BEYOND THE VOW

CHAPTER 4: THREE MINUTES TO DECIDE, VALENTINA

The photograph flutters down, landing face-up on the wet steel threshold between us.

I don't step back.

Instead, a dark, reckless smile curves my lips. My right hand drops to the small of my back.

In one fluid blur, I whip the Glock from my waistband and slam the cold barrel dead-center into his chest.

Two guns. The muzzle of his weapon is still pressed hard against my temple, but my gun is resting directly over his heart.

"You're right, Voss," I whisper, my voice dripping with pure venom. "I'm out of options."

A muscle ticks in his clenched jaw.

"Drop it, Valentina," he murmurs. His voice is dangerously calm. "I don't want to harm you. I just want what's in these boxes."

"I don't even want the container anymore," I say. The fury burning between us is hot enough to ignite the dock. "I just want you dead."

Silence crashes over us. Mutually assured destruction. My pulse hammers so violently I know he can see it beating in my throat.

Then, the night shatters.

A deafening roar drowns out the storm. Heavy doors slam. Combat boots hit the wet asphalt.

Blinding high beams s***h through the rain, illuminating the lead truck. It's an armored white transport with a silver shield painted on the door.

Aegis Security. The private military was retained exclusively by the Sterling International Board.

"Your board," Voss spits, the curse sharp and ugly.

My blood turns to ice. "They must have tracked my car."

"Because Volkov owns them!" Voss growls, grabbing my upper arm. "He holds the blackmail tapes on every suit on your board. The gambling debts, the embezzled funds, the illicit affairs. He funds their vices and holds the evidence. They didn't come to save you, Valentina—they came to execute you and take the container for him!"

He yanks me backward. "Inside. Now!"

We break in one synchronized motion. Voss hauls me into the pitch-black belly of the container just as suppressed gunfire spits through the storm. Sparks fly as bullets clip the steel frame right where my head was a second ago.

We grab the heavy iron handle together and heave. Rubber meets frame. The massive pneumatic bolts engage with a concussive, bone-rattling THUD.

Blackout.

The howling storm instantly dies, reduced to a muffled drumbeat on the metal roof. We are sealed inside an 8x10 steel vault.

Click.

A sharp amber beam from his tactical penlight cuts the absolute dark. The light sweeps over the towering filing cabinets, the floating dust, and the damp iron boxes, before snapping back to us.

My back is pressed flush against the reinforced wall. Voss is inches away. One heavy arm is braced against the steel above the head, closing me in. His other hand still grips his gun, the muzzle pointed at my waist. But my Glock is still jammed against his ribs. We are too close to aim. Too close to miss.

I can feel every solid inch of him. His soaked black turtleneck clings to his chest, the freezing fabric pressing into my blazer. A single drop of rain falls from his sharp jaw and lands on my bare collarbone, sending an involuntary shiver straight down my spine. His heavy thigh is pinned flush against mine in the cramped dark.

"Lower it, little Sterling," he whispers. His gravelly voice scrapes over my raw nerves. "Unless you want to shoot your way through your own board."

I slowly lower my barrel, but I don't surrender the weapon. He does the same. The amber light drops to the floor between us, casting long, violent shadows across his face.

Outside, heavy rifle butts pound against the steel door.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

"It's biometrically sealed from both sides," he murmurs, his chest rising and falling against mine. "They can't breach it. You're safe."

"For now," I whisper back.

I uncurl my left fist. I didn't even realize I was holding it. I smooth the crumpled photograph out under the light.

The boy stares up at us. Dark, messy hair. A defiant set to his jaw. A devastatingly familiar face.

I flip the thick paper over.

KATARINA + IVAN, 2019 - MINSK - VOLKOV HAS HIM

The air leaves my lungs in a sharp rush.

Voss steps impossibly closer. He goes completely rigid, as if the ghost in my hand hit him harder than a bullet ever could.

"Katarina?" I whisper, looking up at him. "This boy... You know him?"

"My sister —" he says. The mask is gone. His voice is raw, bleeding with pain. "Volkov's wife. He killed her when she tried to leave him. And he kept my nephew."

My mind scrambles to process it, the pieces clicking into place. I look down at the open box beside us. Pages of forged manifests. Off-the-books transit fees paid in untraceable bearer bonds. This wasn't just corporate espionage.

"Volkov," I whisper. "The Bratva."

"The most ruthless syndicate in the Russian underworld," Voss confirms, his tone snapping back to flat, unyielding stone. "Sterling International wasn't just a high-end customs brokerage to them. Your father's clean corporate seal was a front. He was bypassing customs, moving their untraceable cargo—narcotics, cash, and illegal sovereign gold—to fund their private army across international borders."

The absolute horror of what my father had been doing steals the breath from my lungs. "So this is why you held a gun to my temple."

"Yes," he says. "I knew this container held the evidence meant to destroy Volkov's empire. Your father was prepared to end him a long time ago."

"So your solution was to put a bullet in his daughter?" I snap, my voice climbing the claustrophobic walls of the steel box. "To steal from me? To manipulate me?"

"I did it for Ivan! I will find my nephew, and I will tear him away from that monster. And I will have blood for my sister," he says, his dark eyes burning with absolute, bone-deep determination.

He doesn't break eye contact. The tiny space between us is charged with a lethal, breathless friction.

"Nothing comes before family and revenge. Not even you," he continues softly. "I meant it when I said I don't want to hurt you."

A high-pitched, mechanical whine suddenly screeches from the other side of the door. The plasma cutter. They couldn't break the lock, so they were melting through the hinges.

A sharp, blinding spray of orange sparks bleeds through the top rubber seal. Razor-thin lines of white-hot light slice across the pitch-black container.

Voss doesn't flinch away from the shower of sparks. He steps even closer. His body pins me completely against the cold steel. His hand drops from the wall, his rough fingers locking firmly around my jaw, tilting my face up to his.

"They have three minutes," he breathes. His voice is a low, gravelly command that vibrates straight through my skin. "You have three minutes to decide, Valentina. You die here at the hands of your board's hit squad, or you run with me."

"Run with you?" I breathe, fury shaking through every inch of my body. "You put a gun to my head ten minutes ago!"

"And you just jammed a barrel against my heart!" he snaps back, his eyes flashing with sudden, possessive heat. "I would say we are even."

"We are nowhere close to even, Voss!" I hiss.

"Listen," he says, his thumb pressing hard into my racing pulse point, anchoring him to me in the dark. "The streets, Valentina, but I need your clean corporate signature to legally lock Volkov out of Sterling's shipping lanes for good. We can take him down together."

"We are not doing anything together! You tried to kill me," I say with apparent frustration. "Damn this man."

"We can argue about who tried to kill who after we survive the mercenaries carving through that door," he murmurs, dropping his head until his mouth is hovering agonizingly close to mine.

He doesn't blink.

"Because your father didn't die of a heart attack, Valentina," Voss whispers softly into the heated space between lips. "He wanted out of the syndicate. He stole Volkov's gold—the payroll for the Bratva army—and the blackmail files to buy your company's freedom. And Volkov assassinated him for it."