Chapter 3 - Blood in the Rain
The rain fell harder now, turning the alley pavement into a mirror of neon signs and flashing amber lights. The men blocking our path weren't local street enforcers; their silent, coordinated advance and the military-grade submachine guns cradled in their arms marked them as professional hit squads. Bratva rivals.
“Stay behind me,” Adrian ordered, his voice dropping into a register of absolute, unyielding command.
“Adrian, there are four of them—”
“Six,” he corrected coldly, his eyes scanning the rooftops. “Two snipers are positioned on the brick parapet above the dumpsters. Do not look up.”
The lead operative, a scarred giant with a heavy winter coat, stepped forward. A cruel smile stretched across his mouth as he raised his weapon. “Markov. The Wolves send their regards. You thought you could take the North Harbor without paying blood-tribute?”
Adrian didn't bother arguing. He moved with a speed that defied his massive frame.
The first shot shattered the brickwork inches from my shoulder, but Adrian had already fired twice. The lead enforcer dropped before he hit the ground. Chaos erupted in the narrow alley. Gunfire deafened my ears, the smell of cordite and burning sulfur mixing with the scent of rain. I pressed myself flat against the rough brick wall, my hands clamped over my ears as bullets whined past, chipping concrete and shattering glass.
Adrian was a blur of motion. He used a metal dumpster as cover, firing with deadly precision while advancing on the remaining gunmen. One assailant tried to flank him, rushing toward my side of the alley with a knife gleaming in his hand.
Panic surged through me. Without thinking, I grabbed a heavy iron cocktail table left outside the bar's back door and hurled it directly into his path. The man tripped over the metal legs, sprawling hard onto the slick concrete.
Before he could recover, Adrian was there. A single, brutal sweep of his boot ended the threat, and then the alley fell dead silent save for the hiss of the rain and the groans of the wounded.
Adrian stood amidst the smoke, his black shirt stained with dark splashes, his chest heaving slightly. He checked his empty magazine in a fraction of a second, shoved a fresh one home, and turned back to me.
His eyes swept over my body with frantic speed. “Are you hit?”
“No,” I choked out, my knees shaking so violently I thought I would collapse. “I’m... I’m not hit.”
He closed the distance between us in two strides, his large hands gripping my shoulders, pulling me against him so hard I could feel the hammering of his heart. It was the only sign that he was human, that bullets had just missed his skin by inches.
“You threw a table at a trained assassin,” Adrian said, a breathless, dark laugh escaping his chest. “You are either completely insane, malaya, or you belong in my world.”
“I didn't want to die in an alley behind Maverick’s,” I whispered, burying my face against the warmth of his shoulder, shaking off the last remnants of the terror.
“You will not die,” Adrian vowed, his hand smoothing over my wet hair with an unexpected tenderness. “Not while I am drawing breath.”
Heavy tires screeched at the mouth of the alley. Three more black SUVs bearing discreet platinum crests pulled up, and a dozen of Adrian’s personal guards jumped out, securing the perimeter. His second-in-command, a sharp-faced man named Viktor, hurried over, taking in the scene with a grim nod.
“Boss. The rooftop snipers are neutralized. Clean-up crew is five minutes out.” Viktor glanced at me, his eyes widening slightly in recognition before returning to Adrian. “And the girl?”
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Adrian scooped me up into his arms effortlessly, ignoring my gasp of surprise as he carried me toward the waiting vehicle.
“She is not just a girl, Viktor,” Adrian said, his voice hard as iron as he settled me onto the leather seat beside him. “She is staying at the estate. Permanently.”
