Chapter 14: Smoke and Blood
841 Words
The chopper sliced through the pre-dawn silence, its blades carving air like it was bone. The vibration thrummed through my spine, through the soles of my boots, through the edge of the combat knife I hadn’t let go of since I boarded. This wasn’t ceremonial. This wasn’t staged. This was war, and I wasn’t coming to beg.
Lucien sat across from me, his expression carved from old stone, checking his rifle with the quiet precision of a man who didn’t need to think to kill. Beside him, Konstantin Baranov, larger, heavier, but no less calm, adjusted his vest straps in silence. Damien’s orders had been precise: get in, get Giulia, get out. No fire unless necessary.
But I had my own conditions.
I scanned the satellite map again. The house was perched on a slope just past the Lviv border, three stories of fading opulence and rotting secrets. Two visible guards. One exit. No alternate escape.
We breach from the south, I said, my voice loud enough to cut through the rotors. Lucien, you’re with me. Konstantin, back entrance. When we’re in, you focus on Giulia. Don’t wait for signals. If anything feels wrong,
Lucien interrupted without looking up. We don’t fail.
The chopper dipped fast. My stomach stayed behind.
Five seconds, the pilot barked.
Boots hit dirt before the blades slowed. Wind whipped the scent of ash and oil into my face.
I moved first, through the trees, down the gravel path, finger on the trigger, the weight of every second pressing behind my ribs. We were ghosts in borrowed breath. We were wolves hunting our own.
The first guard stepped out from the front porch, his eyes scanning the shadows.
My shot landed between them.
He dropped with a strangled cough, his weapon never raised.
Inside the house, someone shouted.
Then everything cracked open.
Lucien pulled the pin on a flash grenade and hurled it through the front window. The glass exploded outward in a rain of sparks.
He turned to me, just as the firelight caught the edge of his grin.
Now or never, principessa.
The smoke curled through the hallway like something alive, slow and hungry.
I moved through it, my boots slick on blood-streaked wood, gun ready, breath shallow. Every wall bore the scars of bullets. Every corner smelled like burned metal and bone.
A scream pierced the chaos from deeper inside.
Giulia.
Go! I shouted, motioning to Lucien.
He didn’t need the order.
We reached the hallway at the same time a volley of rounds tore through the ceiling above us. Plaster rained down. I ducked. Lucien fired back, swift and deliberate.
I reached the final door and kicked it open.
Giulia was there.
Bound to a chair, mouth gagged, face bruised. Her hair matted to her forehead, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.
Valeria, she choked as I ran to her. It’s a trap,
The sniper’s bullet shattered the window.
Konstantin grunted and hit the floor behind us, a spray of blood blooming across his shoulder. He gasped, grabbing the wound as he fell.
Lucien cursed in Russian and shoved me down. They’re repositioning!
Cover me! I snapped.
He nodded and rose to fire. Muzzle flash lit the room like lightning.
I crossed to Giulia, tore the gag from her mouth, and sliced the ropes binding her wrists. She flinched. Her hands trembled so hard I nearly dropped the knife.
You’re safe now, I whispered, pressing my forehead to hers.
No, she breathed. You don’t understand. He let me go.
What?
He let me go. He wanted you to come.
And then the room shifted.
Lucien was gone.
No gunfire. No footsteps. Just vanished, like he’d never been there at all.
The SUV waited where we left it, camouflaged in shadows and mud.
We carried Konstantin between us, his arm looped over my shoulder, his breath shallow but steady. Blood soaked his collar, dripping in a rhythm that made my stomach twist.
Giulia limped beside me, silent now, one hand curled protectively over her ribs.
The house behind us burned. Flames licked at the shutters, smoke bleeding into the morning sky. No alarms. No sirens. Just silence.
I shoved open the SUV door.
Drive! I yelled to the man behind the wheel. Get us clear!
The engine growled and the tires tore at the gravel.
Giulia curled in the backseat, her frame shaking like glass. Her voice was hoarse when it finally came.
You shouldn’t have come.
You’re my blood.
No, she said. I was the bait. You were the price.
I turned toward the window.
The house disappeared behind the tree line, but I wasn’t watching the fire.
I was listening, for footsteps, for whispers, for the sound of Lucien’s voice.
But there was nothing.
He hadn’t followed us out.
Hadn’t gotten into the car.
Hadn’t fired a final round.
Lucien Kirov had vanished into the smoke, and in my bones, I felt the one truth no one wanted to say aloud.
Maybe he’d never been on my side at all.
- Writer
