TWISTED VOW

THE AMBUSH

CHAPTER 3: THE AMBUSH

After the chaotic heat of their wedding night on his office couch, Lev hadn't let Elena out of his sight. But he also realized very quickly that Elena Cornelia was never going to be the kind of mob wife who sat around in a silk robe painting her nails while the men did the dirty work.

She spent her days dissecting his financial files, pointing out massive tax oversights his accountants had missed, and memorizing every security camera blind spot on the estate grounds. She was sharp, calculating, and completely unbothered by the darkness of his world.

Two weeks into their forced marriage, the low hum of the custom Maybach’s engine vibrated through the leather seats as they drove through the harbor district. Outside, a cold, heavy autumn rain hammered against the dark tinted glass, blurring the streetlights into streaks of dull yellow.

"Where are we taking this detour?" Elena asked, not looking up from her tablet where she was re-auditing the shipping manifests for Dock Four.

"Your father called a meeting an hour ago," Lev said, his deep baritone cutting through the quiet cabin. He reached inside his jacket, pulled the magazine out of his matte-black Sig Sauer, checked the brass casings with a quick thumb sweep, and snapped it back in with a sharp clack. "He claims he wants to hand over the original title deeds to the North End warehouses as a peace offering."

Elena stopped typing. She slowly lowered the tablet onto her lap and turned her head to look at him. "My father doesn't give peace offerings, Lev. Arthur Cornelia only moves when he’s terrified or when he thinks he’s found a clever way to stick a knife in someone’s back."

"I know," Lev replied, his face completely unreadable. "He sounded too eager on the phone. That's why I brought three chase cars packed with heavily armed guards behind us."

"If he's eager, it means he thinks he has leverage," Elena said softly, her blue eyes narrowing as she processed the angle. "He knows he lost his standing with the Bratva. He wouldn't risk meeting you unless someone else guaranteed his safety."

Before Lev could answer, a deafening BOOM ripped through the street ahead.

The shockwave slammed into their heavy SUV, vibrating through the chassis. Fifty yards ahead, the lead armored vehicle in their convoy exploded into a massive tower of orange fire and twisted steel, flipping wildly into the air before crashing down onto the rain-slicked asphalt.

"Ambush!" Viktor yelled from the driver's seat, his hands spinning the heavy steering wheel as he slammed his foot onto the brake pedal.

The Maybach skidded across the wet road, its tires screaming against the pavement before the heavy side frame slammed violently into a concrete bridge barrier. The sudden impact jerked Elena forward against her seatbelt, the fabric tearing into her chest and knocking the breath right out of her lungs.

Before she could even catch her breath, heavy automatic gunfire erupted from the surrounding abandoned warehouses. A hail of high-caliber rifle rounds battered the side of their SUV, creating spiderweb fractures across the heavy ballistic glass.

"Get down!" Lev roared.

He didn't ask; his massive hand gripped the back of her neck and shoved her down into the floorboards between the front and back seats, using his own broad body as a human shield over her.

Through the cracked front windshield, Elena saw Viktor kick his door open to return fire, his pistol blazing into the darkness. But a concentrated volley of rifle fire cut through the doorframe. Three heavy rounds caught Viktor straight in the shoulder and upper chest. He collapsed backward into the cabin with a wet, ragged gasp, blood spraying across the leather dashboard.

"Viktor!" Lev growled.

Lev popped his door open just enough to create a sightline, firing four precise, controlled shots into the rain. Two dark figures advancing toward the car dropped instantly into the gutter. But the return fire was relentless. A stray bullet shattered the side mirror and grazed Lev’s upper arm, tearing through his suit coat and flesh.

Lev grunted in pain, dropping back into the cabin as dark blood quickly began soaking through his white dress shirt.

"Lev!" Elena gasped, pulling herself up from the floorboards.

"I told you to stay the hell down!" Lev barked, his jaw clenched as he reached for a fresh magazine on his tactical belt—only to find the leather pouch empty. He had used his last spare clip.

Through the shattered driver-side window, Elena saw two more gunmen in heavy tactical gear sprinting up the side of the car, their assault rifles raised to finish Viktor and clear the back seat.

Elena didn't panic. She didn't scream.

She reached forward over the center console, her hands firm as she pulled Viktor’s heavy black Glock from his limp, bleeding fingers. She racked the slide with a crisp, practiced motion, leaned right past Lev’s bleeding shoulder, and brought the sightline up through the broken glass.

BANG! BANG!

The first gunman caught two rounds straight in the chest, his body flying backward into the street.

The second gunman faltered, his eyes widening in shock under his helmet as he realized where the fire was coming from. Elena shifted her grip, leveled the sights at his throat, and pulled the trigger twice more. The heavy 9mm rounds tore through his neck, dropping him onto the hood of the car, dead before he hit the ground.

Silence fell over the narrow street, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the sound of the pouring rain and Viktor’s shallow breathing.

Elena stood over the console, her hands rock steady, the smoke still curling from the barrel of the Glock. Her silver dress was stained with rain and drops of crimson blood.

Lev sat frozen in the seat beside her, staring at his twenty-two-year-old high-society wife. The cold, dominant boss was gone from his face, replaced by a dark, intoxicating look of utter shock and wild, possessive fascination.

"Where the hell did you learn to handle a firearm like that?" Lev asked, his voice low, rough, and vibrating with adrenaline.

Elena lowered the weapon, her eyes meeting his without a single trace of fear. "My mother knew what kind of man my father was. She paid an instructor to teach me how to shoot when I was sixteen. She told me never to rely on a man for my protection."

Lev let out a short, dark laugh—a sound pure and dangerous. He reached out with his uninjured hand, cupping the back of her head and slamming her mouth against his in a deep, bruising kiss that tasted of rain and copper blood.

"You are a terrifying piece of work, Elena," Lev growled against her lips as he pulled back, his eyes burning with a fierce, brand-new fire. "Get in the front seat and take the wheel. We're going to pay your father a visit."