papers scattering across the dirty concrete. "They're hunting me, Zoya. The Vetrovs want me dead, and they're using you to flush me out."
"Did you ever care about me?" The words tear out of my throat before I can stop them. "Or was I always just part of your plan?"
His face crumples. "It's not—it's not that simple."
"Yes or no, Damir." I step back, putting distance between us. "Did you ever care?"
He reaches for me, but I'm already moving. "Zoya, please?—"
The stairwell door explodes open above us.
"Zoya!" Maksim's voice cuts through the underground space with brutal authority. His boots pound down the steps, and I see the dark outline of his gun raised in front of him. "Get down!"
Damir's hand goes to his weapon, but I'm already throwing myself sideways. The rusted column is thick enough to shield me, and I slam against it as the first shot rings out. The sound is deafening in the enclosed space, bouncing off concrete walls and metal fixtures.
"You fucking bastard!" Damir's voice is raw with rage. "She's pregnant!"
Another shot. Then another. I press myself against the column, arms wrapped around my stomach, as bullets tear through the air above my head. Chips of concrete rain down, and I taste dust and fear in my mouth.
Two figures emerge from the shadows at the far end of the tunnel—Damir's men, guns already drawn. They race toward us, flanking Maksim as he advances down the platform. The muzzle flashes illuminate their faces in brief, violent bursts.
"Three of them," I whisper to myself, counting the shadows. "Three against one."
