Leon's sleek black SUV came to a sudden halt in the middle of a dimly lit road that wound through the rural outskirts of Miami. The surrounding area was silent, shrouded in the humid grip of early evening. Crickets sang in the grass, the only sound accompanying the soft hum of the engine. Trees lined both sides of the road, their looming shadows cast long and eerie by the car's headlights.
Leon glanced outside, his sharp jaw clenched in irritation. The villa was still a good hour away, but the vehicle had come to an abrupt stop. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"Why did you stop?" he snapped at the driver.
The driver twisted his head, a faint look of confusion on his face. "It looks like the road is blocked, sir. Maybe there's been an accident. I can't tell from here."
Leon growled, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Then use a different road, you numbskull."
"This is the only direct road to the villa," the driver replied nervously. "Any other route will take us hours."
Leon cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. The day had been a mess, and now this?
"Fine. Go check what's causing the holdup," he ordered. The driver nodded quickly and motioned to the bodyguard sitting beside him in the passenger seat. The two men exited the vehicle, guns holstered under their jackets, disappearing into the dark haze of dust and smoke up ahead.
Leon leaned back against the plush leather seat, irritation radiating from his every pore. He turned to glance at Rose. She lay still in the backseat, her face pale, her body curled slightly from the lingering effects of the sedative. Her chest rose and fell shallowly, as if she were barely clinging to unconsciousness. He eyed her warily.
"Bastards," he muttered, turning his head toward the road again.
Minutes dragged by like hours. The air in the car felt heavier by the second. Then, out of nowhere, there was a sharp crack—a gunshot. Then another. Then a rapid barrage. The gunfire echoed off the trees, making it impossible to tell where it was coming from.
Leon's spine stiffened. He was about to reach for his gun when the SUV's front doors flung open. The driver and bodyguard stumbled back in, panting and bleeding, blood seeping into their shirts.
"What the hell happened?" Leon barked.
"Ambush," the bodyguard gasped. "Gunfight broke out just past the bend. Two trucks went down—burning. There's debris everywhere, no way through."
"They were waiting for us," the driver added, grimacing in pain. "We couldn't see them until we were right there. Someone's trying to keep us from passing."
Leon slammed his fist against the dashboard. "You idiots walked right into it."
"It was a setup," the driver panted. "There are too many of them. We're pinned if we try to go forward. We'll die out there."
Leon's jaw tightened as he cursed again, a string of vicious words slipping from his tongue. He turned sharply toward the front. "Call the rest of our men. I want this road cleared. Now. And whoever is behind this mess? Get rid of them. Kill them all."
The injured bodyguard, clutching his bleeding arm, fumbled for the radio and issued the call. "We need backup. Road to the villa is blocked. Hostile engagement. Bring reinforcements. Now!"
Leon exhaled harshly and glanced at Rose again. Her lips trembled faintly. Her eyes fluttered. His eyes narrowed.
"How long was she given?" he asked.
"Standard dose," the driver said through gritted teeth. "She'll be out for three hours max."
Leon looked at his watch. It had been one.
"Damn it," he hissed. "We don't have time for this. If she wakes up before we get to the villa, we have a bigger problem on our hands."
Outside, the sound of gunfire rumbled again in the distance, followed by the roar of engines. The reinforcements were on their way, but time was slipping fast. Leon could feel the clock ticking, and Rose... she wasn't the kind of woman who'd wake up quietly.
He glanced at her once more. Her brows furrowed slightly in discomfort, a soft whimper escaping her lips.
Leon took a deep breath, rolled down the window, and lit a cigarette with a shaking hand. The smoke curled into the air as his eyes narrowed.
"Whoever did this," he muttered darkly, "they're going to pay."
He knew exactly who was behind this.
Nikolai. Who else could it be? After all, Rose was his.
He was getting closer.
Too close.
---------------
The steady hum of the private jet filled the ears blending with the occasional turbulence that gently rocked the plane mid-air. Nikolai leaned back in the leather seat, his head resting against the cushioned headrest, eyes closed, but rest was far from him. His jaw was clenched, a muscle ticking as a silent testament to the storm brewing within him. The lights were dimmed, a warm amber glow casting long shadows across his face, highlighting the exhaustion that sat heavy beneath his eyes.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to slow the pounding rhythm of his heart. Three hours. That was how long the flight would take from Manhattan to Miami. Three hours too long. Every minute they remained airborne was a minute Rose was still in Leon's hands, and the thought made his skin crawl with rage.
