We’ve surrounded the building with military precision. Dante’s team covering the back exit, Carlo’s men on the perimeter, and Dario and I with the main assault team ready to breach the front. Twenty armed men, all of them trained, all of them motivated by the promise of violence and the knowledge that their boss is watching.
“On my mark,” Dario says into his radio, his voice steady despite the fury I know is churning beneath his controlled exterior.
My hand tightens on my gun. Every second of the past three hours has been torture, knowing Liam was in there, not knowing if he was hurt or scared or thinking I’d abandoned him. The wait nearly killed me, but now it’s time.
Now we move.
“Attacco!”
The door explodes inward with a crash that shakes the building. We pour through in practiced formation, guns raised, voices shouting commands in Italian.
The flat erupts in chaos when we breach it. Russians scrambling for weapons, our people shouting commands, the air suddenly thick with tension and the promise of violence. I scan the space in a fraction of a second, cataloging threats.
And there, on a sagging sofa against the far wall, I see them.
Molly and Liam, both alive, both apparently unharmed. Relief crashes through me so powerfully it nearly buckles my knees. He’s okay. He’s alive. He’s…
One Russian, a huge mountain of a man, moves faster than anyone could ever expect. In one smooth motion, he yanks Molly up from the sofa and places himself behind Molly with a gun pressed to his temple, using him as a human shield.
“Nobody move!” he shouts in heavily accented English. “Or the boy toy dies!”
Dario freezes, his gun still raised but his finger easing off the trigger. Every one of our people stops, the room suddenly still except for the harsh sound of breathing and the blood pounding in my ears.
My muscles are trembling and I feel sick. This is awful, but some sick, twisted part of me is fucking grateful that the asshole grabbed Molly and not Liam. Even though I know the choice was calculated because Dario is far more important than I’ll ever be.
“Put down your weapons,” the Russian continues, pressing the gun harder against Molly’s head. “All of you. Or I swear to God I will paint these walls with his brains.”
Molly is perfectly still, his face pale but his expression calm. Too calm. Like he’s been here before, like he knows exactly how this plays out and he’s not afraid.
But I’m afraid. Terrified that one twitch of that trigger finger will end him, will destroy Dario, will cost us everything we’ve fought for.
Even worse, once Molly is down, all hell is going to break loose. Bullets are going to fly and Liam could very well get hurt.
“Okay,” Dario says, his voice carefully controlled. “Okay. We can talk about this. Nobody needs to die here.”
“Bullshit,” the Russian spits. “You’re going to kill us all anyway. At least this way I take something you care about with me.”
My eyes track the room, looking for an angle, any way to take the shot without risking Molly. But the Russian is too smart, too well-positioned. He’s using Molly’s body as cover, only his head and gun hand visible.
And then I see Liam.
He’s moved off the sofa. He must have fled when the Russian grabbed Molly, and now he’s curled up in the corner behind the Russian, pressed against the wall in a position that looks like complete defeat. Like he’s made himself as small as possible, trying to disappear. No threat at all, just a terrified victim waiting for rescue.
Except.
Except his eyes aren’t terrified. They’re focused, calculating, watching the Russian with an intensity thatsends a chill down my spine. And his body, while curled up, is coiled. Like a spring waiting to release.
Oh God. He’s going to do something.
Stupid, reckless, selfless Liam is going to do something.
I can’t signal him, can’t warn him off or coordinate with him. Can only watch as he shifts slightly, adjusting his weight in a way that might look like unconscious movement but I recognize as preparation.
He’s going to try to save Molly.
Of course he is, because he is Liam and he always wants to save others.
The Russian is still talking, making demands that we all know are pointless. Dario is responding, keeping him engaged, buying time while our people try to find an angle.