Not Knowing His Poor Ex Had Married A Mafia Boss, He Kicked Her At The Mall

Silas didn't hesitate. He kicked open the rear safety hatch of the van, shoveled Sadi behind him, and fired three controlled rounds through the opening. A grunt of pain outside signaled a hit, but an answering spray of automatic fire forced Silas back, chips of armor plating slicing across his forearm.

"Silas!" Sadi shouted, seeing the blood welling through his torn sleeve.

"I’m fine," Silas grunted, teeth gritted, reloading with lightning speed. "The van is armored, but they have fifty-caliber rounds coming up behind them. We have ninety seconds before they punch through the engine block."

*“Sadi! Silas! Report!”* Roman’s voice roared through Sadi’s headset, frantic, raw, stripped of all calm. The sound of heavy gunfire echoed violently on his end; he was fighting his way through an organized kill zone three hundred yards away, running toward them.

Sadi keyed her mic, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the adrenaline roaring in her veins. "Roman! Viktor is at the command van! He set the decoy to isolate us!"

*“Hold them! I’m coming! Do not leave the vehicle!”*

"He won't make it in time," Sadi said, looking at Silas.

Silas knew it too. Viktor had brought eight men to the perimeter, surrounding the van in a tight circle of suppression fire. They weren't trying to destroy the vehicle; they were pinning it down until they could pry the doors open and drag Sadi out as a hostage.

Sadi’s eyes darted around the confined interior of the van. On the weapons rack beside the communications console hung an emergency tactical shotgun—a Benelli M4—and a bandolier of twelve-gauge slugs.

Marcus had thought she was weak. Viktor thought she was a bargaining chip.

They both made the fatal error of believing that because she had been born poor, she didn't know how to survive.

Sadi reached up and racked the slide of the Benelli. The heavy mechanical *clack* resonated inside the metal cabin.

Silas stared at her, shock widening his eyes. "Mrs. Vance—"

"Silas, you take the left side through the rear," Sadi ordered, her voice chillingly calm, her eyes turning as cold and deadly as Roman’s. "Viktor is expecting you to cover me while I hide in the corner. He isn't expecting two guns."

"If you get hit, Roman will skin me alive," Silas said, half-terrified, half-in awe.

"If Viktor takes me alive, Roman will burn this whole state down, and both of us will be dead anyway," she replied coldly. "On three."

Silas stared at her for a heartbeat, then a wicked smirk touched his bruised lips. "Yes, ma'am. One... two... three!"

Silas kicked the rear door wide, rolling out into the gravel and unleashing a barrage from his twin sidearms, dropping two Russian mercenaries advancing along the timber line.

Viktor shouted in Russian, shifting his fire toward Silas.

That was the mistake.

Sadi stepped directly into the open frame of the shattered side door. She didn't cower. She raised the heavy shotgun, leveled it at the mercenary moving to flank Silas, and pulled the trigger.

The recoil slammed into her shoulder like an iron hammer, but the twelve-gauge slug obliterated the mercenary's chest plate, throwing him backward into the marsh.

Viktor spun, his pale eyes widening in sheer disbelief as he saw the woman in the ivory suit—now streaked with mud and powder burn—standing tall in the smoke, racking another shell without lowering the barrel.

"You crazy bitch—" Viktor snarled, raising his weapon toward her.

*BANG.*

A high-powered rifle round punched through Viktor’s shoulder from three hundred yards away, spinning him around before he could squeeze his trigger.

Roman had arrived.

Bursting through the fog like a demon unleashed from hell, Roman Vance led a phalanx of six black-clad operators, firing with terrifying precision. Petrov’s remaining mercenaries were cut down in seconds, their bodies collapsing into the marsh grass before they could even scream.

Viktor hit the wet gravel, clutching his shattered shoulder, his gun lost in the mud. He dragged himself backward, his face twisted in agony, staring up as Roman approached him like a phantom of death.

Roman didn't look at Viktor. His eyes locked onto Sadi, who was still standing in the van door, the shotgun resting against her hip, smoke curling from the barrel.

Roman ran to her, his hands seizing her face, checking her cheeks, her neck, her arms, his breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps. "Are you hit? Sadi, look at me—are you hit?!"

"I’m fine," she whispered, her hands shaking slightly now that the adrenaline was subsiding, but her gaze holding his without wavering. "I’m whole, Roman."

Roman pulled her against his chest, holding her with a ferocity that bordered on desperation, burying his face in her hair. For a man who ruled an underworld empire without a single tremor of fear, the thought of losing her had made him look completely unhinged.

"Good," Roman breathed against her skin.

Then he turned around.