Scar Face sat across from him, unusually quiet. He was tapping something on a tablet, likely following up on surveillance feeds or updating the team on the ground. Nikolai's eyes opened slowly, narrowing into dark slits as he looked across the cabin.
"Did Konstantin carry out the plan?" he asked, voice low but sharp. "Did he manage to stall them?"
Scar Face looked up from the screen and gave a short nod. "He did. Two trucks positioned on the narrow road leading to the villa. It's blocked from both ends. No one is getting through easily. Konstantin made it look like an unfortunate accident—but added a twist. Some of our men engaged in a staged firefight. Just enough chaos to force Leon's men to hesitate."
Nikolai's fingers flexed against the armrest of his seat. "A gunfight?" His tone was edged with concern.
Scar Face gave a brief nod. "Yes. Nothing extreme. Our men are using controlled shots, but they are not hurting each other but they will hurt Leon's men if they try to pass or interfere. It'll buy us time. Time for us to land, to intercept, and to take her back."
"Is she safe?" Nikolai asked after a moment of silence, his voice softer this time, but no less intense.
"She will be," Scar Face said firmly. "Konstantin made it clear—Rose's safety is the top priority. He swore no stray bullet would touch her. They're watching from a distance, tracking Leon's car. If she's still inside, she's out of harm's way."
But Nikolai didn't nod this time. Instead, he leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, staring at the floor of the jet with a blank, burning expression. He could still see her face in his mind, wide eyes filled with defiance, fear, and the will to survive. His Rose—fiery, wild, impossible to break.
"I should've gotten to her sooner," he muttered under his breath.
Scar Face raised a brow. "You're getting to her now. That's what matters. She's still alive, still fighting. That says something."
"She set fire to the penthouse just to escape," Nikolai said quietly. "She was willing to risk her life. That means she's getting desperate. If we're too late…"
He couldn't finish that sentence.
Silence settled between the two men for a moment, heavy and suffocating. Outside the jet's window, clouds drifted past in a blur, the blue sky above them indifferent to the chaos happening below.
Scar Face leaned forward now, mirroring Nikolai's posture. "You'll get her back. You've come this far. There's no turning back now."
Nikolai looked at him, eyes burning with determination. "I'm not just getting her back. I'm destroying him."
Scar Face nodded once. "Then let's make sure we land fast and hit hard. I've already contacted the Miami ground team. They'll be waiting the moment we land. Armored cars, weapons, intel—we'll be ready."
Nikolai sat back again, staring at the ceiling of the jet. "Rose has to stay safe. Only her safety matters. I don't care if I bleed or if the whole damn world burns… I'd rather die than fail her."
Scar Face didn't respond immediately. Instead, he observed Nikolai for a moment, seeing a man who had fought countless battles, faced death more times than anyone should, but was now terrified of losing one woman. It made sense. Rose wasn't just anyone. She was the one thing Nikolai had ever truly wanted for himself. The only thing that made him feel alive in a world built on blood and silence.
The jet continued its course, piercing through the clouds with relentless speed, but to Nikolai, it still felt too slow.
He closed his eyes again and pictured her—Rose, with her stubborn glare and trembling hands, standing against Leon like a warrior despite her fear. He imagined her trapped in the backseat of Leon's car, unconscious, helpless, maybe bruised, maybe worse. The images tormented him.
"Is she conscious?" he asked suddenly, his voice a raw whisper.
Scar Face looked down at the screen in his hand. "According to our inside intel, the drug they used to sedate her isn't very strong. It'll keep her out for a few hours—at best. Leon was too impatient to wait for a stronger dose. He needed go sedate her before she caused anymore trouble."
Nikolai's fists clenched. "Of course he didn't."
"We estimate she'll be out for another hour and a half, maybe less. Which is why stalling Leon now is critical. He can't reach the villa."
Nikolai leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, and whispered a silent prayer. Something he hadn't done in years. But this wasn't a time for pride. This was war. And the battlefield was her life.
He didn't care what it cost. He would get her back.
Even if it meant putting a bullet between Leon's eyes with his own hand.
Even if it meant burning the villa to the ground.
Even if it meant sacrificing himself.
She was his Rose—and no one hurt what was his and lived to tell the tale.